#ab*se tw

[traumadumpwriter]

Freedom: A John Shelby Fanfiction

Heavy trigger warning: Blood, violence, gore. Mentions of self harm, sexual assault and rape.

Check out the other chapters by going on the Freedom tag on my page!

Sorry for the slow updates. I'm much more regular on my Wattpad and already have a lot more chapters uploaded there. The @ is slowlychanging.

Don't forget to like and comment if you're enjoying! It really does mean a lot. Stay safe xx

Chapter Twelve : 3370 words

The next couple of days were spent in that bed, John refusing to let Alice even get up to cook. He was cautious and weary, strictly following the instructions given by the nurse of bed rest for at least a week - although Alice's seductive nature meant perhaps she wasn't resting as much as needed.

"Darling I don't wanna hurt you. Are you sure this is alright?" Despite the concern his lips were pulled into a grin as he hovered over her, eyes absorbing every inch of exposed skin.

"Yes it's fine. Just don't be rough. We can do slow, can't we." She replied with a smirk, running her fingers down along his chest until they reached the button of his trousers.

No one had come and bothered them, not even Pol, meaning they'd stayed in their loving bubble with mostly no worries of the outside world for over 72 hours now. A pure and rare reprieve for the pair.

If even the slightest bit of upset crossed either of their minds, they were quickly distracted by the other - either by the uncontrollable lust or almost unstopping conversation, the most obscure facts being revealed about one another with every passing hour. The room was rarely silent; chatter, laughter, moans, but when it was - the silence was welcomed. Laid on their sides, devoutly staring into each other's eyes and keeping their fingers intertwined - at times it felt too good to be true.

The only emotional discomfort truly experienced by either was by John after Alice would fall asleep - her still face and closed eyes somehow ending the spell of daytime bliss. Instead it reminded him of the things he was desperate to say, although the responses were possibly not ones he wanted to hear. There was still reprieve however; waking up from his bad dreams and being able to smell Alice's hair instantly dissolved any panic that would've usually affected him.

His favourite times were the mornings. The early sun, white in its shine as it peaked through the curtain, perfectly illuminating her - an angel in his baggy top. Her soft, sleep ridden voice and quiet giggle at his half awakened face, followed by a cheeky remark as he peppered her neck with sloppy kisses. She would ask him how he slept, he would say "fine" so as not to talk about it, then she would tell him about her dreams - her animated voice as she described the nonsensical plots bringing a smile to his lips.

Her favourite times were the evenings. The candle light basking the room in a comforting orange glow; sitting at the small table John had brought upstairs, with their empty dinner plates beside them as they played cards. Playful chatter and laughter erupted effortlessly from their mouths, remembrances of childhood and witty teasing. She loved to watch and listen to John talk, his eyes lighting up at certain subjects, perfectly comfortable in expressing himself - unlike when he was around others.

It had occurred to her however, that in the mornings at the mention of his sleep he'd look away - not in his usual way of disapproval or anger, but an awkward avoidance - and it didn't take much for her to guess why. On the third evening, a few drinks in her system, Alice finally let the words slip from her mouth. She'd been afraid to do so, to ruin the perfect bubble they'd been living in, but in a moment of confidence it felt right.

"What do you dream about, John?" She suddenly asked in the middle of a game, drawing his eyes from the cards and onto her curious gaze.

"What do you mean?" He was still smiling but it had weakened slightly.

"I mean.. you don't sleep well. And I think I know why."

There was a pause before he spoke again; getting the feeling that there was no escaping the truth - there never could be with Alice. He thought he'd fooled her but of course he hadn't, when had he ever?

"Of course you know, you know everything. Does that mean we have to talk about it?" He took a few sips from his drink before continuing, a chuckle lacing his tone. "You never really talk about any of your shit."

Alice raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk twinging at the corner of her lips as she spoke.

"You're right. We'll trade. You tell me about the nightmare that keeps you up and I'll tell you about mine."

He was taken aback, but only slightly, becoming used to the absurdity that would spring from her at the most unexpected moments.

"You've been sleeping like a log though and telling me about your dreams every morning." His tone was also laced with amusement.

"I haven't really been having them since we started seeing each other. Cheesy, I know." Her face was bashful for a second, looking down with a giggle before peering back up through her long lashes. "But they used to be bad. Especially before I escaped."

John took another few sips, his mind moving quickly as he processed every word and thought of an adequate response. An honest one.

"I can probably already imagine, it's not something I need to hear." He didn't let the taunting image he'd created of Jones dampen his mood, quickly shooing it away as he gazed somