#Been rough. And the constant realization that each month I don’t remember…. Anything. That has happened.

[dadbots]

cold as shit & freezing my ass off in this winter (But at least we made it to December.)

[kaerimichirami]

999

That’s how some things go. That’s just expected. One day, you reach the breaking point. One day the distance is too unbearable. One day the smile fades. One day it is all gone, as sand that passes through between my short fingers. One day it becomes dust. One day it is over and there is nothing to prevent that. There is a light, until you make it responsible for eliminating all injustice. It slowly dims, and it’s such a slow process that you get used to it. Occasionally, you’ll ask yourself: “Am I running out of time?”, but you will never be able to actually do something. It’s all in vain. It will disappear and everything will be pitch-black, and soon your eyes will serve no purpose. Your hearing weakens, and with that your balance is also lost. Your skin is too rough, and you can’t feel the delicate little trinkets anymore. All you can smell are bad ideas and failures, and all you can taste is regret and the bitter risperidone. One day, nothing matters anymore, because everything was taken from you before you could even use it. One day, you wake up, and you’re an adult now, but haven’t you always been on your own? One day, you don’t feel comfortable in your own body, but hasn’t every day been like this since you were eight years old? One day, you realize how painful it is to not be able to remember of anything that happened before that. Causality is all messed up, your brain is all messed up. You can think of a few pretty words. You can name a few flowers you like. But you can’t go and smell their scent, right? All there’s left are withered dreams and thorns, that pierce the remaining of your poor body, soul and heart. And it pierces oh-so deeply, and it bleeds to the point there’s a tiny pool right under your feet. Splash, splash. It is all confusing, it is all extremely unfair, and you can’t hold conversations anymore, and no one understands or helps you. No one has ever, no one does, and no one ever will. It is all just a matter of time until you break after the countless bending, but you resist. You resist, because maybe, if you’re strong enough, you’ll overcome that, and you’ll get to live tomorrow. But tomorrow is just like today, that was just like yesterday. And if it’s not just like it, it will be worse. So you put on this extreme effort to get up, brush your teeth, while everything falls apart, while everything bothers you, while your birthday is two weeks from now, and you can’t give up just yet. Because there’s more to see, and you’re so scared of hurting yourself again. There’s probably no exit, and there’s probably even more pain in the future, but just maybe, one day you will be on the news, receiving a prize for making the cut. You will see the light again, breathe in and the scent of lilies and orchids will overflow, you’ll be able to touch each petal with your gentle hands, and food will come guilt-free.

But that’s not today. And that won’t be tomorrow. And nobody will do it for you. And you have to try, because it might be next Friday, or next month, or next year, or in 47 years. Today, you wonder how did you manage to walk all the way to your twenties, but in twenty years it will be just the same. And you’ll wonder, again, why do you put this much effort into such a hopeless person, such a poor soul, why work so hard for someone who gets mistreated all the time, who has so many traumas, who has constant fears and nightmares. And it doesn’t make sense. Dying would be so much better. But there’s a chance. A small, no, tiny, microscopic chance, that you will love those tunes again. And that you will laugh at your own jokes, and that one day you’ll cook such a great meal for yourself. And that one day, you’ll lay in bed, and you will feel the warmth of your blanket, and your pillow will be properly cold, and you’ll feel ready to sleep a full night. But that’s not today, right? You don’t feel comfortable now. And you can barely keep up with yourself. But you keep imagining, that there is something worth it. That you’re worth it. Despite the rest of the world telling you’re not. And maybe there are things that are worth it. And people that are worth it. But that hasn’t happened to you. Maybe it never will. But you can’t waste this chance, right? That is smaller than the smallest cell of your body. For some reason, you need to keep going. Whatever that means, wherever it takes. It’s painful, it’s tiring, it’s unfair. You’re at your lowest and there have never been ups. But maybe… oh, you’re already tired of your own excuses. But, the truth is… it seems quite unfair that you should end it yourself, right? Because you wouldn’t give a damn if you were killed, but having to do it, when no one ever helps you, when others wish your death but don’t have the guts to do it themselves? It just feels like it’s too much.

So you sit down, and you keep staring at that screen, and you occasionally cry and occasionally laugh, and there’s nothing to your day but the littlest things that no one cares. But that’s all you are, and that’s all you have. And you don’t want to lose anything else. And you don’t want to lose more of yourself. So you gather each piece, and you awkwardly glue it together. And that’s you. And that’s as far as you go. Actually, that’s how everything goes. That’s already expected, you tell yourself every day. And yet… one day, you’ll reach the breaking point.

[drxwsyni]

show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it’s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you. 

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons. 

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black. 

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

[chaoticpizzalawyerbiscuit]

Jealousy

Hey hey hey!!!

How are y'all doing? Here's another one, hope you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it!! Just a heads up, this is filthy, long, intense... but it gets a little cute at the very end ;)

Thank you @wickedazriel​ for this request! IT IS AWESOME!!!

✨don’t forget to make your own request✨

• I don’t own any of Sarah J. Mass’ characters or any of her plots, I’m just a fan having fun. Also I do not own the images. This is story is mine though, so please do not copy •

WARNING! cursing, sex... this is a hatefuck one

∞ I see red - Everybody loves an outlaw

Author’s P.O.V.

Y/N was sick and tired of that bullshit. Ever since Elain arrived in Velaris to visit her sisters, Feyre and Nesta, Az was with her. They went to shops, restaurants and pretty much everywhere else. All the damn time.

To worsen it, this last month was rough on their relationship. Loads of work, constant arguments and sleeping on different beds was their new routine, and honestly, Y/N was so done with it. She tried time after time to get him to open up and share what left him so disturbed, like he had other times, but it was in vain. He became more distant, and was currently avoiding her. 

Tonight, she wanted a change. She missed her mate, and just wished it was over. Determined to go talk to Azriel, she headed to Feyre’s house, knowing that he would be there. 

As she walked the streets of the city, the sun was setting and an ocean breeze stirred lightly. It reminded her of when they met, years ago, and their first kiss. Smiling, she remembered those sweet moments, of glimmering glances and tentative touches.

Eventually, she arrived at the house and started to look for Azriel, hoping that the Inner Circle’s meeting was done. Roaming through the corridors, she caught his scent. And Elain’s, she realized with an exasperated sigh. Following it led to the main living room, and she would never be prepared to witness what happened before her eyes. 

Elain and Azriel. 

Kissing.

“What’s going on?”

Azriel turned around, startled. Shit. Holy shit. This is the last thing he needed. Looking into his mate’s eyes, he was panicking. Elain had kissed him, caught him by surprise, hoping he had feelings for her. But he did not want her. Elain has a mate. Elain is not Y/N. 

“Y/N, wait. This is not what you think, just let —

Y/N's bitter laugh cut him off. Stepping closer, she glared at him. “It makes sense now. You acting distant and harsh, ignoring me all this time. How long has this happened.” Her cold voice tugged at his guts. “Actually, don’t answer me. You know, if you didn’t want me around anymore, you should’ve said it. But now it’s crystal clear.” She turned on her heels, and stormed out of the room.

Az moved, holding her wrist.

“Do not dare touch me.” Poison laced her voice, as she met his eyes at last. The anger there was enough to make him flinch, and he let go.

Desperate to get out of there, she stomped away from that place, hair whipping furiously. Tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them away. She had never been this angry, or heartbroken. Hungry for revenge, an idea came to her. Her smirk was devilish. She arrived home, put on his favorite dress, fixed her hair and painted her lips a bloodred tint. And like this, she went out seeking for the main part of the plan. Ace.

Now, Ace was a fae male who worked in the Rainbow. Handsome and with a talent for music, he was a charming male straight out of one of those smutty books Y/N owned. Azriel made sure she knew how much he hated the guy’s guts (with those green eyes and oh so perfect blond hair), even when she never had feelings for Ace.

With a killer look, she walked around Velaris and spotted tonight’s target. She reached him, asked if he wanted to have a drink and dance for a while, and he agreed without hesitance.

So they drank into the night, and he eventually invited her for a dance. She obliged, but as soon as the music started YN regretted it. It felt wrong, like it was missing something.  This wasn’t Az. And she hated herself for being so foolish, in believing that the pain would go away this easy. That his presence would just vanish from her heart, even when it was burned into her soul.

Walking home, she wanted the day to be done. Y/N barely remembered bidding goodbye to a very confused Ace, her mind still clouded with everything that happened. She never expected anything like that from Az, even after years of relationship and many problems faced together.

Y/N reached her apartment, opened the door and found Az waiting for her. Seeing him made her anger rise to the brim, and she wasn’t the only one that was mad.

“You were with Ace?” He seethed, standing up from the couch. His blood boiled at her scent mixed with his.

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

She stilled, drunk in jealousy. 

“Why?! Oh I wonder why. Maybe” walking towards him, pressing his back against a wall “it was because you were kissing dear sweet Elain in the middle of a fucking living room.” They stood closely now “Maybe it’s because I feel like a fucking idiot for falling in love.” Their breaths mingled, and Y/N’s gaze burned him. With anger, with panic, with… desire.

She glanced at his lips. The room was filled by their aroused scent. 

She pounced on him. His lips met her with unwavering hunger, devouring her, and she equaled him. A delightful heat started between her legs and clouded her mind, enhanced by his now roaming hands all over her. A moan left her lips, and she felt him grow hard against her stomach. She palmed him through his pants, and his hips jerked.

Grabbing her wrists, he pushed her against the opposite wall and pinned them above her head. She whined in protest, and pushed her body into his. He went crazy with desire, her dress made her look like a goddess. All he wanted was to put his scent over that male’s.

“Jump” He ordered.

She did, wrapping her legs around him, with his hands now supporting her, fingers digging on her ass.

The kisses now were more important than air itself, their lips greedy for each other. Taking them to the bedroom, the shadowsinger was going mad for her. Y/N was on her own path to insanity, as her hands struggled with the buttons of his shirt and her body begged for more attention. 

He set her down and their kissing halted, overtaken by the need to shed their clothes. Fast. Mere seconds later, the pieces of clothing were discarded on the floor and the frenzy returned.

His mouth was on her lips, her neck, her breasts. Her nipples were rock hard, begging for attention as he wrapped his lips around one, licked, sucked and bit down. Her moans got out of control, thighs clenched together. Moving on to the other nipple, her hands (who had been wandering around his wings) suddenly gripped his throbbing cock, and surprised, he moaned into her chest as he thrust forward against her hand.

Her other hand grabbed his shoulder, and pushed him into the bed. He let himself fall into his back, and she got onto her knees. He will go crazy tonight, she thought, I’ll make him. 

The feeling of her mouth around him made him moan loudly. The view of her hand touching herself as she sucked him off almost made him cum. He gritted his teeth, and tried to hold it. But, with exceptional expertise, she teased him to the edge. And denied him right after. Twice.

Now, ready for more, Y/N stood up, straddled him, guided his shaft to her entrance… and lowered herself. Their moans sounded, and she started to move. Up and down at first, and then she ground into his cock. She pinned him to the bed, as he did with her against the wall.

Azriel lost any scrape of sanity after this. 

Y/N couldn’t control herself, and said

“Does she ride you like this? Do you fuck her like this?”

His eyes glittered with the challenge. Getting out her grip, he freed his arms, slid out of her and flipped them over. Then he flipped her, positioning her on all fours. Slid back in. Grabbed her hair. Pressed his fingers on her clit. And whispered on her ear 

“Does he make you feel this, Y/N?”

Her response was only a sequence of squeals and screams, pleasure crashing into her with violent waves. Their release was close, and the thrusting became faster, sloppier, desperate. Azriel thrust one last time, deep and strong, as pinched her nub, and she came around him. He followed her, getting squeezed by her muscles, tightly and uncontrollably. 

Their exhausted bodies lay entangled on each other, neither daring to move. Azriel slid out of her after a few minutes, and she whimpered softly. Still on the bed with her back to him, Y/N worked up the courage to ask.

“Az, what happened there?” 

He took a deep breath.

“Elain is having trouble with Lucien and their relationship, she talked to me a lot about it. There’s a lot of crap going on between them, and I advised her as a friend. Exclusively as someone who wants the best for her.” His mate remained in silence, and that quiet despair started to take over him once again.

“Y/N," he touched her exposed back gently, “turn around and talk to me. Please.”

A beat of silence went by. Two. On the third she moved, and their eyes met. His bared nothing but honesty and love.

“I love you, Y/N. My mate, my best friend, my everything. I truly did not expect a kiss from Elain, and I have no interest in another. I’m yours.”

And hers bared nothing but thankfulness and adoration.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Az. I believe you,” he let out a breath of relief at the words, “ and I’m sorry. I acted wrongly in going to Ace, in not hearing you and in dumping my insecurities on this.” 

“What went on between the two of you?”

“We had drinks, he asked me to dance. I said yes, and lasted for half a song. Because it wasn’t you.”

Azriel said nothing, and her heart broke a little more. 

"Can you forgive me?”, she asked, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

He looked into her eyes, and thanked the Mother for such a stunning, courageous and honest female in his life.

“Yes.” She smiled brightly at his reply, touching their foreheads. “Can you forgive me? For making you feel insecure and for staying so distant? I shouldn’t have shut you out”

“I can, Az. And please, let’s not do this again.”

“Oh absolutely, it was dreadful” the shadowsinger agreed, and leaned in to kiss her lips, the trouble now forgotten.

And so they kissed.

Once.

Twice.

Their hands started to–

Well, you know what happens next...

-From A.

Ps: talk to me, make some requests 😁 my box is open

[bffsoobin]

This Time Around

➤ idol!yeonjun x non!idol/ex!girlfriend reader ft. same reader x jungkook (mostly platonic), fluff, angst, lots of messy feelings, other txt members make appearances/are mentioned

↳ weeks after your chance reconnection with Yeonjun, you book a flight to Seoul under his encouragement. When you arrive, you’re not only overwhelmed by the lifestyle of an idol, but the new people you meet. Will you and Yeonjun be able to hold on to each other this time around?

word count: 9k

requested?: yes! (thank you for this great idea, anon)

warnings: this is largely angst. crying, arguments, swearing, feelings of betrayal and confusion, Yeonjun is kind of an ass, self-doubt (in both Yeonjun and reader), messy feelings and relationships all around, this does NOT have a happy ending so don’t go in expecting one lmao also disclaimer (?) that I a) have no idea what the BH building looks like inside b) don’t think that either Yeonjun or Jungkook would act this way...we are here to write fiction, after all.

A/N: This is a sequel to Just One Day! I won’t be making too many explicit references to the content of that fic but reading it first will help with storyline clarity! I also don’t explicitly state this but the reader in this case already knows Korean, she just has never been to the country before- it was simply easier for storytelling. I really hope y’all like this. I was very inspired by this request especially since I was in the mood to write both angst and a sequel to one of my older pieces! (also this gave me a good excuse to write about koo without feeling bad for straying from TXT content lmao) ALSO this is not proof read or edited, as usual for me :)

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“I think it’s a good idea,” Yeonjun’s voice, velvety and heavy with sleep, seeps through the speakers of your phone. You glance at the time displayed on your computer and do the mental math which proves it’s a crisp 2 am in Korea.

“Go to bed, Junnie,” you half-scold, knowing that you wish for nothing more than for him to stay on the line until he eventually falls asleep in the middle of the conversation. He sighs through the phone, and you imagine him stretching his arms above his head to eliminate the fatigue creeping through him.

“Not till you promise me you’ll come,” he counters smartly. Your stomach flips wildly at the words. It had been almost three months since you spent the day with him, and not a single day had passed where he hadn’t been on your mind. Whether you spent your time talking to him or indulging yourself in your newfound kpop guilty pleasures, Yeonjun was almost always on your mind. Staying in touch proved to be harder than expected, due to both time zones and your equally packed schedules. Since he had flown back to Korea, you’d begun your first big girl job in a serious office that required constant business attire and piled the paperwork onto you, the newest and youngest hire.

“I’d love to, but you know how it is at work. I think my boss would combust if I told him I was taking a week’s vacation.” Talking about work made your head swim, as you recalled the stack of paperwork currently residing on your bedroom desk that needed to be finished before you showed up on Monday.

“That’s exactly why you deserve a vacation, Y/N. Look, if you fly into Seoul I promise I’ll make sure you don’t think about work for a second. I know you have time to take off, so take it. Come see me.” The line was quiet for a few seconds as you pondered, weighing your options carefully.

“I miss you,” Yeonjun’s voice came through loud and clear, crumbling the last remaining bit of your resolve. You missed him too, so much more than you ever thought you would, and your heartbeat kicks into high gear at the thought of seeing him again.

“Okay, I’ll file for my week off on Monday. I’ll see you soon, Yeonjun.”

----

When you finally arrive inside of the BigHit building, suitcase in tow and a huge visitor lanyard around your neck, your hands are sweating profusely. A kind staff member had picked you up from the airport and delivered you to the practice room that Yeonjun would presumably be inside of. The walls were soundproofed well, but you could hear the faint beat of bass through the heavy door as you hesitate in pushing it open. Another staff member passes behind you and eyes you closely until recognizing the badge hanging around your neck.

Feeling awkward for hesitating in the hallway after being seen, you push on the door until it swings open in a smooth motion. The wheels of your suitcase click over the seams of the floor, and the sound would have been enough to make you cringe if it weren’t for the pounding music.

A track you don’t recognize echos through the mirrored room as none other than Choi Yeonjun stares intently back at his own dancing reflection. You catch your own reflection; arms crossed in a protective latch over your chest.

His body moves fluidly, as if he had left all of his bones waiting for him at home, and a thrill of excited anxiety crawls through your chest. He was really there, mere feet away, and you were really here in the middle of the BigHit building, achieving the dreams of fans all over the world.

The music stops and your mouth runs dry. Yeonjun’s heaving breath is the only sound in the mirrored room and you try to drive away the thought of the last time you’d heard him pant like that; sweaty and shirtless overtop of you on your rickety secondhand couch.

“You made it.” He says, impressively able to control his voice even after the exertion.

“In one piece, at least.” You say. Your arms stay wound around your body, a protective cage against his stare and his touch. He eyes you carefully and you’re suddenly concerned that your airport-chic appearance is inadequate.

“You look pretty.” He whispers, stepping close enough that his heaving chest almost touches your crossed arms. His hands, fingers calloused and rough, wind around your wrists and tug gently, giving you plenty of time to pull back. But you let him unwind your arms and pull them to your sides. His hands are large and warm and press gently into your skin, grounding you into the room and the moment and the absurdity of the fact that you’re actually here with him in Korea.

“You bleached your hair.” You offer weakly, withering underneath his attention.

“I’m not supposed to tell, but I’m getting ready for pink.” He says. Sweat drips down his temples, meeting and rolling together in tracks down to his chin. He looks just as handsome as you remember him to be months before, but it’s hard to ignore the thinned frame of his face.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” You ask, finally finding courage to string together a meaningful sentence.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Yeonjun leans into you, supporting himself on the tips of his toes until he’s dangerously close to toppling you both over. He levels a heavy, constant gaze on you, eyes drifting down to the surprised pout of your lips and sliding back to your eyes. In a second you know that he wants to kiss you, and there is nothing more you’d like than for that to happen, so you close your eyes and lean into him; feel the warmth of his breath and you can almost taste the salt of his sweat, but the kiss never comes. Instead, Yeonjun startles and drops his hands from you, takes one huge step back and immediately bends into a deep bow. 

Your back is still facing the door, but you catch a glimpse through the mirror. Jeon Jungkook stands just inside the door, dark wavy hair tied half up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing a t-shirt and loose sweats and rubbing fatigue from his eyes, but he’s somehow even more handsome in person. Your face flushes, desperately trying not to make eye contact with him through the mirror and knowing you failed as soon as he shoots you a small, toothy smile. 

“Didn’t know you had company,” He says in lieu of a greeting as he steps just slightly closer to the two of you. 

“We were just going.” Yeonjun bows again, grabs your wrist and tugs you in a persuasive manner. 

“It’s okay, really.” Jungkook enthuses, eyes crinkling in apparent amusement at Yeonjun’s behavior and before you know it your face twists into a similar smile. It had been a long time since you’d seen Yeonjun so nervous, acting like he was attached to a live wire that kept him moving nonstop. “No need to rush out on my account.” Jungkook adds as Yeonjun tugs you again, leaving your suitcase abandoned in the spot you’d been standing. You open your mouth to protest. 

“Wait! I don’t think that...” Jungkook looks at you pointedly as he rolls the suitcase back over to the two of you. 

“Y/N.” You offer, hands sweating profusely as he passes over the luggage. 

“I don’t think that Y/N would like to leave without her suitcase.” His eyes twinkle with something like an untold joke, an anecdote he wants to share but keeps in the back of his head for later. You thank him shortly, still starstruck and nervous as Yeonjun pulls you out of the door. 

----

“I’m so sorry about that.” Yeonjun apologizes again as you arrive at a new door, this one in a whole new wing of the building that you would have gotten lost finding on your own. 

“It’s okay, Jun. I expect to run into...o-other people.” You stutter as he opens the door, facing the realization that you were probably about to meet Yeonjun’s members too. The dorm was simpler than you expected, opening up to a lightly furnished living room that looked like it had been hastily cleaned- you could see a stack of clothes had been clumsily shoved behind the couch. 

The lack of instant greetings surprises you as you follow Yeonjun blindly into the room but you don’t say anything. You kind of wish that the other four boys would come bursting out, bombard you with questions and jokes and prodding fingers as Yeonjun lets you into his room. The air is still charged from your interrupted kiss, and your fingers curl around the handle of your suitcase as you recall Jungkook’s reaction. He had clearly found it amusing, but was he more interested in teasing Yeonjun or finding out exactly who you were? 

In the moment you had found his attention comical although stressful, like a funny anecdote that Yeonjun might grumble about a few weeks later. Now, you replay it over and over again, worried that every chance interaction with another idol within the building would play out exactly the same. Maybe you weren’t quite cut out for this. Yeonjun had been speaking the whole time, rattling off words you don’t catch as he opens and closes drawers.

“-is that alright?” He asks, spinning on his socked heels to face you. You freeze, trying desperately to claw through your mind for any clues to what he’d said. Yeonjun smirks, closes in on you and raises a well-kept eyebrow. 

“What did I just ask you?” He asks, voice level and cool despite the teasing nature of the question. 

“I-I don’t know.” You admit, a blush rises on your cheeks as his smirk pulls even larger. 

“I asked...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “if you wanted to share a bed. You could always sleep on the couch, but I-”

“No, I’ll sleep with you!” You slap a hand over your mouth as Yeonjun dissolves into giggles. “I mean, I mean, I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You try desperately to break through his laughter but it’s useless, so you succumb to the same fit of giggles. Yeonjun cups your cheeks sweetly, squishing them together in earnest before leaning in the same way he had just minutes prior. Your heart stutters at the knowledge that this kiss was finally happening after three months separated. 

Your lips meet in soft, tentative passes against each other until you recall the feeling. Yeonjun is hesitant, hanging back until you surge forward, kissing him harder and wiggling your tongue between the seam of his lips until he opens them. His teeth rake your bottom lip and nibble hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you into the moment until Yeonjun pulls back, thumbs stroking the tops of your cheeks. He places another kiss to your nose, giggling against your skin as you shy away. 

A loud crash sounds from just outside the door and you jump, eyes blowing wide when the sound of overlapping voices grows closer and closer. Yeonjun tells you that the rest of the boys must be back and ushers you out of the room before you can protest. 

In the living room you’re faced with the four of them, all busying themselves with mundane tasks or scrolling through their phones until Yeonjun clears his throat. They look up simultaneously, synchronized enough that you would have laughed under a different circumstance. 

“Everyone, this is, my uh, uh, Y/N.” Yeonjun awkwardly sweeps a hand your way and you flush, feeling small as the four boys you’d watched and laughed with and admired through a screen bowed to you. 

“I really-it’s not...well, hi.” You sigh. 

----

Introductions aside, the night slides by easily until the wear of your travel catches up with you so suddenly that you slump onto the nearest body. Yeonjun shakes you awake and it’s only then that you notice the shoulder you were leaning upon belonged to Beomgyu. You apologize to the boy as soon as you can get your tongue to work properly and are soon whisked away to Yeonjun’s bedroom. The short trip awoke you to an unpleasant degree, almost feeling as if you were suddenly too aware of your surroundings. The lights were too bright, the scent of fabric softener too strong in your nose, the sound of the remaining four people in the living room too loud. And of course, the presence of Yeonjun too much to handle. 

You sit at the foot of the bed and pick at your nails while Yeonjun shuffles around the room, doing something you don’t bother to track closely. 

“Are you going to get ready for bed?” He asks shortly, not even turning to face you. You now realize that he had pulled on pajamas of his own; a too-big graphic t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. Frowning, you head for your own suitcase and dig through the carefully stacked clothes until you find some suitable options. You change quickly, keeping your back to him although you can feel his heavy stare at your back. 

“Did you like them?” He asks. You sit back at the metal headboard and nod thoughtfully. His lips draw into a straight line as he settles beside you. “You and Beomgyu really...got along well.” 

“Sure, I think we all got along well.” You offer, tucking yourself underneath his newly cleaned sheets. For a moment you wonder what he was going to do about the lights overhead, but they extinguish with a press of a button on his phone. Plunged in darkness, you can’t help but feel a bit bolder, indulging in the burn of defiance within you. 

“Why? Are you jealous?” You ask. Yeonjun scoffs and you can feel the sheets pull as he flips underneath them. He says nothing but you can feel the air in the room shift. The bedding feels suffocating. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

----

When you wake, you’re uncharacteristically hot. You notice the sweat beading your neck and forehead as soon as you sit up, desperate to free yourself from the covers. You wonder if Yeonjun is suffering a similar fate, or if his body is used to the brutal heat of his bedroom. You turn to look for him, happy anxiety at the thought of seeing his sleeping form in real time brewing in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d imagined this exact moment, wondered if he scrunched his face in his sleep or if he looked serene and peaceful, wondered if he snored or spoke or sighed in his sleep. 

But all you saw was crumpled sheets and a small, bright green post-it note with bunched writing. It stuck to the bed sheets as you pulled it up, and you had to blink a few times before you finally understood the gist of the note. Yeonjun was gone, off to do his daily idol duties, and you are welcome to use their shower as none of the boys were home. You scan the note again for any sign of love or sincerity but find nothing more than cold and clinical facts, like a teacher giving instructions to a class. 

Bitterness grows in your chest as you slip into the cramped shower and cool yourself off under a trickle of water. Theoretically, you know that Yeonjun would be busy while you were here. After all, you couldn’t expect the company to let him off of all responsibility just because you were around. Your skin was growing red under the scrub of your fingers. But he could have at least run it by you last night, warned you that he would probably be gone by the time you got up and given you some idea of when he’d be back. What were you supposed to do all day? You stepped out of the shower, flinging your wet hair away from your face. You could barely make it out of this building alone, but you’d be damned if all you did was sit here and wait for him to return. If he wasn’t going to be here, you’d make your own fun.

You were unfamiliar to Seoul, but after navigating yourself out of the BigHit building you felt as if you could conquer anything. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had passed by in your slumber until you stepped into the real world. Dusk had begun to fall over the sky, painting it a hazy purple-pink in anticipation of a sunset. People and cars and buses rushed by with purpose as you stand still and baffled at the city before you. The packed street before you is a little bit intimidating, but reminded you enough of the bustle of your hometown that you took a brave step forward anyway. Crossing so quickly that you almost run into a group of teenage girls, you finally reach some kind of a destination. To be fair, you had done zero planning on sight seeing before coming, so almost every building looked like a destination to you. A particularly cute looking café seemed to manifest itself out of thin air and beckon you in with sweet drinks and sugary snacks. You order and eat greedily with the realization that this is your first real meal since being on the plane yesterday, and the waitress laughs when you tell her that as you flag her down for another piece of cake. 

The café certainly lives up to the hype you make for it, but you notice the employees begin to clean and close things down, so you leave and thank them on the way out. You finally check your phone, hoping that Yeonjun might have sent you an apology or an update, but you see nothing aside from email notifications. Emblazoned by his actions, you continue on your exploration, opening the doors to a clothing shop with so much force that other patrons cringe. Inside, you buy way too many things to fit in your suitcase before traipsing yourself-weighed down by bags- into a nearby restaurant. Something about being in Korea had elevated your appetite to an extreme level, so your stomach growls as soon as you cross over the threshold. The place is crowded, almost packed wall to wall as patrons and employees alike bustle between one another. 

The cute wooden sign reads “seat yourself” so you dodge and weave until you find a tiny table, just big enough for your party of one, hidden in a more private corner of the restaurant. An employee spots you and yells out that he’s going to go get a menu, so you content yourself with people watching in the meantime. At the table diagonal to you, you spot a woman who looks just about the same age as you. Her hair is carefully waved; a deep, shiny brown that flows just down to the top of her chest. Every feature you can spot is immaculate and it makes you feel sick. Her nails are perfectly manicured, not a single chip or hang nail in sight, while your own nailbeds are torn up and bloody as a result of nervous picking. A weird, unwelcome acidity crawls up the back of your throat and demands to be acknowledged, makes your eyes burn with envious tears as the waiter finally delivers a menu and you wonder why you can’t just look that put together and perfect. After you order you can no longer stand to look her way anymore, angry at the fact that you were so resentful of this stranger. 

Your waiter drops your food and utensils with polite haste but you aren’t nearly as hungry as you were before. Noodles and broth swirl around your spoon as the steam rises into your face, paying more attention to the bustle of the open kitchen where you spot a fun streak of vibrant pink hair. Whoever is donning it must have had it done recently. There’s a few small patches of pink dye spotting the back of their neck and it’s quite endearing to think about until you remember- Yeonjun was supposed to be dying his hair pink soon, and that tall frame and broad back look suspiciously familiar, and he still hasn’t sent you any texts, and you think that maybe he was just getting some takeout and heading back home but then he turns away from the counter and heads to your corner of the building. Your mouth goes dry, all the air still and stale in your lungs as his eyes land on yours. He looks away and then looks back again, double taking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As if he hadn’t been the one to invite you out to Korea, as if you hadn’t shared a bed last night. And then he moves, finally, walks away from the counter and toward your table with a tray piled with food and your heart hammers against your ribs as he walks right by and settles into the seat across from the perfect girl. She smiles wide as he unloads the food and settles in. 

There’s nothing you can do but stare and fight the sting of your eyes until your waiter comes back around, notices your untouched food and asks if you want a takeout container. You say yes loud enough for Yeonjun to hear, and you can see him flinch but you know he won’t turn around. Not in public, with all these people around. Not when he’s an idol and you’re just a normal girl- a fucking tourist- and not when Miss Perfect is giggling her perfect laugh at whatever he just said. 

The air outside is cold and it stings. Your face is wet but you don’t try to hide it. You don’t know any of these people, and they will never see you again. They probably won’t even remember that you cried on the walk home, weighed down with bags of food and clothes and the knowledge that Yeonjun was lying. 

When you return to the dorm Beomgyu, Soobin and Taehyun are hanging around the living room, watching something on the television. 

“Hey- where’s Yeonjun? He said he was going to dinner, we assumed he was meeting you.” Soobin asks, his tone cautiously trying to hide his confusion. 

“Well, I did go to dinner,” you lift up the bags on your arm, “and so did Yeonjun. At the same place.” Your voice clips and you take a moment wonder if you should go on until Beomgyu mutters a soft “oh”. 

“Well, here’s some food.” The plastic bag thuds on the coffee table. “Not hungry.”

----

You don’t know what time it is when Yeonjun decides to come back, but you have no plans of acknowledging his presence. The room is dimmed, only a bedside lamp left to keep you out of total darkness. You are perfectly content to simmer in your own anger for the night, let him feel it radiate off of your back the whole time you sleep. Until he has the audacity to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You see red in the dark room. Your fingers clench into the pillow, making a victim out of the poor feathers and fabric as you contemplate throwing it at his head. His new hair looks even nicer in the low light; nearly fluorescent and falling in a perfectly styled arc around his face.

“Don’t do that. Act like you don’t know.” You spit. Yeonjun says nothing but he clears his throat awkwardly, as if he’s about to make an argument, but you beat him to it. 

“At least tell me who she is.” You try to hide the waver of your voice but it’s already there to stay. 

“She’s no one! I’m not really supposed to tell anyone about it yet, the guys don’t even know-” 

“They don’t know what? That you’re keeping two different girls in your pocket? Can’t even commit to one for a week long vacation? Jesus, Yeonjun, If you want to...cheat on me, at least wait until I’m not in the country. Fuck, I can’t even call it cheating because you don’t even want to date me! We only met up again a few months ago, and we spent one day together! And we fucked and it was nice and it was fun but what the fuck was it really? I texted you today, you know, to ask where the hell you were, and you never answered. I know that your life is busy, but a warning yesterday would have been nice.” 

“I’m not cheating on you! She’s not- she’s just, someone I- that’s not the point, Y/N! And I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but I was really busy, and I forgot to bring it up and I’m sorry, but did you really expect me to hang around all day?” You grit your teeth to stop an annoyed screech from hopping out.

“Of course not, Yeonjun. I’m not an idiot. What I expected was some fucking communication. I traveled across the world to come see you, maybe even try to figure out what we are, and so far all I’ve done is wander around the city alone. This isn’t what I wanted to do! I’m missing a week of work for this! I didn’t come out here just to be your little plaything once you get home!” 

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Yeonjun stands up from the bed, rubbing his palms over the back of his neck. “I knew you would never understand. You can never understand how busy this lifestyle is, and I guess I was stupid for believing that you could understand, and that you wouldn’t be mad at me for having to go do my fucking job.” 

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand your life? Will you ever just admit that you only like me because you can mold me around your shit? When I’m back home you can call me at any hour that works for you, and I’ll pick up. You can bitch about your job and your friends and your company and all the pain you have but whenever I call you you’re tired or sick or just don’t feel like it. Guess fucking what Yeonjun. I’m here now. And we share a room and a bed and a city so you can’t keep me miles away and at your beck and call whenever you so well please. I’m right in front of you now, and you need to own up to your shit. You ignored me. Now you’re lying about whoever the fuck that girl was. You don’t get to be a prick just because you’re a famous idol.” Your face is hot and your hands are shaking. Sweat is beading on your forehead just like it did this morning and it makes you itch but you refuse to move a single muscle, hardened to the spot and staring Yeonjun down. You can’t even remember how the argument started, but all you know now is that you can’t stand to look at him any longer. His eyes are wide, bottom lip wobbling. Tears sting at your eyes and your nose burns and you’re ready to lay down or maybe chug a bottle of vodka. 

“I’m going to bed.” You pull the covers over you even though you’re sweltering, turn off the bedside lamp with the switch and clamp your eyes shut. 

----

Your brain never shuts off. Even when you slam your eyes shut and start counting metaphorical sheep, you’re still replaying the argument on a relentless loop. Yeonjun had left the room moments after you tucked yourself in and you had yet to hear the door creak to announce his reappearance, so it was safe to assume that he was sleeping on the couch or holed up with another one of the boys. Or maybe he went crawling back to Miss Perfect. 

The room is suffocating; heat simmers off of every surface even after you’ve thrown off the sheets and the white walls are annoying you. If you ever talk to Yeonjun again it will have to be about his piss poor decorating skills and the fact that he couldn’t even manage to hang up some pictures to break up the never ending white. Your phone says it’s just minutes shy of 2 am, but what does that really mean when you have no idea what time you laid down? Your legs move before your mind decides where you’re going, seemingly possessed by the idea of leaving the room as fast as possible. There’s just enough time to shrug on a crewneck and a pair of sneakers before you find yourself under the blinding fluorescents of the hall that remind you exactly where you are. Tall, sturdy black doors stand on both sides of you, metal accents gleaming and boasting their contents. There’s no easy way to understand the layout of the building, and you assume that’s for the protection of the idols, but it also means that you completely forget the only route you know for leaving the building.  

Had you taken a left or a right? Did you pass by the hallway next to the ladies bathroom or go down it? Had there always been a potted plant next to that office, or did all of the doors just look similar? Somehow, you find yourself back in the place you had first been delivered to when you arrived. The doors were slightly different here, some made of thick wavy glass that was vaguely transparent and others made out of the same black you had become used to. A set of three rooms with the wavy glass were right next to one another, and if your suspicions were correct they were all practice rooms, presumably empty at the lack of music. The thought of the rooms, empty and clean and sporting just enough comfortable furniture in the corner for you to sprawl out on. There was no way that sleep was going to overcome you, but at least you could feel secure in your loneliness for a few hours. 

The metal handle was cold, chilling your sweaty palm instantly, but you’re met with harsh resistance. It doesn’t budge forward no matter how hard you push downward and lean into the door. Out of anger you try one more time, grunting and digging your heels into the carpet of the hallway. 

“You need a card to get in.” A voice calls from what must just be steps behind you, and you jump embarrassingly high before turning reluctantly. Surely some poor late-shift cleaner or intern had seen you struggling with the door and decided to take pity on you before someone really saw you making a fool of yourself. You could only imagine what they were thinking- how they would go home to their pets or family or friends and laugh about the girl they saw throwing her entire weight against a locked door.

But in the split second your neurons begin to fire anew, you know that you weren’t lucky enough to be discovered by another normal member of society. On this already annoyingly unlucky night you come face to face with- once again- Jeon Jungkook. You flush immediately and pull at the hem of your shorts until they do a better job at covering your thighs. You’re still sweaty, strands of hair matted to the back of your neck and your forehead, and the fact that it’s sometime past 2 am and you’ve yelled and cried and tossed and turned and cursed everything that led you to this moment only makes you look worse.  

And, of course, even though it’s sometime past 2 am and maybe Jungkook had also been sweating and tossing and turning and cursing everything too...he still manages to look like an angel. His hair is unruly, all loose and wavy and sticking up in some places. His outfit is almost identical to what you first saw him in, but this it was black instead of gray, and his sleeves are bunched at the elbow, only affording you half a look at his lithe muscles and tattoos. His lips split in the same toothy grin as he gestures a small plastic card your way. How dare he look so handsome no matter the circumstance. He’s so much closer than he had been before, merely a foot away from you in the narrow hallway. Up this close you can see how perfect his skin is, as smooth and pore less as Yeonjun’s and Miss Perfect’s. 

“No, I don’t need it.” You dismiss his hand with a small wave, sour after reminding yourself why you were here to begin with. 

“Seems like you do?” Jungkook’s voice was oddly small too. He retracts his hand halfway, making sure you could still take it from him if you want to. 

“No, what I need is a new boyfriend.” You spit the words before your conscious can review them, before you can remember that Yeonjun isn’t your boyfriend, that he isn’t technically anything except a rekindled flame you traveled across the world for. Jungkook pulls his arm all the way back and his face softens. You know he puts the pieces together quickly and you can feel the sympathy pass through the hall.  “Nevermind. I’m sure you’re busy, or need to pass by or- yeah, sorry.” You stand aside, press against the wall and wait for him to walk away, but he stays grounded and levels his soft but deadly gaze on you. It’s an unwelcome reminder that he’s one of the most famous idols in the world and you’re standing in the middle of his company building; tired and teary.

“Did you fight? Is that why you’re wondering through our part of the building alone?” He gestures at one of the doors further down the hallway, a solid black one, and you can make out a shiny plaque with his name on it and some cute little decorations taped on the wall. 

“I’m so sorry, I can’t find my way around this place- I just couldn’t sleep so I wandered and I guess I ended up in...your part of the building.” You can feel the heat radiate off of your face as he smiles again, nose scrunching at your panic. 

“Cute.” His nose wiggles one more time before he schools his features as if the word didn’t nearly knock you on your ass. Cute. Cute! He has the audacity to stand here in the middle of the night and call you cute. “Seriously, if you need somewhere to sit down or sleep, there’s a couch in my studio, it’s clean in there, you can-”

“Oh, no! Jungkook,” you blush stupidly at using his name, “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll just circle back to Yeonjun’s and sleep it off.” The thought makes your stomach churn, the idea of trying to fall asleep in the exact room your almost relationship fell to pieces. Surely the carpet couldn’t be too uncomfortable-

“No, please, I’m offering. You look tired, and if you fought...well, I know how awkward it can be in the morning. Come on.” He walks away before you can protest and some other worldly sense makes you follow him. You never expected to be in this position, but you also never thought that Yeonjun would disappoint you so much. Inside of the partially padded studio is a surprisingly large sofa with a charming patchwork blanket draped over the back. Jungkook stands awkwardly next to his desk and picks at his fingernails as you sit down. You sink in to the couch and instantly feel more comfortable than you have in days, the soft scent of lavender and the warm yellow lights bring you as close to relaxation as you can get. 

“I saw him with another girl.” You lose your filter again and Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “He says it wasn’t a date, but he also won’t tell me who she was, and the rest of them all thought he was with me so he’s obviously lying. We aren’t technically dating, so can I even be mad? He’s lying no matter what, and he didn’t even tell me he would be out all day or text me during it. But I also still have three more days to stick out here.” A few hot tears are slipping down your face and you can’t help but feel insecure about them. 

Jungkook says nothing of the tears but chews thoughtfully on his thumbnail. He leans his hip against his desk, intimidating and sharp yet soft and handsome and sweet for letting you stay here and spill your anger into his studio. His socked foot taps on the floor in a rhythm unknown to you, and you can’t help but wonder how many people would kill to be in your exact spot. You notice a day-by-day calendar that’s quite a few days behind on his desk, and it makes you smile until he’s moving, lowering himself to the floor just a few inches away from your feet. 

His fists clench- subtle enough that you wouldn’t even notice if the room didn’t feel so charged- and as he looks up at you, you see that a look somewhere between anger and pity paints his face. It’s embarrassing to sit here like this, so clearly under his scrutiny with nothing but your pajamas to cover you. 

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook finally speaks again and shakes his head so much that a few ebony pieces of hair slip into his eyes in a near-perfect arc. You shrug. “Really, Y/N. I’m sorry. That’s an asshole move, no matter who the other girl is. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, and after all the trouble you put in to come out here and see him-he’s lucky we don’t cross paths often.” He sighs and suddenly he’s sitting next to you on the couch, the weight and heat of his body making the situation that much more real and that much more odd. You must still have unshed tears lining your eyes when you find the courage to look up at him because he frowns. “Please, don’t cry! It’s the first time I’ve ever had a girl in here, and well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if she spends the whole time crying.” 

A shit eating grin sprouts on his face as soon as he sees your lips upturn with laughter. It’s hard not to be grateful for the joke, so you laugh and thank him for trying to make you feel better. 

“And thanks again, for the place to sleep. Or, try.” You have a feeling that sleep will evade you all night, no matter how cozy the room makes you. 

“If you don’t think you’re going to sleep-” Jungkook stands suddenly and rushes over to his desk. When he gets there, he turns his wide desktop computer until it faces the couch and logs in. “Then at least watch some movies! Here,” he puts a wireless keyboard in your lap- “whatever you wanna watch, I have it all.” You hesitate for just a moment and then type in the title of one of your favorite films with seconds to spare before Jungkook throws the patchwork blanket over both of your laps. He sinks back into the couch and you follow his lead, careful to keep a good few inches of space between the two of you because holy shit, you’re sitting next to Jungkook, and holy shit he’s watching a movie with you, and holy shit he just saw you cry and he looks so handsome from the side. 

You pay more attention to Jungkook than you do the movie. It’s funny to watch someone who feels so extraordinary do something as normal as watching a movie and realize that he really is human. And the way he crinkles his nose and widens his doe-eyes makes your heart stutter with attraction and then guilt at the thought of Yeonjun, who still makes your palms sweat and your heart shake with anticipation of his touch despite your argument. 

But here’s Jungkook, being kind and open and raw and willing to stay up with you on this random sleepless night although you only met by chance mere hours ago. And his kind eyes widen and narrow and crinkle when he laughs at the movie, and he offers you a second blanket and a throw pillow when your eyes get too heavy for you to focus, and you don’t think that you’re imagining things as you feel gentle fingers comb through your hair. 

----

Your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you wake up, confusion soaks your senses as you piece together where you are and how you got there and who’s lap your head is laying in. As if he could read your thoughts, Jungkook lets out a long and loud groan from above you. Clearly he had fallen asleep where he is now, head lolled against the back of the couch and a throw pillow folded between his arms. 

“Good morning.” He drawls, voice still deep and thick from slumber. Out of all the things you never thought you would do, waking up to Jungkook is near to the top. 

“M-morning.” You manage to call back as you run your hands over your face, hoping to absolve yourself of any evidence of shock. Jungkook’s studio is just as welcoming as it had been to you last night, but now a deep sense of guilt creeps through you. Yeonjun might have woken up by now, maybe he was ready to talk and try to make things better, maybe he’s been calling and texting you and you haven’t seen any of it. Your phone is nowhere to be found as you dig around in the blanket, a noise of distress clawing up the back of your throat. Heart pounding, you put a hand underneath the couch and slide it back and forth until your fingers graze over the cold, hard mass that must be your phone. As soon as it’s in your grasp you can see that the time is just a few minutes past 8am, and that you indeed do have a few texts waiting from Yeonjun. 

“Oh, Jungkook, thank you again for-y-you know, but I have to go, do you mind showing me which way to go?” Poor sense of direction had landed you here to begin with, and you wouldn’t let it make this problem any bigger again. Thankfully he doesn’t protest; just waits by the door as you straighten out your pajamas. Out in the hallway, the lights are bright and imposing and you recognize a headache from the late night is starting to creep up behind your eyes. No one really seems to be around to see the two of you, and you are nothing short of grateful for that when Jungkook makes a quick stop and you barrel into his back, face burning with embarrassment. He laughs as you sputter apologizes and wave for him to keep leading the way, but he insists on stopping and turning to face you. His face is puffy with sleep, eyes still scrunching against the lights, but they’re still clear and gentle and it’s hard to miss the teasing twitch of his full lips in such close proximity.

A wave of admiration crashes through you, followed quickly by a sickening feeling of guilt. Yeonjun was probably waiting for you to come talk things out, and here you were drooling over a different boy. “I’m okay, lets keep going.” Urging him on with a gentle push to his muscled back is the most you can do since you still don’t notice anything distinctive to lead you back to the correct dorm. Just a few more steps down the hallway and you can hear voices, overlapping shouts,  and one voice you would recognize anywhere coming from the way you were about to turn. Before you even had time to open your mouth to voice your concern to Jungkook, Yeonjun is stomping down the hallway, a panicked looking Taehyun in tow. 

His face is draw, sharp features heightened by either confusion or anger- it’s hard to tell- as he realizes who’s standing in front of him. The two boys are fairly evenly matched in height but Yeonjun still squares up, lifting his shoulders higher and craning his neck. You know he knows you’re there; you shared a moment of eye contact in the seconds before he leveled a glare at Jungkook. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Yeonjun spits, anger shaking the fists at his sides. Jungkook is shocked, you can tell even from behind him, the way he recoils just slightly and scoffs as if he can’t believe his ears. 

“Look, this doesn’t need to be a fight. I was just helping Y/N get back to your dorm.” You’re amazed at how well he controls his anger, especially after seeing the anger he held back against Yeonjun the night before. You take this as a queue to step out from behind Jungkook’s frame, allowing Yeonjun a better look at you. 

“Oh, before or after she spent the night in your studio? Just couldn’t resist giving her a place to stay. Someone to sleep with?” Anger flares in your stomach, lighting a fire underneath your skin. 

“What the fuck, Yeonjun? Do you really think that I would-”

“Sleep with him? Of course. Why wouldn’t you? Look at the state of you two, don’t tell me you didn’t fuck.” There was simply no believing what was coming out of his mouth, and his words only made you wish that you had acted on the feelings you felt brewing last night. 

“What if I did? You certainly don’t want me! I’m sorry I went looking for companionship somewhere else!” It’s much too quiet in the hallway after that, the only evidence that the world hadn’t stopped turning is Jungkook’s hand that comes up to rest on your shoulder. 

“So you did.” Yeonjun rubs his chin, taking a step backwards in what you assume is disbelief. Tears creep into the corners of your eyes, stubbornly burning and forcing you to blink until your vision is blurry. Jungkook says something you don’t quite catch through the static buzzing in your ears. You feel exhausted, weak at the knees with disbelief at just how awful this interaction was going; so lost that it takes Jungkook shaking your shoulder to bring you back to reality. 

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this here. Yeonjun, let’s go, please.” You beg, walking toward him before he even responds. The idea of being caught in this odd trifecta made you sweat. Jungkook protests but you wave him off quickly, assuring that there was nothing else he could do. As upset as Yeonjun was, you knew that he would calm down substantially once the older boy was gone. 

The walk to the dorm is thankfully short, and Taehyun tries his best at making small talk while Yeonjun trails behind like a petulant child. As soon as you cross into the dorm you feel awkward and hot all over like everyone is watching you even though Taehyun is already disappearing into his room and locking the door while Yeonjun breezes right past you. 

“I’m not playing the silent game.” You follow Yeonjun into the kitchen where he has his head buried in the fridge, making a point to rattle every bottle and package inside of it. 

“Alright, fine. Then you get to tell me the truth.” His voice is softer now, much less elevated and harsh than it was just minutes before. “Did you spend the night with him?” It rattles your bones to hear the edge of hurt in his voice. 

“I was wandering around the building in the middle of the night, and he was too- so I told him what was going on and he offered for me to stay in his studio, on the couch. And I said yes-” Yeonjun’s face crumples. “We watched a movie and I fell asleep.” 

“Why didn’t you just come back? I texted you, Y/N. We literally just argued about communication and the first thing you do is run to a different guy? If I’m not good enough for you, just admit it.” 

“I could say the same exact thing to you. Why am I here? Should I just book a flight home tonight and call it quits? Do you even want to try this?” Yeonjun cracks open a bottle of water and drinks half in one go, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “And I did nothing with Jungkook. Because I respect you, and whatever the fuck this-” You gesture between the two of you, feet apart, “is. Or was.” 

“Don’t say that.” Yeonjun’s voice cracks, reminiscent of the way he used to sound on the phone when he called you at the end of the day. “I- I don’t want to hear you say that. Please.” A tremor of hurt shakes your bones, creates an unpleasant lump in your throat that you try and fail to swallow. Yeonjun appears to you now as similar as he did in your teenage years; uncertain and small and his wide, glassy eyes latching on to you like a lifeline. And you can’t help but remember how you used to be too; devoted to him and naïve about where life was going to take you. 

“I don’t want to say it either, Yeonjun. I hate saying it. But we aren’t the same people we were all those years ago. We’re in two different lives, and as much as I want to be able to fit into yours...it’s never going to happen.” Your body weight feels suddenly too much, like you’re being filled with lead and sunk to the bottom of the ocean to be forgotten. Yeonjun finally closes your perpetual gap in a slow gait that seemed like it would last forever. His eyes are red, puffy, rimmed with unshed tears. Dark circles ring his eyes and you know they’re because he probably didn’t sleep last night either. His lips are chapped and dry, pouting in an incurable sadness. Your fingers itch to cup his jaw and litter him with kisses until he finally grins. 

“Are you saying you don’t love me?” If any other noise had happened at the same time he spoke, you wouldn’t have heard the question. A stake strikes through your heart at the words, scarring your soul for years to come. 

“No, Junnie. I love you so much.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you gasp out a sob, “I just don’t think we’re going to work this time around. We’re both too busy, and on different tracks, and I think we just have to be more r-realistic.” You have to close your eyes, unable to watch the way tears begin to cascade down his own face. “I’m sorry.” You stand alone, still and cold and clamping your eyes shut so hard that they hurt. 

Yeonjun’s body molds around your form, tight and warm and shuddering slightly from his own tears. He smells like laundry detergent and musk and you shake with regret as his arms wind around your back and hold you as close to his frame as you think is humanly possible. Your tears soak his crewneck as the fabric scratches your skin. His heart beat is erratic, but you know yours isn’t fairing any better, and you can’t help but curse the universe for bringing you all this way with him just to shoot you back down. 

“I’m sorry too. For not being enough.” His words rumble into your hair and you can’t even find the energy to refute them and instead just shake your head. Your head spins in wild circle as Yeonjun finally stops shaking underneath you in favor of cupping your face in tender hands, forcing you to open your eyes. His look felt more intimate than anything else you had shared before; a pure and expressive opening into his most vulnerable form and the knowledge that you were the reason he was feeling it. 

“I think I should try to catch an earlier flight home.” You aren’t quite sure exactly why you say it, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem surprised at the notion. After all, there would be nothing to stick around for. He still had to work and you had no relationship left to hang on to. You hadn’t even gotten around to unpacking your suitcase. Yeonjun nods sadly, wiping at a few more tears before clearing his throat. His voice is thick, the evidence of his emotion loud and clear and your heart breaks at the thought of truly walking away from him. 

“I’ll miss you, Y/N.” There’s no telling if he would ever contact you after this, or if you would contact him. Maybe the two of you will live with odd shadows of one another in the back of your heads for the rest of your lives- a teenage romance rekindled years later only to explode and crackle and eventually fade into the dark.

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 5 (Elriel)

Elain's part of the Damnation series.

Last part! I know I said this would be 6/7 parts, but I realized I have no idea what the fuck I had planned to write in those parts, so it's 5 instead hahah. didn't edit the ending whoops

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

__________________________________________

~Elain~

It's three in the morning when I hear it.

We're laying in bed, and even though I should asleep like the man next to me, I can't stop thinking about how little time we have left.

How has the past month gone by so fast?

It feels like yesterday I was standing on my stoop, watching Azriel open up and tell me things he's since admitted he's never told another person.

It feels like yesterday since I decided that I care for him more than I care about what he does.

But it wasn't yesterday; it was a month ago.

A month that's been filled with dinner dates, soft smiles, laughter, and enough tender moments my heart feels full. He's a

The plane ticket hidden in the bottom of my purse is a constant reminder that this is just a summer fling, that it isn't supposed to mean anything. Two weeks from now, I'm supposed to get on that flight and never look back.

Except it feels impossible.

It broke my heart when I walked away from him a month ago, and that was before he told me the details of his life.

Now I know him.

I know about the way he smiles in the morning and how he shakes his head when he laughs, like he can't believe he's doing so. I've learned how ticklish his ribs are, how he likes his coffee, his favorite type of cigarettes.

I know about his family, how his mother died giving birth to him and his father resented him from the day it happened. I know about the first man he killed, how it made him sick. I know what his tattoos really mean.

And what I never could've expected is that everything I've learned, the good and the bad, have tied me to him in a way that feels permanent.

How am I supposed to just walk away from that?

The thought of never seeing his smile, never feeling his rough hands cup my face with a gentleness he doesn't show the world... it feels like missing a part of me.

And it worries me enough I haven't been able to sleep for the past two nights. Like I'm incapable of wasting a minute, I spend the nights watching him sleep.

Which is why I'm perfectly awake when he pulls me close in his sleep and whispers two words that ruin me.

Ti amo.

Tears well in my eyes as I stay perfectly still, replaying the moment over and over.

He loves me.

It's something I knew--something we both probably knew--ever since that day in the rain, but I think we both never said it because we knew our time is limited.

It's been in every touch, every kiss, every moment where we get caught up just staring at each other.

But I want to tell him, I have to tell him, because however good it makes me feel to hear that from him... I know he needs it more.

He's never been loved--never been anyone's first choice, but he's mine, and I want him to know. And I don't want to be just one more person that leaves him and makes him wondering if he'll ever be enough.

So I start to plan.

~A week later, Azriel~

Well, the worst has happened.

I love the fucking woman.

Now my biggest weakness now walks outside my body, with soft brown eyes and dirty blonde hair and bright smiles that light up the world.

And she's leaving in a week.

It scares the shit out of me.

She scares the shit out of me.

Honestly, I hadn't even realized I was in so deep until she said the words "We're done."

All I remember about that day is feeling I'd been stabbed in the chest and looking down to find the blade but not seeing anything but my own hands.

One moment I was convinced I was dying, the next I was in front of her on her stoop, telling her shit I've never told a living soul.

It wasn't then that I realized I love her, but that was when I realized something maybe even more important. I trust her.

Rule 3's been thrown out the window, and I don't even remember when it happened. Was it when she told me I'm not a monster? Or the first time I noticed the way her lips turn up every time I tell her she's beautiful?

Or maybe it was the first time I laid eyes on her as she stumbled into that opera booth, looking like everything I never knew I wanted.

Either way, I'm about a mile up shit's creek with no fucking paddle.

I trust her, love her, and I've only known her ten weeks. Which reminds me, she's leaving.

Which is irritating, because while the mere thought of watching her leave makes me want to level a building, she's currently acting like nothing's wrong.

She's in the bathroom, putting on red lipstick in a slow, taunting way that makes me want to mess it up. I'm sitting in the chair next to my bed, trying to stay calm.

She's watching me watch her in the mirror, and her eyes meet mine for a split second before she looks away, making me suspicious.

That look... I've seen that look before, more times than I can count.

But never from her.

It's a secret.

She looks like she's hiding something.

"Something you need to tell me?" I ask, putting a hand behind my head to prop it up.

Nodding, she comes to stand at the foot of the bed. "Yep."

I raise a brow. "What is it?"

"I'll tell you tonight if you meet me for dinner."

Suspicion and curiosity make me ask, "Where?"

"La Rosa," she responds casually, making me narrow my eyes. It's outside of the city a bit, a small place on the coast I've never had an interest in owning or visiting.

"I've never been there."

"New experiences are good for the soul," she quips, sliding on her sandals. "Just say you'll meet me."

There's a hint of nerves in her voice, so I say, "Of course, dolce mia."

She smiles, victorious. Then she's bounding over, taking my face between her palms, and pressing her mouth to mine.

Before I can ask what she's up to, she's out the door, calling over her shoulder, "Seven o'clock! I'll meet you there."

I get up and slide my jacket on, slipping my hand in the pocket and toying with the piece of metal I've been carrying around for a month.

Sighing, I take it out and throw it on the counter, knowing that if this life has taught me one thing, it's that it won't make a difference.

~

When seven o'clock rolls around, I'm seated at a table, frowning at my surroundings.

I've definitely never been here.

No man has, I'm willing to bet. At least not on his own volition.

There are flowers everywhere. Spilling out of vases, growing on the vines surrounding the open windows, lining the doors that are open to the patio out back.

Besides that, I guess the place isn't too bad, actually. The lights are soft, the weather's nice, and by the smells coming from tables around me, the food will be good.

Elain's running a few minutes late, but she called and told me to go ahead and order.

Apparently, she's come here before, because she told me what to order her. Odd.

A few minutes after I relay the information to the waitress, I spot her coming in the front door and wave her over.

She's a little flushed, her eyes are bright, and the smile on her face gives no doubt she's excited.

I stand up when she reaches me, kiss her, then ask, "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she says too quickly. "Did you order?"

"Yeah. Have you been here before or something?"

She nods, diverting her eyes down and to the right in the classic tell of a lie.

I sigh, frustration getting the better of me. "Elain, what are you hiding from me?"

Before she can answer, the food comes. Two plates of pasta are set in front of us, and I know instantly I was right about the food being good.

But no matter how good it looks, there's only one thing on my mind.

"Elain."

She waves a hand. "Just eat, Azriel. I promise I'll tell you in like five minutes."

"Why not just tell me now?"

"It's more dramatic this way," she explains, making me sigh again.

Women.

She's going to give me a fucking heart attack with her drama.

A little aggressively, I stab the fork in the pasta, taking a huge bite.

I feel her eyes on me, watching me eat, but I act like I don't notice, mentally counting down the seconds until five minutes is up.

I'm at 263 when she asks, "Do you like it?"

"What?"

Rolling her eyes, she gestures to the plate in front of me. "Do you like it?"

"It's good," I reply honestly, a little surprised. I've lived here long enough to know the best places to eat, and I've never heard more than a decent review about this place.

"I'm glad," she says, full lips tilting up. "Since I made it."

I don't get it. Did she bring it with her? Is that why she was late?

Also, why did we come to a restaurant if she was going to cook?

"What? Why?"

She tilts her head, smile growing.

Right as my still-counting subconscious gets to five minutes, she explains, "Because I work here."

~Elain~

He stares at me, bite of pasta halfway between his mouth and the plate.

I've been almost bursting at the seems the past four days trying to keep the secret.

I mean, given what the man does for a living, I didn't think I'd make it more than an hour. And while he's definitely been suspicious, I made it.

"What?" he finally asks, dark brows furrowing as he leans in.

"I have a lot to say," I tell him. "So don't interrupt me."

His eyes narrow like they always do when I tell him what to do, but I ignore it and start listing off the different secrets I've been keeping.

I start with the most important.

"First, I love you."

The fork clangs against the plate as he drops it.

I smile, biting my lip and trying not to cry at the look on his face.

"I think I have since that first night when we danced in the bar. Or maybe when you took me to the beach. I don't know." Taking a deep breath, I say, "I tried to stop, when I found out... everything. But it was useless, because I was as in love with you then as I am now."

He shakes his head, almost like he's panicked, but I keep going.

"I love you, Azriel. I want to be with you more than I've ever wanted anything. And I can't bear the thought of leaving you. I don't want to."

Gesturing around us, I say, "I got a job here, and my landlord said she can draw up a lease. And before you say anything, I'm not giving anything up. The past months have felt like paradise, and I love it here. I liked my job in New York, but it wasn't anything I'll miss."

His eyes are so wide, it'd be a little funny if I wasn't so serious.

I take a sip of wine and try to puta brave face on. A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to say, "But we never talked about anything long term, so if this isn't what you want... I'll go. I promise. I just wanted you to know that you're... it for me. You're everything to me. I choose you."

He shudders, closing his eyes, and I take in how tight his jaw is, how close he seems to coming unraveled.

Is he freaking out? I definitely am.

After a few moments, I realize he's still waiting on me, so I laugh and say, "You can talk now."

He doesn't.

He just opens his eyes and stares at me, the shock in his gaze clear to read.

Nerves blossom. I was so sure he'd be happy, but maybe he isn't ready. Voice turning shaky, I ask, "Is this what you want?"

Slowly, he shakes his head, but before I can panic, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, holding it out between us. "I want you to live with me, not at the townhouse."

All the nerves fly out the door, and I laugh, not quite able to believe it.

How long has he been carrying this around?

The tears finally spilling over as I take the key from him. "Okay."

He brushes my cheeks off with his thumb, looking at me like he's never seen anything more beautiful.

Azriel's quiet for a moment, and I give him time, knowing that whatever he wants to say is hard for him.

"Ti amo. Mi spaventa così tanto."

I love you. So much is scares me.

"You? Scared? I don't believe it."

I'm trying to joke and lighten the mood, but he's completely serious as he shakes his head, cupping my jaw with his hand. "You scare the shit out of me, Elain."

My heart clenches, and I fight a fresh wave of tears as I lean into his touch. "You scare me, too."

"But you're not leaving."

It's said like a hopeful promise, like something he needs to hear again and again to accept it's true.

I shake my head. "I'm not leaving," I whisper.

He finally smiles, that big smile I'm positive he only gives me, and leans over the table to kiss me softly. "Say it again."

"I love you."

He kisses me again, and I slide my hands in his hair and kiss him back, feeling like everything before now has led up to this. He's the grand finale, the one I didn't know I was waiting for.

I pull back a little, just far enough to see his reaction as I whisper, "Meet me in the bathroom."

His eyes flare and his mouth drops open, and I laugh as I get up from my seat and try to walk nonchalantly towards the back.

This hadn't been part of the plan, but I've told him I love him, and now... I want to prove it.

Plus, I don't know what it is about him, but he feeds the adventurous side of me like nothing else.

I can feel him watching me from the table as I make my way across the restaurant.

Thankfully, the place is busy tonight, so I don't think anyone notices when, as soon as I shut the bathroom door, he rises to follow me.

A moment later, he slips in with me, taking in the dim lights, closed stall, low music. He flips the lock, and it's like it snaps the thread between us, descending us into chaos.

He's on me in a second, arms wrapping around me and lifting me. My legs bracket his hips as he pushes me up against the wall and traps my hands above my head.

"Say it again," he demands breathlessly, eyes bright and full of heat.

I nip his lower lip, then kiss it softly. "I love you, Azriel."

His mouth crashes into mine, unrestrained and demanding and deep enough I lose myself in him.

My hands are in his hair, his are pushing up the hem of my dress.

There's a brief moment of adjusting, and then he's easing into me. His eyes are on me, his lips are parted, and as I tighten around him, he makes a deep rumbling sound. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

"You're mine," I tell him, tilting my hips to take him deeper. "And I'm yours."

He shudders, eyes going black. "You're mine."

His hips claim mine, then, pulling out and thrusting back in, moving me up the wall. I tighten my fingers in his hair as he hits a spot deep inside me, and he groans.

Moving his hands to my hips, he brings me down as he thrusts up, and I moan, then slap a hand over my mouth.

I work here, for God's sake.

"This is not very professional," I mutter, smiling when his lips twitch.

"No," he agrees, thrusting into me harder. "And it's definitely inappropriate."

I clamp my lips together, pressing my hand to my mouth again to stifle the involuntary whimper I let out.

Azriel grins, tugging on my earlobe with his teeth and whispering, "You might need to go to confessional again."

Rolling my eyes, I move my hands to his shoulders, then lean in to lick up the column of his neck. "Between the two of us, I'd say you're more likely to end up on your knees tonight."

He laughs, tugging my head back to kiss me again. His tongue meets mine in a wet, deep slide that makes me shiver. His hips brush mine. His hands hold me just right, keeping me against him.

Pulling back, he brushes his lips over mine and whispers, "I love you."

The easy, conversational pace is abandoned, and we're moving harder against each other, the only sounds our labored breathing and muffled moans.

He brings a hand to cover my mouth, and I cover his with mine, and we're in tandem, both of us lost in the other.

He comes when I do, driving deeply into me and stilling, his head buried in my neck.

We spend a while like that, and when I eventually slide down the wall, we take our time adjusting our clothes. He keeps stopping me to kiss my shoulder or brow, and I waste too much time just looking at him.

When we're both ready, he extends a hand and grins. "Let's go home."

I smile, unable to help it. "Let's go home."

_____________________________________________

Thank you for reading! This is the last part, although I might do an epilogue one day (don't hold your breath lol).

Send me asks if you have em :)

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[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone

Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 3.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.

It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.

While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.

Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.

His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.

The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.

The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.

“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”

Are you serious, y/n?

He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.

The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”

Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.

“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”

It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?

“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.

“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”

He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.

The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?

Probably.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”

“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”

She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.

“Bucky it is then.”

He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.

The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.

“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”

His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”

“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.

Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.

She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.

The queen of death.

She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.

“Are you hungry?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.

It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.

“You want extra cheese?”

She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”

It’s all in her head.

She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!

“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.

“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.

Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.

“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.

It’s all in her damn head.

The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.

“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.

“Where I’m from it is.”

There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.

But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”

The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.

“SoCal.”

Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.

She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”

She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”

He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.

“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”

She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.

“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”

“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.

It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.

She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”

He only grunts.

She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.

The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.

After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.

“You were right about the bacon.”

Maybe three days won’t be so bad.

____________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license​

[cal-kestis]

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl​ [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.  

“Where are you?” He screams.  

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated —  the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Eleven ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4471

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Hello hello, happy Easter! Tomorrow (Monday) is a little bit hectic for me so I’m getting this one out tonight (Sunday) instead. Thanks for reading :)

After a quick breakfast with Haldir and Glorfindel, they set off and I spend the day exploring Imladris. I do not stray far from the main household, yet all that I discover does not cease to amaze me. Elrond’s home is beautiful. If it weren’t for all the horrible, sudden drop-offs, I would consider it a perfectly wonderful place to live.

I spend the first part of my day in the garden. Behind the stone of the estate is a sprawling field filled with an impossibly wide variety of flora. I pass time exploring each bush, tree, and sprout, every one somehow more beautiful than the last. A few of the more sweet-smelling blossoms make me sneeze, so after a while, I head back inside to explore Elrond’s extensive library. But when the sun begins to sink below the horizon, I know I shouldn’t put it off any longer — I have ignored him since our arrival. I need to go see Alex. We haven’t talked in private ever, really, but I feel like we need to touch base. Though we may be slightly at odds, we owe it to each other to work through it.

I remember an attendant leading him down the hallway below mine as I ascended the stairs last night, and from there, it’s not hard for me to figure out which room is his. All the other doors are open, indicating that the inhabitants are out for the day. Already in my short stay here, I realize the elves are much more trusting than humans — while private, they must rely on each other to respect that privacy, because they don’t attempt to bar others from entering their spaces by closing their doors when they are not home. One door at the very end of the hall is closed shut. It is undoubtedly Alex’s.

I knock once.

He opens the door and I try to disguise my shock at the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair. In all my memories of him, he is so put together, and this is completely at odds with the man I think I know. He ushers me in and shuts the door quickly behind me. The slam echoes through the stone room. He turns to me, wringing his hands together almost nervously. Unease grows in my stomach.

“Are you okay?”

He shakes his head violently and begins to pace the length of the small bedroom. “Of course I’m not okay. We’ve been wrenched from all that we know and dropped in this ridiculous place—” He cuts off his words and stares at the ground, shaking his head. “Look, I’ve decided that there’s no way around it. We are in some sort of other world — there’s no way this is some place back where we’re from. But if we did arrive here somehow, that means there has to be a way back. So we need to find it.”

I sit on the edge of his bed, watching him warily. I, too, have recently accepted the reality of this new world, but I hadn’t expected Alex to come around so easily — especially after our conversations on the way here. But getting home…if it’s a real possibility…”Do you think we could do that?”

His eyes snap to mine, desperation causing them to blow wide. “I think Elrond could. The people here hold him in such high esteem—I believe he’s very powerful. We need to talk to him, plead our case. If anyone could send us back, it’s probably him.” He notices my silence and turns on me with an accusatory stare. “You do want to go home, right?”

I swallow. “I…I think so. I mean, it is really dangerous here….But Elrond had a good point when I talked to him earlier. He said it’s probably just as dangerous in our homeworld.”

He groans almost animalistically. “I cannot keep having this fight with you! We don’t belong here. The dangers of our world are ours and the dangers of this world are theirs. And just because we agree that this is a different world doesn’t mean that anything’s changed. We still have people back home who miss us.”

But after my conversation with Haldir, I’m not so sure that’s the case. Yes, there are probably people who miss us in the usual sense, but the crushing grief that must come from being separated from someone you really, truly care for…I’m not sure I have that. I think I would know if I did.

I try to redirect the subject, not wanting to get into it with Alex. “How do you think it would work? Getting home. Do you think we would get our memories back?”

He stops pacing, excitement entering his eyes now that I’m seemingly more agreeable to his position. “Yeah, I think we would. Now, does that mean we would lose the memories we’ve made here? Maybe. Probably. Again, I think Elrond has the answers.”

I let my eyes fall to my fingers. The thought of forgetting…of basically erasing my time here, the friendships I’ve made…it makes me feel horribly sad. I drop my head into my hands. Oh, I just don’t know what to do!

“Let’s go talk to Elrond,” Alex urges. “See what he has to say.”

“Okay,” I agree, trudging to the door. At the very least, it will provide a distraction from the grief that has hit me so unexpectedly. “He’s probably in his study—follow me.”

I lead Alex along the same route I took this morning. Only, then, Haldir was at my side. I feel a pang of loneliness. Huh. After two weeks in constant company, I guess it is a little strange to be separated from him and the others.

As this morning, Elrond is in his study, surrounded by books and stacks of parchment. Stress tugs at the edges of his eyes but when he raises his head to greet us, it fades into a look of knowing. He was expecting us.

“Ah,” he stands, beckoning for us to enter. “I was wondering when I would be seeing you. Please, come in. I believe we have much to discuss.”

Alex strides forward, a stubborn set to his shoulders. He wastes no time. “How do we get back home?”

Elrond raises a thoughtful eyebrow, leading us to an auxiliary room with plushy chairs and couches. I sit on an unoccupied cushion. “What makes you so sure you can?”

Alex huffs. “If we got here, we can get back. Somehow, there’s a link between the worlds. We just need to find it and use it to get home.”

Elrond nods, appraising my friend. Unexpectedly, he turns his head to me. “And you, Cosima? Do you think there is a way home?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I close it, looking at the ground to buy myself some time. What are the possibilities? What are the chances? … And what am I hoping for? “I…I think Alex is probably right. Doors open both ways, right? If it opened to send us here, it can open to send us back. But we don’t know how easy it is to open that door.”

A sparkle enters Elrond’s eye. “Humans often do not get enough credit for their intelligence, nor their tenacity. Yes, I agree that there should be a way for the two of you to return to your homeworld. Power in Arda is changing. Forces of evil grow and the wisdom of the elves must adapt to overcome it. There is a finite amount of power in this world, and with it being pulled in so many different directions, it is possible it has grown thin in its blanket over our universe. The two of you could have fallen between the cracks.”

I look at the wall, not able to withstand Elrond’s piercing gaze or Alex’s frenzied one. If there is a real possibility of going home…isn’t it my duty to try?

Something in Elrond’s words catches my attention. “If the dispersion of that finite amount of power is constantly changing…is it possible that the ‘crack’ that let us in has already closed? Or moved somewhere else? If we tried to go back, isn’t there a chance we would end up in some other world?”

Elrond’s mouth sets into a grave line. “Precisely. There is a great deal of risk involved in your endeavor to return to your world.”

“But you can help us?” Alex speaks in a rough, desperate voice.

Elrond shakes his head, expression regretful. “I have power, yes, but not in the way you seek. If someone were able to help you—and bear in mind, it is a strong ‘if’—it would be Lady Galadriel. I believe you have heard of her through your companions?”

Alex grits his teeth, standing and beginning to pace a furious line. “Are you positive there is nothing you can do? It took two weeks to get here and that wasn’t even the whole journey. We do not have time to wait for them to decide to return to Lothlórien and then make the trip there. That could set us back months.”

“With regret, I am unable to help. My skill lies in healing and languages—academia, really. My power cannot compare to that of the Lady. I am sorry.”

I hate myself a little for it, but I feel relieved. The choice is taken from me. For the time being, all I can do is wait. Lady Galadriel might be able to help us, yes, but it will be at least two months before I have to make the choice to attempt to return home or not.

Alex evidently doesn’t feel the same way, and I don’t like the way he’s glaring at Elrond. I try to smooth things over. “Thank you for speaking with us and trying to help. We’ll let you get back to your work.” I stand, bowing my head in farewell as I’ve seen the elves here do. Alex makes no move to follow me. I prompt him with his name. He keeps his jaw tightly clenched but does incline his head towards Elrond before stalking from the room.

I have to jog to catch up. “Alex—“

“Entertain yourself, Cosima. I want to be alone.”

I take a step back. It’s not his words that stun me, it’s the grief in them. He sounds like he’s being torn apart.

Whereas I feel relief and, if I’m being honest with myself, no small amount of happiness.

I think I’m a bad person.

But I can do one good thing, and that’s grant Alex his wish to handle his feelings in private. I step forward, give him a quick, awkward hug, and let him walk away.

{***}

After lunchtime, there’s a knock on my door. I open it to the grinning faces of Rumil, Orophin, and Lavandil.

Laughing at their enthusiasm, I wave them in, grateful for the seating area in my bedroom — it makes hosting quite convenient.

Rumil whistles lowly, taking a look around. “Look at how they’ve set you up! I’ve got to share with Haldir which is just as terrible as it sounds. He says I snore! I do not snore.” He looks so offended, I don’t have the heart to tell him that he occasionally does.

Lavandil runs her hand over one of the gossamer curtains, eyeing the view. “I love these falls. You don’t seem them as well back where I grew up—that’s partly why I moved to the main city. They’re wonderful, no?”

Even though I’m not a fan of their height, I can definitely agree to their splendor. “Oh, absolutely. After days of the plains and rocks, it’s so nice to have a change of scenery.”

Rumil pours himself a glass of water and reclines on the chaise. “So, where have you been off to today? Baranor and I came looking for you this morning but you weren’t here.”

I blink. I figured Rumil would know, given he shares a room with the brother who collected me. “Haldir took me this morning to see Elrond about my arm. See?” I hold it up to present the thin, raised scar. “All healed. It’s miraculous, really, how it healed within minutes. And then Glorfindel, Haldir, and I had breakfast in the kitchens because I guess we missed the main meal, and then the two of them took off for the borders. I explored for a bit and then—” I falter. Should I tell them about my meeting with Alex and Elrond? Silly, I admonish myself. You didn’t do anything wrong. Still, it feels strange to admit to them that I had been seeking a way home—a way to leave them, essentially. But there’s no good reason to keep it hidden, so I brush aside my hesitation. “I talked to Alex, and then he and I went to visit Elrond.”

“About your home,” Orophin guesses, gravity in his voice.

“Yes,” I admit.

Rumil gapes, evidently caught off-guard, and I shoot him an apologetic look. Yeah, that hurts.

“We wanted to know if getting home is even a possibility. And, well, jury’s still out. But Elrond thinks if someone can help us, it will be Lady Galadriel. So…” I shrug.

A twinkle enters Rumil’s eye and he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So you’re returning to Lothlórien with us?” All traces of hurt have disappeared from his features.

I can’t help but grin at his excitement. “Yes—if you’ll have us.”

“Of course we will!” He beams, sitting back into the chaise with a new air of relaxation. “I mean, Haldir has the final say of course, but he’ll say yes. He might not like Alex, but he has grown quite fond of you.”

Each ellyn suddenly seems very interested in scrutinizing my face. I feel my cheeks heat under the weight of their stares and try to disguise it by standing and filling a glass of water. “I’ve grown fond of all of you, too.”

Rumil presses further. “Yes, but if you had to pick one—someone you’re the most fond of—who would that be?”

Orophin chuckles and Lavandil bites her lower lip, looking up at me with interest. I take a sip of the water, trying to buy myself time. This feels like a trap. I get around it as best I can. “Roch, of course. I miss him already.”

This sends them into fits of laughter and evidently puts their curiosity to rest — for the time being. I return to my seat, lounging along with them. When the sky begins to darken, Orophin requests dinner to be brought to us and we talk into the late hours of the night enjoying good food and even better company. And, though I am sure to feel guilty about it later, I do not miss Alex or my home at all.

{***}

Despite my full belly and long day, sleep eludes me. Part of that is my fault—I hold myself back from drifting off, not wanting to have another nightmare. When it must be at least midnight, I give up tossing and turning and change back into my day clothes. I didn’t spend near enough time wandering the garden or the library — perhaps I can tire myself with some exploring. As silently as possible, I push open the creaking door and step into the hallway.

It’s surprisingly bright — I’ve caught the moon when it’s high in the sky, and tonight it is full and robust in its shine. Light dances atop the ever-flowing water, creating a sparkling effect that leaves me breathless. Once again, I find myself glad that I have more time here. Though part of me feels like I should want to return home, another part of me isn’t near ready to leave. There’s so much more to see and learn and…well, I’m not ready to give up my new friends.

I go slowly down the open-air corridor, trying to keep my noise to a minimum. The household is asleep, for the most part. I see the odd attendant bustling around finishing duties, but the night is quiet and peaceful. It’s too beautiful to pass time away inside, so I elect to go back to the gardens and just avoid the blossoms that sent me into a sneezing fit earlier today.

The gardens are at the back of the estate and I do my best to remember the path I took this morning. With so many pavilions and archways and hallways and staircases, it’s easy to get lost. But all hallways—sooner or later—lead outside. So, after minutes of unsuccessfully trying to retrace my path, I choose a hallway at random, deciding to follow it to its end.

Further down, warm light flickers and ebbs—candlelight. As I get closer, I catch a voice I know well. He speaks in hurried, hushed tones in the Elvish language—arguing, maybe? Or just having a rushed discussion? A vaguely familiar voice responds in the same manor. Abruptly, the sounds cut off.

I take a few steps forward, the two figures becoming visible in the limited light.

“Haldir?” Squinting, I realize why I sort-of recognized the other voice—it belongs to Glorfindel. The two turn to me, each dipping their head in welcome.

Glorfindel looks perplexed. “Hello, Cosima. Do humans not require much sleep?”

I laugh guiltily. “No, they do — probably more than elves if we’re basing it on my traveling companions. I just couldn’t sleep so I was trying to find the gardens.”

Haldir steps out of the doorway and turns to Glorfindel. “Ah, I should be letting you get to bed, mellon.” He gives a nod of farewell to his elven friend. “We will continue our discussion tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes.” Glorfindel waves off Haldir’s stern look and moves to shut his door. “Goodnight.”

Haldir and I are alone in the hallway.

He clears his throat. “Would you like company?”

I smile, gesturing in the direction of what I hope is the outdoors. “Sure. You’re not tired after being gone all day?”

He shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back as he walks. “Tired, yes. Though my mind is not yet ready for sleep.”

“Was it a long day, then?”

Haldir sighs, and the sound is so weighed down with exhaustion and sadness that I nearly stop and insist we both go to bed. Sleep might make him feel better. But he is an adult and so am I, and neither of us really wants to sleep. So I say nothing and wait for him to explain.

“Much of Elrond’s border patrol is young. I worry they are unprepared for the increase in attacks. The conversation you heard—Glorfindel and I were disagreeing. I think it is worth advising Elrond to send his more experienced fighters to the borders and allow the newer ones to use this time to train. Glorfindel thinks calling the entire army is an overreaction and that I am overstepping my bounds. And he is right. I am captain of the Lady’s guard, not Lord Elrond’s. Still, I cannot help but believe it is worth interfering in this way — I think it could save lives, help Imladris be more prepared.” He looks at the ground, shaking his head. “I am sorry. I don’t need to be bothering you with this.”

“No, it’s alright.” I chuckle ruefully. “You’ve seen me cry so many times, you’ve earned the right to talk about whatever you want.”

He smiles and gives me a side-eye. “I’ll admit, while your tears used to perplex me, I think I am more accustomed to them by now.”

I roll my eyes and make a conscious effort not to be offended. “Great.”

He gives me an apologetic look, but mirth dances in his eyes. I turn the conversation back on him. “So what are you going to do?”

He sighs slowly, turning the corner into an adjacent hallway. “I will continue discussing it with Glorfindel tomorrow — it would be ideal to have him on my side. But if not, I plan to go to Elrond. I’d rather cause offense than withhold strategies that could save lives.”

I nod, agreeing. “Hopefully Glorfindel will see your side, and if he doesn’t, at least Elrond. I can’t imagine he would disagree — Elrond doesn’t seem like the type of man to choose pride over lives.”

“Ellon,” Haldir corrects gently.

I turn over my shoulder so he can see the begrudging look I give him. “Ellon.”

Haldir smiles almost smugly and we step from stone to lush grass. We’ve come out on the side of the estate — the garden is in the back. Thankfully, Haldir seems to know where to go. We curve our path left.

It’s a bit humid and I can feel my hair already reacting. I bring a hand to the back of my head, attempting to smooth the frizz. “Speaking of Elrond, Alex and I went to see him today — Did Rumil tell you?”

Haldir shakes his head but gives me a look that shows he’s not surprised — he guessed Alex and I would ask Elrond about getting home.

I continue, feeling a tad nervous. Rumil said Haldir wouldn’t object to our returning with him, and I don’t think he would…but what if he does? I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from taking it personally.

I twist the fingers of my right hand into the fabric of my dress. “Um, Elrond mentioned that if anyone can help us get home, it would be Lady Galadriel. So—if it’s alright with you, of course—I—we—would like to return home with you. To Lothlórien.” I add, perhaps unnecessarily.

Haldir stops walking and turns to me, blinking once. Dread seizes in my chest. Oh no.

But his lips twitch and I realize he’s fighting a smile. “Lothlórien would be happy to host you, and I would be honored to escort you back.”

I beam, feeling nearly giddy with relief. Haldir relaxes and a hesitant smile brightens his face. The movement causes moonlight to reflect in his eyes. It sets them alight. I can’t believe I used to think them cold towards me — they are anything but. Guarded and suspicious at times, yes, but never cold. Not now that he’s gotten to know me, anyway. Instead, they are soft, gentle. And, exactly as Rumil had said, fond.

“Thank you.”

He inclines his head in that formal way of his, and the softness never leaves his eyes. He resumes his steps, leading us around the corner and into the labyrinthine garden.

I sneeze.

And again.

And again.

Haldir sputters out a ridiculous laugh, the sound so carefree and wild that I almost don’t mind having to sneeze to hear it.

“You’re allergic,” he accuses, gesturing to the flowers to our right.

I shrug, trying to ignore the tickling in my nose. “Just to some of them. Come on, I found an area earlier that’s not so bad.”

Haldir chuckles and shakes his head but follows me through the gardens. “Why did you want to come here if it just makes you sneeze?”

“Because it’s beautiful,” I answer simply. Because sometimes, that’s enough.

I find the alcove I discovered this morning and sit on the stone bench there, scooting over to make room for Haldir. He sits next to me, stretching out his long legs. Looking up at the sky, I can see stars through the wooden, flower-filled lattice that hangs above us. I sigh, finding the sight of the  sky sobering. “Do you know how I finally realized I was in another world?”

Haldir shakes his head, waiting for me to continue.

“The stars,” I murmur. “In almost every memory I have, I’m looking at the stars. I know their patterns, how they move with the seasons, the names of each constellation. I watched them my whole life. But that night in the plains—when you came looking for me by the river—I looked up and realized that I don’t know these stars. They’re not in the right order or in the proper places. And I knew, even if I wasn’t ready to accept it, that these aren’t the stars of my world.”

Haldir tilts his head to the side, watching me in silence. He twitches as if to move and then tenses, looking uncertain. But after a moment he sets his jaw and, in one fluid motion, stands and removes his cloak, laying it on the ground. He offers me a hesitant smile as he sits—the expression so at odds with his usual confidence that I half-gape at him in disbelief. He reclines slowly, leaving room for me to do the same.

I press my lips against a smile even though I can feel that I’m losing the battle. Okay. I rise from the bench and, taking great care not to step on Haldir’s fingers, lay down next to him.

The thick fabric of his cloak mitigates the coolness of the ground and I stretch out, feeling my back resting on the firm surface of the earth. Though we slept near each other outside every night for two weeks, there were more people, then. We were farther apart. Now, we are alone and, due to the width of the cloak, there is only a sliver of space between us. If I moved my arm even slightly to the right, it would touch his.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, gentle, and rumbles deep in his chest. “I have been watching these stars for centuries. They will become familiar to you, too. You only have to spend time with them.”

So I do.

Haldir and I lay on his cloak staring at the stars for hours. We don’t say much, only periodically mentioning something about our days or asking the other if they’re comfortable or cold. The newness of our proximity never fades, and I find myself hyper-aware of the warmth on the side of my body that nearly touches his. There’s a desire in me—something new and strange—to close that space between us, to rest my head on his chest and feel his arms hold me. I fight it, attempting to focus on what’s above me instead. He doesn’t seem to be struggling like I am.

At some point, I must slip into sleep. When Haldir gently nudges my shoulder, there’s a touch of early light in the sky. He smiles softly, offers me a hand up, and walks me to my room in silence. My efforts and sleep deprivation have left me exhausted. I barely remember climbing into bed and immediately fall back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile <3 Let me know if you’d like a tag! 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart Tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[scarofthewind]

To Build A Home || Michael Myers x Reader AU

A/N: I am drained but I live. I unfortunately have been going through a rough patch as I fear that my depression is resurfacing in stronger amounts. Therefore, I apologize for any lack of writing I may do; I doubt it but I don’t know how bad it’s going to get this time. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this. Also, if anyone is going through it, I am here to help. I have found that strangers make the best shoulder to lean on sometimes. 

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Prompt: Michael never killed his family, even though they still treated him poorly. This is a continuation (years later) of the Highschool Au I did a while back. 

It had been about a year since everything had ended and you were just barely getting back to the way things used to be. You had tried everything to keep the relationship stable, even moving in together in a cute little house after your college degree was completed. But some things just aren’t meant to last. 

The first month was the hardest. You’d just found another job and finally got settled in your lonely apartment on the other side of town. It wasn’t the days that hurt, it was coming home to no one. There was no, “I’m home,” or welcoming kisses and touches. There was a vast empty space with small traces of his scent lingering on some items, but they were fading with each passing day.

The second month, you started to bond with some colleagues and would go out with them sometimes. Still, at the end of the day, you’d go back to a one person table and make yourself dinner. Not that you really could eat when you were alone, your appetite was shot. 

The third and fourth months were blurred together in a mess of forced laughter and a few one night stands. You were promoted at work, and you managed to decorate the apartment for the upcoming holidays. Everyone asked what you were going to do and you lied, “I’m going to see my family.” You didn’t have anyone. They didn’t know that. 

The fifth month was one of the worst since the beginning. You found yourself finding volunteer opportunities at food shelters during Thanksgiving and Christmas. The small tree in the corner of your living area only brought back memories and you couldn’t bear to sit there alone. You learned that you hated the quietness of apartment so for Christmas, you adopted a puppy from the shelter.

The sixth, seventh and eighth month, you found yourself able to breathe fresh air. Your dog was your best friend and it gave you a reason to come home. You’d get up and go for walks early in the morning and often see reoccurring, friendly faces at the dog park. The sun had come out and everything seemed to have turned around. 

The ninth month you dabbled in dating but to no avail. This spurred another low in your life. You would never find someone like him. You missed him. You craved him. You still loved him.  There were many nights that you found yourself waking up in panic and fear, grasping the spot next to you on the bed to find it cold.

The tenth and eleventh month were numbing. You don’t remember much from them except that it was as lonely as ever. A dog can’t hold someone and tell them that everything’s going to be okay like a person can. 

The twelfth month you healed. 

But then you saw him and your walls that you had worked so hard to rebuild, came crashing down. 

It was a simple walk in the park, early in the morning. The same route, the same sidewalk, yet he was there. You stopped, hand gripping your dog’s leash tightly at your side and your heart aching. He was sitting under a giant maple tree, reading a book and seemingly enjoying the fresh, morning air. He was cleaned up and the scruff on his face was trimmed. His hair was cut and he looked good despite still looking scary to others. The button up and slacks he was wearing made you tilt your head in confusion. 

Your dog barked up at you, almost as if asking why you stopped. That’s when he looked up and his eyes met yours. The book in his hands fell to the ground and he stared at you with the same wide eyed expression. “(Y/N).” His voice made your eyes water and you felt all the healing you worked on, disappear. 

“Hi.” You mumbled, watching as he made his way over to you, picking up the book in the process. “What are you doing here?” You asked, watching him pause and scratch the back of his neck. 

“I work in the area.” He responded, letting your dog sniff his hand before petting it. “So this is where you’ve been. All this time.” His eyes never left yours and you felt your throat tighten. 

“You didn’t run after me.” Your heart ached as the words flew out of your mouth. “I waited for you to call or write or take me away from (Friend’s name) house but you never did. So I left town and moved here to start over.”

“What was I supposed to say? I didn’t run after you because things were over. There was nothing I could’ve said at the time that would’ve changed your mind.” His eyes searched your face for any sign of forgiveness but all he found was pain. “And ‘I love you’ wouldn’t have fixed anything.” 

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt every muscle in your body tense up at those three words. “Do you know what I’ve gone through this past year without you? How my life without you has been a constant struggle trying to find a sign of hope that things would get better.” 

“(Y/N), I-”

You held up a finger and he closed his mouth, “’I love you’ would’ve fixed everything, Michael. I needed you and you weren’t there and it nearly killed me.” You cried, feeling tears fall from your eyes. “There was never a moment when I didn’t think about calling you and telling you that I still love you.” Michael’s eyes widened and his shoulders sank. 

“Why didn’t you?” He asked, taking another step forward and watching you wipe your tears away. 

“I thought I’d get over you.” You admitted, sighing and sniffling. “But I have loved you since high school. It was just as strong in college and it’s strong now. My feelings for you have never changed.” 

“We broke up because life was moving too fast and we weren’t ready to have it hit us as hard as it did.” Michael reached down and grabbed your free hand, squeezing it gently. “You said you moved out here to start over. So,” Michael took your hand and shook it gently. “I’m Michael.” 

You smiled weakly and shook back, “(Y/N).” Your heart felt warm as a small light of hope shined down on everything. You had both been so young and in love and unprepared that when things got complicated, you shut down. Taking a year separated was something that made you realize that you couldn’t cope without him near you. 

“Nice to meet you. Would you like to get coffee with me sometime this week?” He asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. With a small nod, he grinned and it made your heart flutter just as much as it did a year ago. Everything was taking a turn for the better. 

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Fifty-Three) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Talk of PTSD, hostage situation, shooting, murder, bombing, physical trauma. I’m pretty sure that’s it!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 7900

Timeline: Season 7 Episodes 24. Right after part fifty-two.

Criminal Minds Discord Server

As the sun began to set, a specialist came back in with my release form for Hotch to fill out while he talked to me about what the next steps for my recovery were. While Hotch worked on the form, we both listened to the endless number of rules I had to follow. They were giving me top notch pain killers to help with the inevitable constant pain I’d feel after the hospital’s morphine would wear off. I had to take two in the morning, two in the afternoon, and two before bed. I wasn’t allowed to take them on an empty stomach, and I wasn’t allowed to have alcohol at all— no cheating. After running us through the medication rules, the doctor handed me a piece of paper he ripped out of his notepad. I read the name, the phone number, and the address on it while he explained that it was the information of the best physical therapist in the state. He told me that if I were ever going to get better, then I needed to see him sooner than later. The longer I waited to seek out the proper help, or the longer I pushed myself without guidance, the higher the chances got of me fucking my back up forever.

“That isn’t to say that you can’t walk around at all,” the doctor backpedaled for a moment. “In fact, you should try walking around every thirty minutes or so. You can go up and down stairs, you can pace around the house, you can go on walks in the park. But no running, jumping, bending, strenuous exercises, bike riding— anything like that. The point is that you can do the bear minimum so that your back can start the healing process. If you ever start to feel the pain again, it means that you need to stop what you’re doing. You need to go lie down, put ice on your back, and relax. The ice will help with the pain and swelling.” The doctor turned to Hotch, “Your job over the next few months, Mr. Hotchner, is to make sure that they’re not pushing themself at all. If you notice that they’re trying to do something that they shouldn’t be doing, you need to stop them. Unfortunately, it’s going to feel like babysitting,” he addressed both of us, “but it’s for the best.”

Hotch’s phone started ringing. He apologized profusely while trying to dig it out of his back pocket. The doctor and I watched as Hotch stood, put the form down on his chair behind him, and hurried out of the room to take the call.

The doctor turned back to me. “Painkillers, rest, ice, walking occasionally. Got it?”

I nodded.

“That was Rossi,” Hotch explained, returning from the hallway. “Will and JJ are getting married at his place tomorrow night, apparently.”

My face brightened. I thought to myself, finally… The two of them had been together forever. I always figured that they would have gotten married before me and Hotch, but they had been holding off for some reason. Despite having Henry and being entirely devoted to one another, it took them forever to finally do it. I mean, the decision probably came with the aftershock of the day they just had, but still. This was great news—news that we needed when everything else seemed so shit.

“I want to go,” I insisted.

Hotch’s attention turned to the doctor. “What do you think?”

The doctor shrugged slightly. “I think it’s fine as long as you keep up with the medication, stay away from the champagne, and don’t attempt to do any splits on the dance floor.”

The three of us chuckled.

----

When we got home, Hotch helped me up the steps to the porch, then hurried to open the door for me. Just as we saw the living room, I caught a glimpse of Jessica and Jack on the couch, watching a movie together. I smiled. Home. I survived all that shit with The Face Cards just to come home, and I had never been more relieved in my life. As we stepped inside, I looked over at Scarlet’s bouncer to see that it was empty. She must have been asleep upstairs already.

“Mom! Dad!” Jack cheered as he pushed himself off the couch and sprinted over to us.

I crouched down as far as I could go and pulled him in for a tight hug, trying to lift him off the ground somewhat so that I could swing him around. I cringed slightly at the pain shooting down my back, but tried to hide it so that none of them could notice. Hotch was watching me like a hawk, though. My change in posture, my wincing face, and the groan that left my throat as I struggled to pick up Jack, all of that was apparent to Hotch. It wasn’t going to be easy trying to convince him that I was alright. Now I understood why he was always so annoyed with me after New York and Foyet.

“Be careful, bud,” Hotch warned. “Mom hurt their back at work today.”

Jack looked at me as I let him sit on my thigh as I stayed crouched. His index finger curled a strand of my hair loosely. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

I nodded. “I’m okay, little man. I promise. How was your day with Aunt Jessica?”

“We went on a bike ride, then we played soccer with Scarlet—”

“Did you win?” I asked.

He nodded. “Of course!”

“Good job, little man.”

“Aunt Jessica took us for ice cream.”

I squinted at her, but she was laughing and hiding behind a pillow in order to avoid my playful glare. I looked back at Jack. “What flavor did you get?”

“Chocolate fudge.”

“Of course you did.” I kissed his cheek and stood up straight as slowly as I could, reaching for Hotch’s help when I felt my back sting again. I whimpered. He stepped closer to me and kissed my temple to comfort me. “Hey, Jack, Henry’s parents are getting married tomorrow. Do you wanna go with us?”

“Do I get to play with Henry?”

“Duh.”

“Yay!” He jumped forward to hug my legs. I was going to take that as a yes, then.

“Did you guys have anything besides ice cream for dinner?” Hotch asked, but it was more directed to Jessica than Jack.

She nodded. “I took them to Olive Garden.”

Hotch ruffled Jack’s hair. “Spoiled kid.” Well, that was what he deserved, considering we got called away for work at the last second on a weekend, as usual. “Why don’t you go upstairs and start getting ready for bed, bud.” Jack released me and immediately started running for the stairs. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” He kept running, though, pretending like he didn’t hear his dad. Really spoiled kid. Hotch dug his wallet out and pulled out some money for Jessica. “I’m so sorry again for today—”

“When will the two of you get it?” She laughed while standing up, gathering her things. “It’s okay!” She walked around the couch. “I love spending time with my niece and nephew. It’s not a job. It’s a chance to help them grow up.” She took Hotch’s money, but then quickly stuck it in his back pocket before he could catch her. “No money, no apologies.” She glanced at how I was leaning on Hotch to offset the chronic pain that was fucking killing me. “You okay?”

“Rough day,” I answered.

She threw her arms around me for a gentle hug. “Call me if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Jess.”

“I’ll see you guys soon.” She parted from me and headed for the door. “No money, Aaron!” She closed the door behind herself.

“That woman’s a saint,” I told Hotch, walking with him through the house. “We don’t deserve her.”

“No, we do not.”

When Hotch and I headed upstairs, he held onto my hand, his other arm wrapped around my waist so that he could keep me steady as we carefully made our way up one step at a time. He was hovering too much. I was completely capable of making it up the freaking stairs myself, yet he wasn’t going anywhere. So, I just gave in. I let him corral me up each step and through the hallway, all the way down to our bedroom where he helped me lay down on the bed. He lifted my feet up slowly.

“Baby,” I whispered, catching his attention. He looked so worried, as if he had done something wrong or hurt me, which he hadn’t. I smirked at him. “I’m okay.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes at me before standing up straight and moving towards the closet to grab a few extra pillows for me. He slid one under my knees, two under my ankles, and he left a third next to me in case I wanted it for something else. When I was drowning in pillows, he hurried back downstairs to make sure that there was ice if I needed it. We were getting an ice machine that just needed cold water to make it run, but that wasn’t going to show up for at least another few days, so he was going to have to run to and from the kitchen every time I was in pain and needed ice on my back.

“Here, baby,” he whispered, helping me adjust so that we could get the icepack under my back. He kissed my temple. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He kissed me again, recognizing that I was just being playful. After a moment of standing at my side, Hotch remembered that he had to get my medication around, so he hurried over to the bag on the dresser and started sorting all of the pills. I watched him carefully. I wondered if he was going to actually keep this up for the next few months or if he was going to forget about our deal back at the hospital and just let me back into the field once I was feeling a bit better. Could he really afford to keep an agent benched for months? I mean, we were barely holding on when he was gone in the Middle East and Emily was still… I don’t know… dead? Sure.

“You know, at some point, you’re going to have to realize that I’m not entirely bedridden. I’m going to have to leave the bedroom sooner than later.”

Hotch glanced over his shoulder and glared at me. “I will tie you to the bed, if it’s the only thing that will keep you there.”

“That’s less of a threat than you had intended for it to be,” I teased.

“Ha. Ha,” he said plainly. I chuckled in response. “Take these,” he told me, turning from the dresser to give me my medication. “I’ll get you some water.” He skipped to the bathroom, and I heard the sink run for a bit before he returned and handed me a half-full glass. He sat on the edge of the bed as I popped the pills and chased them down with the water.

“Tada.”

“You’re sure about going to the wedding tomorrow?” he asked, taking the cup back.

I furrowed my brows. “Of course.”

“I’m worried that your back—”

“Aaron, I’m going to be fine.”

“I said that after New York, too.”

“Yeah, but the difference is that I actually believe it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know it’s my job to worry about you, my love.”

“I know,” I accepted, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I know. But, my love,” I teased back, “I can go to a wedding, and I promise I won’t break. I’ve already agreed to staying out of the field until I’m better, so just let me have this one.”

He huffed at the fact that he wasn’t going to win this argument before getting up to put the glass back in the bathroom, then head to grab our pajamas. He helped me out of my gross, dusty clothes and into his clean, cologne smelling sweatshirt and blue flannel pajama pants. I immediately felt cozy and relaxed. When Hotch tore off his shirt, I could tell that he was considering taking a shower, but he looked so tired, and he seemed desperate to stay at my side.

“It can wait ‘til morning.” He changed into his grey sweatpants then snuck into bed with me. He sighed. “I say we stay here for the rest of our lives.”

I nodded. “I agree.” We reached for each other’s hands, and I tugged to try to kiss his knuckles, but he beat me to it. “Sap.”

“Yup.”

We both stared up at the ceiling. We were silent, both of us just catching our breath, reflecting on the day. I could have lost him again. He could have lost me again. At what point was it going to get too scary and we would finally call it? I wasn’t ready to leave the field yet, and I was sure that he felt the same way, too, but it was something that we had to consider. I mean, we had to retire at some point. Right? We couldn’t do this forever…

----

The following evening was the wedding. Hotch spent the afternoon helping Jack get ready—making sure he actually showered, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and picked out an appropriate outfit. Towards the time when we were about to leave, I caught Hotch kneeling in front of Jack, teaching him how to properly put on a tie. I smirked and continued to spy into the room. I had a bad habit of eavesdropping on them, but who could blame me when those moments weren’t going to last forever? Before we would know it, Jack would be all grown up and heading off for college, and we weren’t going to get any daily memories at all. I had to make them count while I still could.

As for Hotch and I getting ready, I took longer than he did. Considering I was somewhat immobile, I spent most of my time going between getting ready and laying down with an icepack when Hotch wasn’t looking. I was wearing a pant suit, something simple and light. Easy to get on and off. I barely even bothered with makeup because it hurt too much to hold still while trying to get everything perfect, and I just kept my hair out of my face. Nothing too fancy. As for Hotch… I wasn’t sure if he understood that a few years ago, he would have worn a work suit or that brown quarter zip to the wedding, but this time around he was wearing a well fitted all black suit, and all I wanted to do was literally jump him. Every time I saw him walking around wearing just the dress shirt and pants—no jacket yet, I could see his muscles and abs, and I wanted nothing more than to just have him pin me down and fuck me. Fuck. It was weird to think how when I was told to not do something, I suddenly wanted to do it. Specifically, I wanted to do him. I supposed that was just the brat in me, though.

Before we were about to leave, I went to go check on Scarlet in her nursery real quick when I noticed that it was a total mess with all of the toys scattered around. I groaned quietly as I bent over to grab her koala stuffed animal off the floor. It hurt like a total bitch, and there was no good way to go about doing it besides making sure I went slow and easy. As I carefully stood back up, screwing my eyes shut and wincing at the pain on my lower back as I did so, Scarlet cooed in her crib. I tried to smile while holding my back with one hand and her toy in the other. She was staring up at me, waiting for me to pick her up or give her the toy— either way, she would have been content.

“Y/N,” Hotch whispered from the doorway, making me jump in my own skin.

I caught my heart as I turned to glare at him for scaring me. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

“Hotch—” I knew what he was going to say. I knew that he was going to give me a talk about how I needed to be more careful than I was being, but I really didn’t want to hear it, not for the hundredth time, at least. I was sick of people telling me what I could and couldn’t do. I could afford to clean up my kid’s room, alright. That wasn’t going to break my back. “It’s fine.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but both of us fell into silence when we heard: “Mama” come from Scarlet’s crib. I froze in place, thinking about what could have possibly just happened. Maybe I misheard, or maybe Jack was calling for me from downstairs, or maybe he was watching TV and they said it, or—

“Mama,” I heard it again, snapping my attention to the crib. Scarlet was still smiling— almost giggling, actually— and she was dancing around on her feet. “Mama.”

“Aaron…” I mumbled, too scared to move a muscle, thinking that if I did, she’d stop saying anything. Hotch took careful steps towards me, also trying to not startle her. “Did she—”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered back.

“Mama!” She did a “grabby-grab” gesture with her hands, reaching out for the koala toy that I was still holding.

Finally, a year old, she was finally talking, and of course her first word had to be just for me. Morgan wouldn’t believe it. I mean, statistically speaking—at least, according to Spencer—Scarlet was a late bloomer when it came to walking and talking, but she wasn’t entirely behind the curve either. Just yesterday, I had been thinking about how I couldn’t wait until she would start talking. How the fuck did she know?

I did a little dance, too, before handing her the toy. She fell onto her butt and gave the koala a Superman hug. Hotch and I chuckled at the same time. Mama. Yeah, I’d take that. I kind of wished we got it on camera or something, but I think it was better that it was in the moment and that Hotch and I were both there, taken aback by how shocking it was when it came out of the blue. My perfect lil’ bug… I laughed again.

----

“Uh oh, trouble just walked in!” Morgan cheered from the living room as we walked into Rossi’s house, the door having been left open for all of the guests. Emily and Garcia turned to see who he was talking about, and they all smiled when their gaze met me, Hotch, and Jack. “Where’s my goddaughter?” he inquired, walking over to me.

I rolled my eyes as he kissed my cheek and I hugged him. “Jessica’s watching her.” I turned and hugged Emily. “No more almost dying,” I whispered in her ear. “We need you here.”

She smiled shortly as we parted but didn’t say anything. As I hugged Garcia next, Morgan crouched down to talk to Jack. They were talking about the chocolate fountain that was in the dining room, and the next thing I knew, the two of them were running off together to go take a look at it. Garcia and I laughed before she insisted that she should go keep an eye on Morgan.

I turned to Hotch. “I am not responsible for his sugar high this time. You’re on your own, Agent Hotchner.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me to his side. “I should go find Rossi and thank him for inviting us,” I told him quietly as he kissed my neck.

“No alcohol,” he warned.

“Yes, Sir,” I saluted to make my comment look innocent to Emily, though it was anything but innocent to Hotch. After I pecked his lips with a grinning kiss, I snuck out of Hotch’s arms and headed to the backyard so that he and Emily could talk since he said that she was acting off.

As I was wandering around in search for Rossi, I discovered that he was nowhere to be found. Somehow, our host for the evening had completely vanished. I shook my head. Well, I’d find him later, I supposed, and maybe Hotch would be free then to thank him, too. So, for now, I tapped Anderson’s shoulder, catching his attention, and I asked if he had seen Morgan around since I spotted Jack running around in the backyard with Henry, which meant that Morgan had disappeared somewhere.

Anderson pointed me in the direction of one of the rooms on the first floor that was acting as a coat room for the night. I thanked him with a smile. He waved me goodbye before taking his girlfriend Angelica’s hand and leading her outside to go meet everyone. It was so funny to see him with her because they reminded me so much of how Hotch and I used to be when we first started going out, and we were just so naïve, hands all over each other all the time, smiles constantly plastered to our faces, no problems between us yet. Life used to be so simple. Hopefully Anderson and Angelica wouldn’t get as complicated as Hotch and I were.

When I stepped into the temporary coatroom, I found Morgan hiding in the corner, sitting on a leather footstool, drinking a cup of scotch. He spotted me and forced a smile onto his face. “Hey, sunshine.”

“Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

I sighed heavily, taking a seat beside him. “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about me shooting you or Rossi for getting on my ass about not leaving the bank for the hospital the other day.” He furrowed his brows. “I’m leaning more towards shooting Spencer or Hotch are this point.”

Morgan chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

“You have no freakin’ idea. And I can’t even drink it all away because of the painkillers. So. Yay me.” I rolled my eyes.

Morgan didn’t respond, though, which was concerning. I half expected him to back up Hotch and Spencer, or maybe say something snarky about he was glad to be rid of me for a few months until the doctors could clear me again. But nothing. Even his smile faded into the unnatural silence between us.

My eyes pouted as I put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugged my touch away, which also wasn’t like him. “Nothing.”

Oh, yeah. Sure. Nothing. Recently, Morgan had a terrible habit of pushing everyone away because he thought that it would somehow protect us, but all it was doing was hurting everyone involved. He knew that he could tell me anything and I would always understand. He knew that I would always stand by his side and back him up, no matter what. So why was he so afraid to open up to me recently? Had I done something to break his trust in me? Was I somehow involved in this secret he was keeping? I just wanted him to give me some kind of answer so that I could stop worrying about him for once.

He sighed when he saw my mind churning. “I can’t tell you what’s going on because it’s not my secret to share. Is that okay?”

I nodded. “If that’s the case, then I won’t pry. But… I’m always here to talk, Derek. Always.” I tried to lighten the mood by joking, “Especially since I can’t go anywhere anymore.”

He chuckled. “Touché.”

Silence settled for a bit as both of our chuckles faded. Now, we were just staring at the wall together. There had to be something more for us to say, something that would lift his spirits. Oh—

“Scar said her first word today,” I admitted, biting back a smile because I knew that it would cheer Morgan up to hear the good news.

Morgan looked up at me, shock mixed with excitement washing over his face. “You’re kidding.”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Who won?”

“I did,” I smiled. He groaned, rolled his eyes, and dug into his back pocket for his wallet. I grinned as he gave me a ten dollar bill reluctantly. “Sucker.”

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” someone said from the door. Morgan and I both glanced up guiltily, as if we were two teenagers who got caught smoking pot at prom or something. It was just Hotch, though. Actually, no, that was too nonchalant for referencing him. It was Hotch, yeah, but he did, in fact, look like a stern and disappointed principle who had caught up smoking pot at prom. “I’ve been looking around for you.” He looked directly at Morgan to ask, “Have they been drinking?”

“Nope. They’ve been doing a lot of complaining about not drinking, though.”

Morgan poked my side, laughing at me in a teasing way, skipping towards the door, barely dodging around Hotch in time. He sent me a thumbs up for good luck. I groaned and hit my head against the wall behind me, looking at my husband out the corner of my eye as he took Morgan’s spot beside me.

“If it weren’t for your back, I’d have you over my knee right now for breaking the rules,” Hotch whispered in my ear.

I gulped. The idea sounded so appealing. I wanted nothing more than for life to just get back to how it was. I didn’t want Hotch to be scared to touch me, or to kiss me, hold me, fuck me. The next few months were going to be excruciatingly long without being able to have all of him. I was so fucking pissed.

“Mmm… and what if I were to be good for you right now…” I tried playing with him, sneaking my hand onto his thigh, making an attempt to work my way upwards towards his crotch, but he snatched my hand away. “Please, Sir. Something.”

“You behave, take all of your meds, work on getting better, then I’ll consider it—But only after the doctors say we can.”

“Come on, baby,” I pleaded with a pout. “We don’t need doctors to tell us how to be us…” I tried putting my hand on his thigh again, but he kept me away. “Aaron, I’m not going to break.” I instead moved my hand to his cheek. “I love you, I trust you, and I know that you would never hurt me, and I know my own limits when it comes to—”

“Y/N, stop, please,” he whispered. “Please. I love you, Y/N, and I want to do… I want to be us again, more than ever, but I just want to be 100% sure before we do anything. It’s only been a day. A day, baby girl… You heal fast, I know you do, but not that fast. One wrong move, and you might not ever go back into the field. Sex is nice and all, but it’s not worth it if that’s the price you have to pay.”

I chuckled lightly. “Okay. Fair enough.”

“Hey, you two love birds,” Rossi interrupted, sticking his head into the room, “everyone’s waiting on you two.”

We hurried to follow Rossi out to the backyard where everyone was gathered in front of the priest, Henry, and Will. I slowed when I noticed that it was standing room only. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to stand through the whole thing without literally wanting to tear my own spine out and throw it across the fucking yard. I looked at Hotch, tugging him back towards me. He searched my eyes with worry, and when it finally dawned on him, the worry intensified, and he neared me to hold me close.

He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll hold onto you. If it gets bad, we’ll quietly excuse ourselves.”

“It’ll be rude,” I whispered.

“Everyone will understand. Come on.”

He continued to lead me to the group, a few of them shuffling around so that they could make room for us. Hotch was standing behind me, his arms under mine, hands on my hips, swaying them barely, almost as if it were some kind of hypnotizing therapy on its own, and he was kissing my neck gently, not passionately enough to leave a hickey, but enough to tell me that he loved me a million times over.

As JJ and Will kissed, Hotch pulled me closer and whispered, “You remember our first kiss as husband and wife?”

I nodded, smiling through the happy tears that drifted down my cheeks. I was just so happy and relived that we were all safe, and that we were a family again. Even though things didn’t go to plan yesterday, at least Will was there, and JJ would never have to know what it would be like to raise Henry without him. Even though I hurt myself, I at least had Hotch and he had me, and we would never have to know what it would be like to live without each other.

Everyone started clapping, which pulled me out of my trance. Hotch let go of me so that he could clap, too, and I turned to look up at him and kiss him as we both smiled and wiped each other’s tears away. He smiled against me, leaning into our kiss. He didn’t recognize what he was doing. He had been so careful with me since the bombing yesterday, and yet, for a moment, he forgot about everything and just kissed me the same way he kissed me the day we got married. And I kissed him back. I didn’t stop until the clapping stopped and he realized what he had done, quickly pulling away from me so that he could make sure that I hadn’t shattered to a million pieces. I hadn’t shattered, but I had certainly melted.

During dinner, I sat between Hotch and Morgan, just across from Spencer and Garcia. We were all eating—the rest of them drinking while I watched—and talking the night away, not even pondering for a second that yesterday we nearly died on multiple occasions. It was like all of the bad had been washed away. There wasn’t a single bad thought at the table, and there wasn’t a single frown on anyone’s face. Was that normal? I mean, our lives had never been normal, so I was pretty sure I forgot what “normal” was, but that kind of felt familiar, like that was how we would be if our jobs weren’t so time and emotionally consuming.

Garcia asked how I was, and I lied, telling everyone that I felt okay, that they were just overreacting yesterday. Spencer, just as he had at the hospital, actually told everyone the truth. I glared at him again. He didn’t recognize what he had done, however, and continued on to insist that he could help Hotch keep an eye on me since he could recognize the silence signs that I was trying to mask my pain in order to not worry everyone. I silently cursed him for being so damn smart. And oblivious. But the last part wasn’t necessarily his fault, especially with all the theories that had been circulating around the office since I first joined.

After we finished eating, Hotch held his hand out and asked if I wanted to dance. I stared at him for a moment. Was he really going to let me move? I mean, I wasn’t going to second guess him vocally, of course, but I couldn’t believe that he was asking. I jumped at the chance, though. I accepted his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. The two of us laughed excitedly as we carefully hurried to the dance floor and he turned me around so that I was facing him and we could start slow dancing.

Hotch was so gentle with me. We were hardly swaying, taking slow, gentle, and small steps in circles. His arm was barely even touching my waist. I rested my cheek against his chest and inhaled his scent. I loved him beyond words. Despite our ups and downs, despite his lies and my hurt feelings over and over again, I couldn’t shake that I loved him. I couldn’t help that all of that bad times just couldn’t compare to all of the good times, which made everything worth it at the end of the day.

“What are we going to do?” Hotch asked, sincerely baffled. I didn’t say anything. “This isn’t like when I left… You could move then, take care of the kids, and Morgan was always around… But now you’re actually hurt, and I’m going to be gone all the time. What… What do we do?”

“Nothing really changes, baby. I can take Jack to school; I can look after Scarlet. And, you know, Jessica will always be around to help, too, if I need. We’ll be fine.”

“You could barely pick up Jack yesterday.”

“In my defense, he’s getting too big to keep picking up.”

“Y/N, come on. I’m serious. You can’t put any stress on your back. That includes picking Jack up, and cleaning up the house, doing laundry, doing dishes— anything. You need to be really careful.”

“I’m fine, Aaron.”

“You couldn’t even bend down to grab Scarlet’s toy from the floor.”

I furrowed my brows at him when I noticed the way his hold on me loosened even more after recalling the memory of me in the nursery only a few hours ago. He wasn’t upset about that. I mean— he was. Obviously, he was. But there was something else stirring in the mind of Aaron Hotchner, and it had to do with his own guilt. That was the only explanation I could account for.

I brushed my hand over his hair. “Baby,” I cooed, waiting until he looked at me, “I’m going to be okay.” I scratched his scalp gently. He slowly melted against my touch, nuzzling into the way it relaxed him whenever I played with his hair. “It’s not your fault. I need you to hear that.”

He froze. “I—”

“Aaron, please, listen to me. It’s not your fault. I yelled at you, and I told you that I wanted to make the choices with SWAT, and you gave in. I made the call to send everyone into the bank, and I was the one who neglected to think that there could be a bomb inside. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t have sanctioned an approach if JJ hadn’t compared you to Will.”

My face softened at the realization. I had only thought that he blamed himself, but I didn’t know it for sure, and I hadn’t realized that this was buried so deep. This was far worse than I could have anticipated. “That’s why you’ve been all protective like this.”

I mean, he usually got protective when something changed drastically in our lives. Haley and Scarlet were prime examples. But this was… different. Instead of ordering me to do things that would force me to protect myself, Hotch was coddling me and attending to my every wish. He was trying to make up for what he did. He was trying to apologize to me for something that he had no right blaming himself for; and he was trying to relieve the guilt he felt by catering to me constantly.

Hotch pressed his forehead against mine. “You could have died, Y/N. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that it was wrong to make a move like that again so soon, and I should have said something—but when JJ put it into perspective for me by asking what I would have done if it were you in that bank… I knew I had to help her. I had to help Will. And I forgot that it’s my job to protect you—to protect our team. I let my emotions get in the way. I shouldn’t have done that. It goes against everything we believe in at the BAU, and it nearly got you killed.”

“It was my choice, Aaron.” I brought my hand to his face and ran my thumb over his mole on his cheek. “Please, hear that. I made the call to move in with SWAT. It was my decision to push the front doors with you, and it was my decision to stay on site instead of going to the hospital afterwards. You can’t blame yourself.”

“But I do.”

“I know.” I felt a tear hit my thumb, making me pout. “It was an accident, baby.”

“Yeah, but it was an accident that could have killed you.”

I leaned in to kiss him because there was this overwhelming urge in the pit of my stomach to somehow comfort him, yet there weren’t enough words to tell him what I meant, and there wasn’t enough time in the world to hug him for as long as I wanted to—and even if the time existed, my strength to give him a Superman hug was too limited. But I could kiss him. I could press my lips to his until we couldn’t breathe, until he would grab my face and hold me there with him, leaning into me until I wrapped my arms around his neck to hold him there with me. So, I kissed him. I kissed him as hard as I could. We exhaled through our noses, turning our faces to kiss from a different angle while catching our breath. But he didn’t hold me as close as I wanted him to. In fact, he pushed me away somewhat, and I could tell that it was because he was terrified that if he tilted over me at all, it would hurt my back.

My shoulders fell. “Aaron Christopher Hotchner, you are not stupid. You did not make the wrong call. Stop thinking that way before I smack you.”

He chuckled. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” I kissed him again, finally feeling his arms snake around the small of my back, giving me the chance to fling my arms around his neck, just like I wanted. I smiled against him.

Someone beside us cleared their throat. We parted to see Morgan standing there, gesturing to ask if he could dance with me. What a way to be a cockblock, am I right? Not that Hotch would have actually fucked me, even if I were on my knees and begging. He made it entirely clear that he wasn’t ready to have sex with me yet, knowing just how bad my back actually was, and he probably wasn’t going to give in for a very long time. I was going to be miserable. Miserable and horny. What was the point of being married to the love of my life if I couldn’t fuck him every chance I had? And then motherfucking Derek Morgan had to come along and ruin the slight chance I had by asking to dance with me. Oh, boy, he was really lucky I loved him.

Hotch was polite about it, though. We smiled, patted Morgan’s shoulder, then stepped away to go dance with Emily since she looked all lonely on her own on the side. Morgan took one of my hands in his, then wrapped his other arm around my waist while I put my free hand on his shoulder. I was staring at him, trying to gauge if he was any better since earlier. He wasn’t.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he insisted before I could say anything. “But thank you for being in my corner, sunshine.” I smiled. “And for always being so damn stubborn, too.”

I laughed. “Only for you.”

“That’s a blatant lie.”

I laughed again. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Can I sneak in a dance?” Emily asked, sneaking up behind me. Morgan and I turned to face her. I saw that she was forcing a smile, and behind that illusion of happiness was a desperation to dance with Morgan, so I nodded and stepped away. “Actually—” Emily started before I could walk away. “I was hoping to dance with you,” she told me. She reached out and grabbed my hand before I could get too far.

I smiled and took her hand. “Okay.”

Morgan didn’t walk away, so we both glared at him slightly as Emily took the lead. She put her right hand on my waist, her left hand clasped tightly with my right hand, and my left hand was on her shoulder. We still glared at Morgan.

“What? Can’t I watch?” he questioned through a chuckle.

I shooed him away until he gave up and went to grab Garcia from her seat. When I looked back at Emily, she was smiling for real this time, which eased my nerves. Despite how happy everyone seemed, there was something off with her. I could tell that she was the secret Morgan was keeping. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but some part of me just put the pieces together, and I supposed I should have attributed it to being a profiler, but I didn’t want to be that stuck up. I just knew. Something told me that she wasn’t entirely okay, and my heart sank.

As Emily looked away from me, almost like she felt too guilty to keep eye contact, I started putting the pieces together. Morgan was as upset that night as he was when he found out Emily “died”. Hotch stayed back to talk to her when we arrived. I didn’t like where this was leading me.

So, I just asked. “You’re leaving again… Aren’t you?”

Emily snapped her attention back to me, her smile falling from her face quickly. But she didn’t deny it. In fact, she didn’t even question it. The look on her face wasn’t confusion over what I was talking about, instead it was about how I knew. So, it was true. I had this feeling boiling in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong with her, and for some reason her leaving the team was the only thing that made sense to me. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because if I were in her shoes, I would have felt the same way. I couldn’t imagine going through everything she went through; from finding out that Ian Doyle was back, to the fact that he was coming after us in order to make her life hell, in order to being tortured and stabbed by him, then… dying on the way to the hospital. After all of that, she still had the strength to come back when it was safe. But it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same. Since coming back, something had been off about her, and I really hadn’t put the pieces together until she went out of her way to come up and ask to dance with me. She knew she was leaving, and she wanted to cherish the moments she had left with us.

“I don’t want to talk about it—” she began.

“Don’t leave. Please.” I didn’t know how I could be more clear and sincere. “Please.”

Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry.” We were silent for a moment. “How did you know?”

“Morgan was being all weird and keeping secrets from me, which was how I knew it had to do with the team. Since Hotch isn’t acting weird, I know he’s not keeping anything from me. The next option was you… and when you asked to dance… I just… I somehow knew.” I shrugged. “Profiling or whatever.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“We need you here. I need you here. Scarlet—”

“I’ll still be around, Y/N, I promise. I just need to do something else. The BAU isn’t what it used to be for me. I think I burned too many bridges when I was away.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

I felt a sob bubbling in my chest, even though I was trying my very hardest to suppress it. I didn’t want to be sad at a wedding. I didn’t want to even think that I would be sad in the future, missing one of my best friends, wondering if she was okay wherever she was, doing whatever it was, doing whoever it was. There was a time when Emily and I… We just clicked. I mean, at first, I was indifferent because she came shortly after Elle left to go travel and do something new with her life that she loved; but once I warmed up to her, we had a flow at work. Morgan and I were together in the field for almost every case, but there were instances when Emily would tag along, and it made sense. The one thing I could vividly remember about her before she left was the time we were working that swinger case and we were in the car together… With anyone else, I think it would have been awkward. But with Emily, I didn’t blink twice. Being stuck in that car with her—though I didn’t recognize it at the time—was actually funny, and I enjoyed little moments like that. If she actually left, I wouldn’t have those anymore. Hell, since she got back in the first place, there was hardly a chance to have little moments like that, and it broke my heart, but I thought that we were going to have a long time to make up for it.

Emily caught a tear running down my cheek with her thumb. Shit, I swore I wouldn’t actually cry. She searched my eyes for a moment, debating on whether or not her next words would force an actual sob out of me; but I was pleading with her for answers. “Clyde Easter called… He wants me to run the London Interpol office.”

I let out a shaky breath. “You’re taking it?”

“Yeah.”

“And it’ll make you happy?”

“I hope so.”

I sighed quietly and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she questioned.

“Yeah. Okay. If it makes you happy, then I can’t tell you not to jump at the opportunity, Em. Once upon a time, you told me that no one else’s opinion matters unless it’s optimistic and helpful. I want my opinion to matter to you. I want you to know that I will always be in your corner, and I will support whatever endeavor it is you choose to seek out because I want the best for you. Because I love you.”

She finally smiled again, almost like she was relieved to hear that from me. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly.” She stopped dancing with me so that she could hug me tightly. “I love you, too.”

And that was how we said goodbye because seeing her off at the airport a few weeks later was just too painful.

-----

criminal minds family: @gorgeousdarkangel @peggy1999 @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc​ @Braty-angel

[msotherworldly]

Blame for Bethany

Title: Blame for Bethany

Fiction Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Warnings: Minor swearing, mention of death

Prompt: “I’m not saying I told you so...”

“I’m not saying I told you so...”

“That’s funny, because it sounds like you are.” I smirked. The clink of tankards surrounded us. There was a low hum of voices, and the smell of nug shit. It was home sweet home—at least for him. Face turned only half to the fireplace, he looked older.

I frowned. How old was Varric? Admittedly, I didn’t know much about dwarf aging. I’d always assumed they aged as quickly as humans or elves, but...

“Get it off your chest.” He sipped his drink, eyes sparkling.

“Another day.” I sank into a chair.

He shook his head. “It’s bad to pent shit up, Hawke. I knew a fella in the carta who got by weeping into his pillow every night. It had a nickname and everything. Of course, when the other carta men in his squad found out, they filled his back with knives.”

“Thanks, Varric.” I waved the waitress for a drink. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“That’s my specialty. But seriously, what’s eating you?”

“It’s just a conclusion I’ve had. We’ve survived the Deep Roads. I’ve made enough money that I barely have to work. And Mother seems happy. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”

The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“I think...I have to talk to her about this.”

“I’m going to say it again. If it’s bad, dump it on me. Your mother’s been through enough crap.”

“And deprive you of the chance of another ‘I told you so’ speech?”

Varric sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back. “We’re not talking about an ogre this time, Hawke. We’re talking about your mother. Maybe give her some time before you hit her with something heavy.”

“I’ve given her time!” I laughed. “Varric, I’ve had this thought since I started work with Athenril. I’ve been carrying it around for two years now.”

“Do you need a shrink? I can recommend a good one I know. He works in Darktown.”

“He’s not a healer, is he?”

Varric grinned. “No, but I know a healer there who I’ve also recommended to see the guy. To be fair, he did attend one session.”

“But?”

“But it’s probably better if you don’t mention you’re a mage.” Varric’s face darkened. “Since that lovely therapy session, Briggs has a paranoia of being lit on fire. That tends to happen when you try to do therapy on a Fade spirit.”

“Maker.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll pass, Varric, but...thanks for the tip. Why Darktown?”

“If you talk to a therapist in Hightown, they might gossip. Any therapist there will likely be a noble looking for extra cash or a fun time, and well, you know your neighbours better than anyone. All they care about are scandals and social clout. If it got out that Marion Hawke was having mommy issues, it would be the talk of Hightown for at least a month.”

“I don’t have mommy issues.” I rolled my eyes. “But I see your point.”

“I’m not saying you do. It’s what they would say.” He winked. “Trust me, Hawke. I have a good read on people.”

“And a vivid imagination.”

“Exactly! If I say something is going to go wrong, it will likely go even worse!”

“And here I am, taking advice from the guy who loosed Anders on a therapist. Do wonders never cease?”

Varric chuckled. “I know you don’t listen. Hell, do any of you? But be gentle with her, Hawke. She’s had a hard time.”

I was halfway to Lowtown before I remembered my new home. I kicked a stone, and turned around. Would I ever get used to this? Even after three weeks, it felt strange to walk into Hightown and think I belonged there. In my rough leather jacket and scuffed boots, I felt as much like a ruffian as I’d always been. When I drew the key from my pocket, I had the unnerving feeling I’d stolen it from someone—or, as was more often the case, killed someone for it.

Smells of flowers and greenery washed over me. Mom had filled the manor with potted plants. Three shattered pots in the corner gave evidence that Sandal had managed to destroy half of them just as fast. The dreamy eyed dwarf looked out over the balcony; was he planning to swing from the chandelier again?

I dropped my satchel at the foot of my bed. When I emerged from my room, I was clean and dressed in finery. I drifted down the stairs, frowning.

“Is there anything I can get for you, my lady?” Bodahn bowed. “Name it, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Just a bottle of wine, Bodahn, and a glass.”

“Right away, my lady.”

“It’s Marion.” I sighed as he ambled off. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

Mother sat by the fire, embroidery in her lap. Her wrists flashed with silver, and her hair was pulled into an intricate braid. To look at her, one wouldn’t have known at first glance that she had spent twenty years tilling earth or bathing a Mabari coated daily in mud. Still, I could see it—in the wrinkles around her eyes, and the whitening of her hair, I saw a harder life. Most of the nobles who were Mother’s age looked ten years younger.

“Mother.”

“Hello, dear.” She gazed into the flames. “Have you heard from your brother?”

“Mages and templars aren’t friends as a general rule.”

“He’s your brother.” She grimaced. “It’s just as well. He needed space. It could be a lucrative career for him.”

“Hunting people like me? That’s a ‘lucrative career’?”

“I’m sorry, Marion.” She glanced up, and smiled. “I’m just trying to make the best of things. He’s been discontent for a long time. If this brings him happiness, I’ll be grateful to the Order for that much.”

I pulled up a second chair. Bodahn left the wine on a small round table of polished wood. I filled my glass. The liquid was a deep red.

I studied the flames, seeing shapes, seeing houses, blackening ruins crumpling as darkspawn swarmed over them. Did Mother see the same thing, or was the fire a mere comfort?

“He might have joined the Order in Fereldan too.” I picked up a poker, and jabbed the logs. “After being kicked out of the army, that is.”

Mother chuckled. “I suppose it would have been a matter of time. Carver always did find trouble. I hope he’s settled down now.”

I frowned. “It would have been natural if...”

Mother glanced at me. “If what?”

If you had been strong enough to do what you should have.

I stood up, setting my glass down. My heart thrummed. I bit my lip.

Be gentle, Hawke. Varric’s voice was low and smooth in my head.

I wheeled to face her. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

“I’m sorry I said that, darling. I never meant it. Not really.”

“Even after you apologized the first time, I still believed it was. I played it over in my head. If I had gotten to the ogre sooner, I could have knocked it down. If I’d thought to throw fire, I could have distracted it. But I wasn’t the only one there. If it was my fault, it was Carver’s fault, Aveline’s. We were surrounded. Everyone was just trying to survive.” I shuddered. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

Mother reached for me.

“It was yours.”

Mother flinched as if I’d electrocuted her. Then she bowed her head. “You wish it had been me instead of her. If the ogre had grabbed me instead...”

“I don’t wish that.” I sat down. “But I was angry at you. When we were at Gamlen’s, what did you do? You stared into the fire and you didn’t move. You didn’t even take in washing to help us pay the rent. You didn’t try to sell fruit. You didn’t offer to stitch up clothes for a couple of coppers. You didn’t do anything! You left it to Carver and I. You’ve left it to us since Dad died.”

Mother’s eyes watered. She closed them. “After she died...after your father...each time, it was like another part of me, somewhere in my chest, had just been ripped away. I couldn’t even think. I was sad and angry, and I couldn’t see anything else. Then, when Carver left, I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“But he didn’t leave, not truly.”

“I realized that.” She took a breath. “When I realized he was just going to be on his own, with a job he might enjoy, I even felt a little better. I know you tried with him...but he needed to find his own way.”

“I didn’t want you to take Bethany’s place, Mother.” I took her hand. “I was angry because you could have prevented it.”

She met my gaze.

“I never wanted to go to the Circle. I liked the feel of grass under my feet. I savoured looking up, and seeing the sky. I even enjoyed the constant reek of filthy Mabari.”

She chuckled.

“But sometimes I wondered about the Circle. I thought of all the books there I could be reading. And I thought of Bethany, on those winter days when we had less to eat, being able to have her fill. They get three meals a day at the Circle. There was one winter where I even considered sending her off myself. It was a chance at a richer life for her.”

“But not you?”

“Not as long as you needed looking after.” I shook my head. “It’s just...if you had sent us, she would still be alive right now. She was capable. She would have survived the Harrowing. She might have even attained a position, become a senior enchanter. She might have written books, had friends...been safe.”

Mom slumped over. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“We could have stayed together. If you had been well, if Carver was there, I might have gone with her. And if Carver had joined the Order, he would have been able to send decent money your way. He would have kept us together with letters and stories. When he wasn’t watching over his sisters, he could have visited you, seen you were alright.”

“And all three of you could have been safe.”

“I shouldn’t have said this to you. Keeping us free wasn’t the wrong decision. Not really. You couldn’t have known the Blight was coming. If it hadn’t, all of us would still be in Lothering now. Poorer, but alive.”

“I’ve thought too much of myself.”

“Mother.”

“No, I have. You’ve played it through your head, too. You’ve watched Bethany die over and over. When you look into the flames, do you see it like I do? The homes falling, burning, being swarmed?”

“It’s all I see.”

“I wish I could look after you now.”

“But you don’t have to anymore. We’re set for life.”

“There must be some way I could be useful.” Mother pursed her lips. Her eyes glinted. “I have old friends from my childhood here. Many of them have their own children. Perhaps I could set up a meeting with some of them? I know Sir Laurence is very handsome.”

I laughed. “No, Mother. Thank you. I’m sort of already...seeing someone.”

“A noble?” Her voice was critical.

“Not at all. I have too much of my mother in me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“He understands, Mother. If I married a noble, how could I be happy? I’d have to hide all the time. I’m so tired of hiding.”

“Is he...like your father?”

I nodded. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Her lips thinned into a severe line. She opened her mouth, and then she shook her head. She chuckled. “Well, it’s just as well I’m not like my mother. You can rest assured I won’t disown you. But be careful, darling. If you’re talking about who I think...well, he can be a bit wild.”

“You’re just upset he trailed that weird mud over the floor from Darktown.”

“Whatever it was, it had red stains!” Mother shuddered. “But it’s just as well. If you’re happy, I won’t get in the way.”

I stood up: I pulled her into a hug, folding her in. I was a head taller than she was. I stroked her hair. “I don’t mind looking after you, Mother. It gives me something to do.”

“Is Anders interested in children?”

Maker, I’ve said too much.

I blushed. “I...don’t know.”

“Well, grandchildren would give me something to do.” Mother drew away, beaming. “I could teach them how to curtsy, dance, sew, cook, sing!”

“After you were done teaching them not to light the house on fire.” I grimaced. “With their genes, it’s certain they’d all be mages. You could handle several apostate toddlers?”

“I handled two, didn’t I?” Mom puffed herself up. “I’ll figure it out.”

I bet.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, Marion.” She pulled me in for another hug and stroked my hair.

[frostedfaves]

Taken

Part 2

Pairing: Jake Peralta x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N is kidnapped by a perp whose real objective is her colleague and boyfriend Jake. Will he get to her in time?

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: violence, kidnapping, angst and more angst

-

There is at least one big moment in every young woman's life that she regrets immensely. Sometimes it's dating a horrible person and realizing far too late. Or maybe it's that outfit that truly belonged in a dumpster but somehow ended up in your closet instead. My biggest regret was being considerate of Jake's sleep.

We went to his place after work for date night because he'd finally found an old movie we were looking for and I didn't have a DVD player. We've been together long enough to love each other and we do, the topic of living together brought up a couple times before we both realized that neither of us are quite ready to give up our separate spaces yet. So we go to Jake's and we watch a movie.

-

"In hindsight, this probably wasn't the best mood to set on date night," Jake muttered as he turned to me, wiping a few tears from his cheeks.

"Nonsense! I think ugly crying to a great American heartbreaking tale with my boyfriend is completely romantic!" I countered through chuckles to cover up my lingering sobs, causing Jake to laugh with me.

"You're a riot." He helped me clear my cheeks as well before wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I'm exhausted. Wanna call it one? I'm too tired for sexy times but I'm willing to compromise and do hand stuff."

I rolled my eyes playfully at him as I allowed myself to sink into his hold for a moment. "No, I shouldn't stay."

"What? You always stay on date night. Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Everything's fine. The surgery scene just reminded me that I'm supposed to drop my mom off in the morning for a minor procedure before work. My mom's house and the hospital are on the other side of town and if I leave from here, I'll have to wake up like half an hour earlier."

"I don't mind getting up with you, babe."

"Jacob." I pushed myself into a sitting position, my tone falling flat so he knew to take me seriously. "You've been busting your ass for weeks now to catch your perp, and you got the next best thing--his right hand man. You deserve every second of rest you can get."

He stared at me for a while, a slight pout on his lips. "Alright, fine." He sighed heavily as he stood, pulling me to my feet as well.

"You'll see me in the morning, I promise. I love you, Jakey."

"I love you, too. See you tomorrow."

-

Tomorrow is here and I still haven't seen Jake. The windowless cement block of a room couldn't tell me how long I was unconscious, but the ache in my stiff muscles told me it was well past morning. A range of emotions hit me as my eyes focused on my current reality.

Fear.

I feared where I was, of course I did. I can't check my surroundings if it's all just gray walls, the only difference being the rusty chains that held me to one of them.

I feared not knowing who brought me here, how many there were, the intention behind bringing me here.

I feared time. How much had passed, how much I had left. How much of it I'd spent in such deafening and suffocating silence and what would finally disrupt the still air.

Worry.

I worried about not being the only one stolen from what I deemed to be my normal life.

I worried about the mess of blood that hadn't been cleared away from the side of my head.

I worried about the foggy in-and-out single stream of consciousness that I just barely held onto.

I worried about whether or not my mom made it to her surgery or if she spent the entire day in the police station worrying even more than I was.

The thought caused anger to rush in like an uninvited guest.

What could I have possibly done to end up here? I arrest criminals all day long, but none of them are capable of this. I'd love to rip these chains out of the wall and tightly wrap them around the throat of my captor. The thought alone caused the nausea bubbling up from my stomach to turn into something else, something stronger, something that was destined to get me into more trouble.

"You mind letting me the fuck out of here?!"

Like that. That kind of trouble.

Footsteps echoed from somewhere as they announced the arrival of another person. With the knowledge that someone else was in fact here came the return of worry. Or maybe it was fear. I can't quite tell the distinction over the little voice in my head that scolds me for being the thing to break the quiet.

A piece of the wall opened up and spit out a tall figure drowning in black fabric. From the tip of their worker boots all the way up to the ski mask that hid their identity from me.

"You want something?"

A male voice was all I was able to catch. I stayed quiet and kept my head down, hoping my silence would irritate him into talking more.

"What, you lost your tongue or something?"

I still couldn't tell who it was on voice alone.

"Oh, I get it. You want to do this face to face."

I lifted my head just as he ripped off his ski mask, and I quickly bit my lip to stifle my gasp. I recognized that stupid face. Unfortunately for me, he could tell.

"You know who I am, baby?" His steps were the only sound in the hollow space as he came to kneel in front of me. Before I could even blink, he had my jaw held tightly in his left hand, his right hand pushing the end of a blade into my skin.

"Say my name," he practically growled, sending shivers down my spine. I quickly obliged, well aware that I did not have the upperhand in the situation.

"Marco."

"My whole name," he demanded as he pressed further into my skin, responding to my involuntary whimper with a shake of his left hand. "Say it."

"Marco Fallio."

"Good." He quickly pocketed the knife, keeping his gaze on me. "I can't wait to hear you scream that later. It's gonna be fun." He winked as he stood finally, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as he turned his back on me.

"What am I doing here, Marco?"

"I figured since Detective Peralta took my right hand man, I was free to take his."

"How do you know who I am?"

"I saw you two disgusting lovebirds kiss after stuffing my boy inside the back of a cop car." He faced me again suddenly, pulling out a burner phone as he approached me. "What's his number?" He noticed my hesitation and laughed. "You want him to know I have you, right? Or should I just kill you now and send pieces of you until your boyfriend gets the hint?"

I sighed, closing my eyes as I recited the number to him. I listened to him dial, only opening my eyes again when the ringing stopped.

"Peralta."

It was only one word, but it was enough to break my heart. He sounded so defeated and tired, like the rest I begged him to get did nothing but further exhaust him. The thought brought tears to my eyes instantly.

"Hey Peralta, buddy. Fallio here."

"If you're calling to negotiate your friend out of jail, it's not going to happen. He's going to lead me straight to you."

Fallio laughs in a light way that suggests he was talking to an old friend, and not a detective that wanted him behind bars. "You know, I thought you may say that. So I got something that I think might change your mind."

In a few lightning fast motions, the knife was out again, slicing the fabric of my jeans and the skin of my thigh underneath. A strangled yell crossed the threshold of my lips before I could stop it as the burning sensation pulsated through the newly opened wound.

"Y/N! Marco I swear to God, you better--"

"Yeah, yeah. Talk soon!" He ended the call with a grin, turning his attention back to me. "Don't worry, I'll call him back. Let's have a little fun first."

-

I want death. I want to die. It seems to be the quickest and possibly the only way to escape Marco Fallio, and at this point, I'll take anything.

Maybe I'll get lucky and survive this, and I'll apply to work for the FBI. With all the cuts and bruises and dried and not so dry blood that now covers so much of my skin, they'll be sure to think I'm tough enough to handle any case.

Or I could quit law enforcement altogether. Become a baker. I'm good at it, and there's less of a chance of this happening again when you're just minding your business and selling fresh food. However, in this baker fantasy I'd still be dating Jake. So this could very well happen again.

Jake. I miss Jake. His name is the only constant thing I remember every time I come back. Every time I open my eyes and remind myself that I'm locked in this room in God knows where for who knows how much time. Jacob Peralta, the only thing I hear in my head as Marco does some other series of painful acts that makes me scream until my throat burns from the force, or until he pushes just a little too far and I pass out again.

"Hey, wake up."

I feel the light but aggressive pats on my face, a long groan pushing from the depths of my lungs and falling out amidst a heavy breath that smacks right into Marco's face immediately. As he has been for the past seconds, days, months, years, he's entirely too close. Which means I'm in for another beating.

His rough hands pull me off my pathetic position on the cool floor and thrust me back first into the wall behind me once again, gripping my jaw to hold my head in place. His thumb forces my bottom lip to part from the top as he begins to carefully pour water into my mouth.

"You're giving me nothing and this is growing old. Time to light some fire under your man's ass."

He pulled the phone out again and talked as I focused on swallowing the water, struggling to keep my eyes open. I felt the phone being pressed to my ear followed by Marco's voice.

"Any last words, Y/N?"

My mind flashed back to the movie Jake and I watched together. The main character's last words were in a suicide note she'd written to her boyfriend. It was a long shot, thinking that Jake would even remember this or that it would help him at all, but as Jake would say, "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take!" So I finished swallowing the water and took the shot.

"I knew about everything. That's why I died."

His hand released my jaw as he hung up again, allowing me to slide to the floor again. I could only hope now that I'd done enough. That by connecting the dots he'd realized that I--like the main character--was dying slowly in a cement room underground at the hands of someone else after being forced to craft last words to the love of my life. He'd already found Marco's three warehouses. A little more digging would tell him that two of the warehouses don't have basements, so I must be at the third.

-

Time zoomed past again as I floated away into unconsciousness, brought out of it once again by a gentle slap to the face. This one felt softer but more urgent. Then came voices, all of them fuzzy except for one.

"Y/N, can you hear me, babe?"

Jacob Peralta. The only name I could think of as I fought through the searing pain of every cut, every punch, every moment of being strangled or burned. The only voice I could hear calling my name as I sat there pathetically and waited to be rescued like some princess caught in a tower.

"The ambulance is almost here, Y/N. Can you open your eyes? Come on, baby, please."

Jacob Peralta, the last person to see me before I became a hostage.

"Fuck, Rosa, her pulse is weakening. What do I do?!"

Jacob Peralta.

"Baby, stay with me, come on!"

Jacob Peralta.

"Sir, we need you to clear the area, so we can properly assess her injuries."

Jacob Peralta. The one who kept me alive.

[popculturebuffet]

Green Eggs and Ham: “Train” Review or A Little Better Now (Patreon Review for Emma Fici)

Hello you happy people and all aboard! We’re back on the Green Eggs and Ham Train for a Train themed episode. Train. As you can tell I like trains... admitely I don’t see enough episodes et on them and I don’t buy books or obess on them but I like the idea of a train, the comfort, the use of a mode of travel that was once common but is now simply used on occasion with the dawn of air travel, and it confining our heroes to a smaller space with limited room to move. it’s good stuff. I even tolerae the band train... I mean yes their music is okay at best, but the lyrics.. are wonderfully delightfully insane. Who else would use a garbage bag as a genuine romantic metaphor?

When last we left off things ere a bit ehhhhhhhhhhh: Sam went from delightfully quirky with some issues ot adress to annoying, and Michelle went from kin dof a bitch ot ENTIRELY THAT BITCH. Outside of Guy’s mental breakdown/heatstroke episode involving hallucinations of green eggs and ham, yes that did in fact happen, it wasn’t much to write home about and I worried the series simply had a good PILOT but the series itself wasn’t going to be fun sit through. 

If I was right or I was rilla.. will have to wait till after the cut. But first as always i’d like to thank the person who payed for this episode Emma Fici. Emma is one of my closest friends and one of two patreon patreons. If you’d like a reivew of your choice eveyr month guarnateed, then please hop over to patreon.com/popculturebuffet and back me at the 5 dollar level. You also get access to my exclusive discord where I ocasoinally post about work in progress stuff and tlak to my falns, to pick a short any time I do one and EXCLUSIVE review, as well as helping me hit my stretch goals. So line up, sign up then join me under the cut. 

So we pick up where we left off with Guy hurtling into a lake. Eh I dunno i’ve heard being naked ina  lake is pretty neat. 

All you’d have to do is take off the hat and your there. But Sam saves him wiht the weird train of hats he put at the end of the car for some reason, and our heroes are saved.. but down a vehicle. Oh and Sam’s vehiclular neglgence costs a bunch of fish their home.

And our heroes are without a car and Guys at the end of his rope with Sam.. I mean granted he’s been there since he met the guy but it’s down to like the tiniest thred, not helped by Sam casually stealing his wallet to pay for train tickets depsite Guy , UNDERSTANDABLY, not wanting to hang out with the guy who has stolen with him, gotten him implicate din animal trafficing and dosen’t really respect personal space. Also it’s taken me embarassingly long to remember Micheal Douglas played my boy Hank Pym in the Ant Man and the Wasp films. Seroiusly I don’t know HOW I forgot that, him being aged up and thus unable to do ANY of the things he is constnatly denied credit for in canon (Founding the avengers, being the first ant man.. and the first goliath and the first yellow jacket and the first giant man.. and the only doctor pym...).. but instead the film kept his troubled nature and ego, but removed the domestic abuse (which is something I will not go into but needless to say the comics version went above and beyond to try and make up for that and redeem himself soley because it was the right hting to do) and by making im older still gav ehim a roll as Scott’s mentor. What i’m getting at is I freaking love Hank Pym and I could’ve been making hank pym jokes for several episdoes now. That’s a mistake I itned to recitfy.. right away as Guy looses his suitcase as a result of it and whie he lcaims not to be bothered his voice says otherwise. Eh i’m sure the world can wait for ultron Guy. 

So anyway, Guy reluctantly agrees to the train travel idea and being parked across from Sam on the grounds he has no real other options. Meanwhile the BAD GUYZ.. and i’ve also decided to drop spoilers as the series is two years old, most people reading this have probably seen the series, and it makes analysis rough when I have to dance around spoilers. So yeah the BAD GUYZ aren’t villians.. kind of a dickhead on the blue guys part, but not EVIL. They figure out their going by train it’s a whole thing.

ON the train we run into michelle again...

Yeahhh for the first half she’s as inusfferable as she was the last two episodes and it lead me to believie the rest of the series was going to be constant suffering as she’d be in every episode, likely because they DID get Diane Keaton for this and you don’t waste Diane Keaton. You just don’t. But while they got their money’s worth in having her on screne wise they just..w asted her for the first 2 and a half episodes: Michelle is a judgemental, unpleasnt suffocating bitch and it’s going to take a lot , even if this episode helped, to make me truly like her as a person. 

Case in point her first two scenes this episode are just.. dragging her daughter past a play place uncarring about her feelings because while I DO get she cares about her child’s saftey and is terrified afte rloosing her husband.. it dosen’t EXCUSE her actions. It dosen’t forgive her locking her daughter up constanlty, not talking to her like a human being and oh yeah PUTTING A FUCKING LOCK ON HER SHE CAN CONTROL.  I mean my god I don’t think they INTENDED for her to come off as abusive as she does, and i’ve seen far worse inteitonally and untietionally, but it’s still not remotely plesant. There is a larger issue baked into that the episode brings about, but we’ll get to that. 

And naturally at breakfast.. she procedes to top herself. ONCE AGAIN she treats guy like trash as guy UNDERSTANDABLY didn’t want to talk to her after her previous layers of bullshit which, just as a refresher, involved insulting his invention constnatly (even if it turned out ot be dangerous she did not know that till the last second) then refusing to help a man BAKING in the desert and mocking him to his face. 

So yeah unsuprisingly instead of you know, APOLOGIZING for that episode or anything else she mocks him again and calls him sad. I just.. I get they were trying to have her come off as a jerk and then slowly develop.. but you can’t overdue the jerk part. It has to be juts the right amount and if it is this much there has to be a commpuance. There is none as far as I can tell because god is a spiteful two faced prick. 

So naturally Sam forces the two parties together, and orders green eggs and ham for everyone, except guy who refuses. We do get a really great bit though as EB turns down the idea and we get a tremendous rant from Micheal Douglas as he talks about how a girl in his clash, veyr likely just him, got a rash from tring new things and you shouldn’t and to watch out for the scarlet beetle he’ll steel your ants and try to conquer your planet and is not a guy in a costume but in fact an actual beetle. EB naturally tries it. 

We get a brief interlude with Snerz that’s funny enough: he outright calls his visotrs flunkies, they enter to the song money, and his minon throws dollar bills at their feet. I imagine this is what visitng Mar a Largo is like. They turn up his noses until he mentions getting a chickarffe for his animal crutelty wall. And i’m torn about Snerz. On one hand he can be generally entertaining in his dickery.. but ont he other I do question why he’s in EVERY episode. We don’t NEED him in eveyr one and I feel he’s only in them because Eddie Izzard was expensive so they had to get him as a regular to justify the cost. We really DONT’ need this scene funny as it is and it adds nothing so far. Maybe i’m wrong and these guys end up being important. I don’t know. 

So yeah so far this episode was miserable getting through and I expected it to be another long sit... I was wrong. The second half.. is really damn good and reminded me why I liked this series so much. No really. We get two stories,both really good following one half of each pair teaming up. As for why their split Guy is annoyed with Sam, as well as dosen’t want him letting the chickaraffe out because you know lots of people dosen’t want ot go to jail and leaves to find a quiet place to work on watching paint dry while Michelle tucks a sleeping EB in, her first really truly humanizing moment, which should NOT have taken three episodes but hey, i’ll take it, and goes to find the same.

So starting with Sam and EB, naturally Sam takes all of a minute to let his buddy out and it gets loose on top of the train. EB hears the familiar sound and gives chase and the two meet properly. After Sam covers for his buddy and realizes the creature is asleep in his car safe now, he properly talks to EB and we get a truly magical sequnece: The two talk with Sam whoelheartdly supporting her free spirit and finally giving the girl what she badly needed: someone who treated her not as something to be tied down but you know.. a child who just wants some expression and as she literally lets her hair down, It’s truly adorable and it just has a magical quanitity as they enjoy the beautiful view from the train top. 

Granted this takes at urn later when EB brings up her mom, and Sam.. supports her mom, pointing out she’s just looking out for her.. which she is but in a deeply unehalthy way and I don’t like the show just.. brushing over Michelle’s terrible actions because “she’s her mom”. But it’s also hard to tell if they are: Sam’s mom left him as we’ll find out, so he likely colors his memories of her rosey and simply envys EB still HAVING hers. It’s not BAD stuff but I don’t like a work saying “You should love your family just beacause your related”. Instead of because they lovea nd support you and if they dont’ love you or treat you remotely well or don’t give an ass about you fuck them. Thankfully I DO love my family and have no issues with them, my immediate family at least, but i’ve had friens with downright abusive or neglectful parents. It’s not that black and white. Ducktales also hammered in the family theme but was transparent in how it can me messy, harm each other and that it took true love and consideratoin for it to work at it’s core. 

It’s still not a terrible scene and what comes next is neat as earlier it was shown the train has loops, because Seussworld, and now that’s a problem because their on top of it. Michelle’s jail braclet thing ends up coming in handy the first loop, as while she can’t unstick it means she and sam can suririvie it. They do get it loose, turns out the password was indeed password, because of course, and they end up narrowly suriving a roller coaster bit of track, with the help of MR. Jenkins who I can finally name because EB names her in the next scene. Understanding her need for a pet, Sam deputizes her, and gets her back in bed in time for the next plot. 

Speaking of which winding back a bit as these two go back and forth, Guy goes through two rather hilarious cars: First a bath car that has a bubsby berkely style water number and then a model train car.. with the train on the track showing guy watching guy watchin gthe train etc. 

It’s great. Guy ends up finding the quiet car.. and Michelle. And in her first scene of acting like a human being and not if julie powers was a soccer mom, Michelle, while standosfish as usual, not only unites with guy to shush a loud guy in the car, but is genuinely apricative when Guy helps her get her place back, she was doing some literal bean counting. 

The two genuinely hit it off, first with some adorable silent bits and then by talking, with Michelle appreciating his now safer job and warming up to him. Keaton and Douglas have GENUINE chemestry and it annoys me itt took the series this long to use that instead of wasting Diane Keaton on being 

It’s really great stuff and i’m actually rooting for the two.. once she gets her shit together obviously. Guy does make the mistake of lying abotu knowing about the chikcaraffe.

This ends up being bad as he finds out EB knows the next day and after she leaves the car RIGHTFULLY tears the fuck into same for getting him accused of crime, stealing from him and now puttin ghim in a precarious situation. While Guy DID lie, he idd so well meaningly and trying to impress someone whose ineherntly judgmeental. Douglas also does REALY well in the scene, calling sam out but it dosen’t feel cruel.. it’s justified. While guy is miserable and does need to work on himself.. Sam also needs to work on himself and is putting guy in serious danger just by forcing him into his animal smuggling scheme. 

So Guy leaves.. and naturally given the unvierse hate shim runs into the BAD GUYZ, who aren’t much better. No really they refuse to belieive guy might be innocent, use excessive force on everyone. They have better GOALS than sam but I woudln’t really call them good people. Smash to black and we’re out. 

Final Thoughts:  This one was better. As I said the first half or rather third drags slightly but once we get to the two seperate plotlines it’s REALLY damn good stuff and reminded me what the series was capable of in character in creativity. Hopefully it keeps this up

Next Time on the Blog: We return to mewni for the penultimate chapter of season 3 as Moon and Eclipsa have some fundemtnal disgareemnts on how to handle Meteora that wind up costing both dearly. 

See you at the next rainbow

[nerdyfangirl67]

Supernatural ReaderxDean Imagine

Imagine Dean having to decide who lives, you or Sam.

Warnings: language, themes of torture

A dull throbbing pain settled into your head. For a moment you just listened, trying to figure out where you were. You couldn’t hear much of anything, aside from some heavy breathing and a slow, constant drip of water. Taking a deep breath, and recognizing the pain of a broken rib, or ribs, you forced your eyes open. 

Blackness. You couldn’t see anything and you tried to remember what happened but was coming up blank. You tried to get up but couldn’t stand up fully. You pulled on your hands, realizing they were chained to the ground. A shiver ran through your body and you realized you were missing a shirt, wearing only what you determined to be a sports bra. The heavy breathing off to your left got louder, followed by a groan of pain. 

“Dean? Sam? Is that you?” You asked softly, praying that you weren’t in this situation alone, but hoping it wasn’t either of the two boys. 

“Y/N? Fuck, Dean is going to kill me.” Sam hissed. “How do you feel?” He asked quickly.

After taking a moment to comprehend what Sam had said, you were pretty sure you at least had a mild concussion, if the pounding in your head was any indication, you say, “I think I got a concussion and some broken ribs. Beyond that, I’m not sure yet. I can’t move very well either. I think I’m chained to the ground.” You pulled again on the chain hoping it would give but to no avail. 

“Sammy, what happened?” You questioned, the fear you were feeling breaking out in your voice.

“I’m not sure but I know that Dean isn’t here. They made sure that I knew that when they brought me into this room where you are.” Sam stated. You felt your blood run cold when you realized what this was, a trap.

“Sam, this is a trap. I know it. And I think it has something to do with Crowley.” You whispered urgently, trying with more intensity to free yourself.

“Fuck!” Sam shouted. You flinched, wishing, and hoping, that this was a dream.

A loud crash reverberated through the room before light flooded in as a door was opened. Slow clapping echoed through, what you could tell, to be an open room, most likely a basement of some kind. 

A voice, one you recognized as Crowley’s, filled the room. “Congratulations! That didn’t take you long Y/N.” He snickered before shouting behind him “Bring him in, it’s time.” 

Two burly men, you knew where demons because each had a pair of black, soulless eyes, came in dragging a cussing and fighting Dean into the room. He had a black eye and blood staining his grey T-shirt. Other than that, he appeared okay.

“Dean.” You spoke his name quietly but somehow he still heard it. His eyes flew to yours, searching your body for physical injury. His green eyes lock with yours. Tears sprang to your eyes, seeing the pain and anger in his. He turned his head towards where you knew Sam to be. You turned towards Sam as well, taking in his appearance for the first time.

You gasp in surprise. Sam looked like he had been drug to Hell and back, which was saying a lot because you knew Hell to be, well, hell. “Oh, Sammy.” You whispered, your heart clenching in pain at seeing the two most important people in your life hurting.

Crowley’s snickering brought you back to reality. “What a happy family reunion for Moose and Squirrel. Now Squirrel what happens next is up to you.” You turned back towards Crowley, glaring at him.

“You can walk out of here, but first you have to make a decision.” Crowley spoke slowly, with a tone of delight in his voice. 

“Spit it out demon.” Dean growled. 

“Well, you have to decide who is leaving with you, and who is staying.” Crowley’s statement made you turn from him to Dean.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean shouted.

“Ah Squirrel, don’t make this worse for you. I’ll give you some time to decide, not much though, so hurry up.” The two goons holding onto Dean let him go and the three demons proceeded to leave the room, slamming the door shut behind them. 

Light flooded the room, coming from some fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling. You squeeze your eyes closed in pain before opening them to adjust them to the light. You hear a soft, “Go to her” before you were brought into a gentle hug. Dean’s masculine scent of sweat, leather, and whiskey surrounds you. 

“Y/N.” His broken voice tore through you. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears threatened to fall. 

“No. Don’t.” You stated, your voice thick with emotion. “You choose Sammy, Dean. You need him.” You felt Dean tighten the hug before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I am NOT choosing Y/N. We are all walking out of here.” He said, his voice low and intense.

You opened your eyes, committing his face to memory. His green eyes spark with anger. You smile softly. “I love you. Now go to Sammy.” Your voice broke the moment between the two of you.

“I love you.” He firmly pressed his lips to yours before moving a few feet away to grab Sam in a brotherly hug. Seeing the brothers embrace brought you back to the time when you first met the two.

Three years ago -

You were hunting a small vampire coven in northern Washington. You had pinpointed the coven’s location to a small warehouse in the old business district of a small town. You had just stepped out of your 1990 Deville when you saw a figure creeping towards the warehouse.

“Fuck.” You spit out, seeing that another hunter was moving in on your takedown, for lack of a better word. You shook your head before moving to the other side of the warehouse. You would just have to work this case with another hunter, whether they knew it or not.

Upon entering the empty warehouse, you quickly decapitated three unsuspecting vampires. You snuck through the rest of the warehouse before reaching the spot where the other hunter was fighting the vampire you had determined to be the leader.

“Hey, bloodsucker.” You shouted, getting the vamp’s attention. The other hunter quickly chopped the vampire’s head off. You got your first opportunity to study the hunter, a tall, shaggy-haired guy. He was cute, you decided.

“Fuck Sammy. A girl had to help you take that bloodsucker down.” A deep, laughing voice came from a corner of the warehouse. The tall one, you now know was called Sammy, sped towards the voice. You trailed behind out of curiosity.

After Sammy had helped the other guy, who was a bit shorter and just as attractive as the first one, if not more so, out of his restraints. The first hunter pulled the second into a hug.You felt that you were spying on an intimate moment so your eyes flew down to your feet, studying your shoes. Well too bad, you thought, all the handsome ones are taken or gay. 

“Hey, who are you?” The second guy questioned, moving towards you. 

“Y/F/N Y/L/N.” You stated. “And you?” 

“I’m Dean and this is my brother Sammy.” Dean stated gruffly, eyeing you. Thank goodness for that, you thought, at least we aren’t batting for the same team, so I have a chance with this one.

“Actually it’s Sam.” Sammy, or Sam, corrected.

The rushed talking off to your left brought you back. 

“Don’t you dare try to leave here with both of us Dean. You are gonna take Y/N, get out of here, and start a family. You are gonna live a normal life, one we could never have.” Sam stated roughly to Dean. You opened your mouth to protest but Dean beat you to it.

“Knock that off. We are all leaving here.” Dean barked at Sam.

“Dean.” You called softly. Dean swiftly turned around, closing the distance between you two. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek.

“We won’t all leave here Dean. Crowley is the King of Hell. He wouldn’t let us go that easy.” You continued, placing your chained hands on his chest. His green eyes bore into yours. 

“I can’t leave here with just one of you.” He whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. 

“But you will. You are taking Sammy.” You spoke firmly, pressing your nose to the crook of his neck. If you were gonna die, it was gonna be with his scent etched into your brain so on the off chance you make it to Heaven, you could take it with you. You pressed a kiss to his neck before pulling back. 

“Fuck, I love you.” He whispers, his voice rough with emotion. Your brain was flooded with one of your most cherished memories, the memory of when Dean told you he loved you for the first time. 

A few months earlier - 

You were lying down in the back seat of the Impala, Dean relaxing in the front seat, and the only sound was of one of Dean’s cassettes playing over the radio. You and Dean were waiting for Sammy, who had gone into one of the health food stores he liked for groceries. Dean had protested loudly, but you shut him up with a peck to the lips and a gentle “Be quiet”.

“Y/N?” Dean asked, turning just enough in the front seat so that he was facing you. You pushed yourself up on your elbows.

“Yeah?” You voiced softly. Dean’s green eyes searched yours. He was quiet for a moment, before saying “I love you.” 

Your face stretched into a smile. You move until your lips are only inches from Dean’s.“I know Dean. You show me every day. And you know that I love you.” You whispered. 

Dean weaved one of his hands into your hair, pulling you into a passionate kiss.

The door flew open, causing Dean to stand in front of you protectively. 

“Oh, Dean-O. It’s time. What did you decide?” Crowley sang out as he entered. “I sort of favor the girl so who knows, maybe I’ll make her my pet.” 

Dean growled. “NO. I am not leaving with just one.”

“Ah, Dean. You are breaking the rules. Someone will have to pay. Or better yet, maybe two someones will pay.” A fiercely hot pain shot through your chest causing you to cry out. You clawed at your chest before yanking your hand back as one of your fingers brushed across a fresh burn about your heart. Sam was experiencing something as well because you can hear him spitting out obscenities.

“Stop!” Dean shouted. “I’ll choose okay. Just don’t hurt them.” Your eyes met Dean’s. His green orbs glowed with determination. 

“Lovely. Let’s hear it Squirrel. The suspense is killing me.” Crowley said, a smile breaking out on his face. 

“You’ll let them both go and I will stay here.” Dean bit out, his jaw clenching in frustration.

“Well, I can make that work.” Crowley said before snapping his fingers. You start to protest but suddenly, you are no longer in the basement room chained to the floor. Neither is Sam.

“Dean! NO!” You shout, standing up and trying to figure out where you are.

“Y/N, they are gone.” Sam said quietly, stepping towards you. You could barely look at him. 

“No, please no. Castiel, do something. Bring Dean back Cas!” You screamed before sinking to the ground, onto your knees. Sobs shook your body and you could barely breathe through your tears. You felt something cover your shoulders, a shirt, Sam’s, before you were pulled into a hug.

“We will get him home Y/N.” Sam whispered. “We will bring him back.”

[helaintoloki]

Ghost

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: light nsfw content, physical violence, angst, themes of insecurity and self-hatred

notes: not sure what this is but it popped up in my head one night and out came this

summary: Bucky is y/n’s protector, a fellow runaway much like himself. She loves him, but to her dismay Bucky does his best to keep her at arm’s length for he thinks she deserves a better man then he could ever be.

based on the song ghost by Halsey

“You say that you’re no good for me cause I’m always tugging at your sleeve”

“Where are we going?” She asks, fingers clutching at the rough material of his jacket sleeve as he weaves her along through the city. It isn’t safe out in the open, too many prying eyes and lingering gazes follow their path as the pair attempts to enjoy a normal outing. Guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders as he’s reminded of his constant failure to provide her with an ordinary, comfortable life. Always on the run, always hiding from something, always afraid- that was no life for someone like her. Maybe he deserved it after all the destruction and agony he’d brought to those around him, but she deserved better.

“Safe house,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, pace increasing and steps hastening in an attempt to shorten the mileage of their journey. If they hurried now they could make it before sundown. He notices her gaze lingering towards a mother and baby sitting on the street corner begging for food, steps slowing as she reaches for spare change in her puse, and the soldier tugs her forward. A small, warning grunt escapes him. His tone is firm with an underlying sense of urgency as he calls her name. “Y/N.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she isn’t really. Not for wanting to help someone. It irked the man at times; she could hardly save herself let alone ever save anybody else. Trouble maker. Stubborn. Strong headed. All words said with an annoyed fondness for the girl. She was a fighter, that was for sure, and she reminded him of a muddled face from a foggy past he couldn’t quite remember.

“Next time,” he promises like he has every instance before. A promise of normalcy and another chance that will soon be broken by his paranoia and his requisite to run. Y/N knows this but says nothing, only nods in acknowledgement as she scrambles to match his pace.

“Next time,” y/n repeats. Bucky’s grayish blue eyes are clouded with anxiety, lips set in a firm line, brows creased with calculation, and metal arm whirring soothingly under his clothing as he clenches and unclenches his fists. Her pinky finds its way around his own, and this time the man only flinches slightly at the skin to skin contact. Progress. She’s worming her way into his heart and he’s letting her. Because he is her protector. Her savior. Her guardian. Because he cares about her.

Because he loves her.

~~~

“And I swear I hate you when you leave, but I like it anyway”

Y/N observed the outside world from the safety of her seat by the window. Coffee mug in hand, she sipped the hot liquid and watched the fog pass through the trees. It was a quiet afternoon in the woods much like it always was whenever they took refuge there, but it was a peaceful type of silence that made all her troubles and fears go away. Safe house was a good term for their little cottage.

Bucky had found the home long before he had found y/n. It had been a rundown, gloomy, old little thing that was sufficient enough to provide shelter but lacking in warmth. Y/N had changed that. With new pieces of furniture and a newfound love for the cottage, the girl had made it seem like a regular home for a regular couple rather than a hideout for two runaways.

He had never really told her exactly what he was running from, but he had explained that he was soldier, and there were bad men- and good men too- looking for him. He could protect her, but there would always be a lingering sense of danger hovering over them no matter where they went. And she trusted him blindly, desperate at first then understanding with time. James was not a bad man, he had so far kept his promise of keeping her safe, had always made her comfort come first even if it meant bringing about his own suffering, and had been more gentler with her than he had ever been with anything in his whole entire life. Bucky was her friend, her protector, and she loved him.

“Fire’s ready,” he announces from his spot by the fireplace. The gentle flames that lick at the fresh pieces of wood cast the tired man in a warm glow that makes him look a lot younger than he is, like a peaceful woodsman enjoying his creation after a long day’s work. Y/N wonders what life would be like if he was just that. Not a soldier, not a man on the run, not a man terrified of his own shadow, but a regular man with a simple life. Would she fit into that equation? Would he still be with her if that had been the case? She decides she doesn’t want to think of it anymore and instead joins him in front of the fire.

“You look tired,” y/n comments, handing her mug to the man and watching with a discrete fondness as he downs the rest of the lukewarm liquid.

“No time for sleep,” Bucky responds quietly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his flesh hand. “Perimeter check. Keep watch so you can sleep.”

“James, it’s okay. No one’s out there, you don’t have to kill yourself with worry. Stay here. Sleep. Don’t leave me alone,” y/n pleads, fingers grasping at the sleeve of his maroon colored Henley in an attempt to anchor him down to his spot on the ground. His eyes glance at her fingers, the way her trimmed nails dig into the fabric and fingers clutch at him. Her touch is gentle but desperate, longing and fretful, and Bucky knows he does not deserve to have her. How could someone so soft, so kind, so compassionate ever bother with a monster like him?

“Only for a little bit,” Bucky consoles, metal fingers delicately prying her fingers away before holding her hand up to his face. A cool digit traces the lines of her fingers and palms, maps out her life line so that even if Hydra does return again, they won’t be able to erase the significance her life holds in his heart. He handles her with care, with love, and y/n sits back in silence and watches his therapeutic trance.

Stubble tickles her skin as he brings her hand to his mouth, chapped lips pressed against her palm in the ghost of a kiss. Stormy eyes flutter shut as he keeps her there, savoring the warmth of her presence and her touch. He needs her, he loves her, he aches for her. He would die for her.

“Stay,” y/n repeats again in a hushed whisper, free hand coming to rest against his cheek as a nervous breath leaves her lips. His eyes flutter open to find her own filled with so much emotion it makes him dizzy, and he does not protest when she moves to straddle his lap. “Stay.”

Hot mouths mesh together in a sloppy kiss, stray hands desperately grabbing at one another to feel something, to confirm that this is real and that they are real. His left arm lingers stiffly at his side until she’s guiding it to grope her breast underneath her shirt. A soft sigh leaves her swollen lips at the feeling of the cool metal against her hot skin, hips rocking back and forth slowly on his strong thigh.

This must be heaven, Bucky thinks as he lies her back on the fur throw rug beside the fire, and as he gets a taste of her between her legs he wonders how a sinner like him could ever be gifted with such an angel.

~~~

“My ghost, where’d you go? I can’t find you in the body sleeping next to me.”

Staring up at the wooden ceiling, y/n finds that she cannot sleep. Her body is full of physical bliss, but her heart weighs heavy as she glances over at the man sleeping beside her. He is peaceful, all previous worries melted away from his features as he dreams of freedom and the future. She reaches out to trace a gentle line along his cheek with her index and he does not stir like he once would have before.

It had been five days since they had arrived at the cottage, each night filled with soft passion and loving touches. Bucky was evolving emotionally, slowly opening up to the woman he’d spent months protecting as he came to realize that it was okay to confide in others, confide in her. He talked more, hesitated less, stopped hiding his biggest insecurity from her. But there was still a sense of lingering fear, as if he was anticipating his next mistake. Waiting for his next slip up. But what accident could he cause?

Y/N did not know of the blood spilled by his hands or the red in his ledger, but she wondered if he was afraid to hurt her like she’d been hurt in the past. If he’d become the very thing she was running from.

His name was Thomas, a Hydra agent disguised as Shield- y/n was unaware of both- who had knocked her around and threatened her with everything under the sun. He had almost killed her once, and that was when she had decided to run. She hadn’t the faintest idea of where she was going at first, only concerned with getting as far away from the man as possible until she had gotten lost. Bucky had found her, cold and tired and hungry and struggling to continue running. Like a stray dog, he took her in and nursed her back to health. And much like a stray dog, she stuck around even when he tried to shoo her away until finally he couldn’t bare to part with her.

Her counterpart begins to stir beside her, murmured words escaping past his lips in a language she can’t quite understand. But she can sense his distress and turns to look at him in worry.

“Bucky,” she whispers, fingers gently brushing against his cheek. “Bucky, are you-“

Metal fingers wrap around her throat and squeeze the words out of her mouth as Bucky, still half asleep, straddles her body and begins to choke her. Wide eyed and frightened, y/n begins to beat at his chest and struggles under his iron grip.

“James,” she wheezes, gasping for air as she desperately tries to pry his fingers away. Her vision begins to blur and lashes begin to flutter as the lack of oxygen begins to kick in. “James!”

Reality punches the soldier in the gut as he stares down at his girl in horror. Now wide awake and aware of his actions, Bucky is quick to yank his hands away and scramble out of the bed. His eyes are full of tears as he watches her cough and splutter, chest heaving as she sucks in air. Y/N’s neck is red and purple, the imprints of his fingers on her skin confirmation of his presence there.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“James,” y/n calls softly, afraid to scare him as if he wasn’t the one who had just almost killed her. “Honey, it’s okay. Baby, come here.”

“I’m a monster,” Bucky whispers, and y/n’s heart breaks in two at his words.

He stays huddled in the corner of the room for the remainder of the night, ignoring y/n’s calming whispers and gentle pleas for his return. Her Bucky is gone, and it’s back to square one.

~~~

“My ghost, where’d you go? What happened to the soul that you used to be?”

On day seven Bucky deems it safe enough to continue their travels. He secures their bags to the back of his motorcycle, ignoring her lingering gaze. He has not uttered more than two words to her so far, has kept his distance at all times, has shied away from her touch, and refuses to look at her. Y/N aches for him, longs for his companionship, misses his warmth.

Ugly blotches of blue and yellow stain her neck, but y/n is smart enough to hide the reminder of Bucky’s mistakes with a scarf. Seeing his physical marks on her skin is just another reminder of his irredeemable qualities, of the fact that he is and always will be the Winter Soldier. He could have killed her, would have killed her if not for the gasping breath of his name that barely managed to tumble out of her lips. She is no longer safe with him, never was safe, and now Bucky must decide how to protect her from himself.

“Here,” he says, handing her the helmet. He pulls away before her fingers can so much as brush up against his skin, ignoring her defeated gaze and heartbroken face.

He is not her Bucky. Not anymore. He is once again the man afraid of his own shadow, afraid of his past, the closed off man who realizes he cannot love for he was made to destroy. He tells himself he is a monster, and so he shuts her out to protect her.

Bucky sucks in a breath as her arms wrap around his torso, revs up the engine, then drives down the open road. He cannot hear her cries or feel the way her arms wrap tighter around his figure, afraid to let go and savoring the long awaited contact.

You are a monster, he tells himself.

“I love you,” she tries to say, but the engine drowns out her sentiments so that he can only hear the voices inside his own head.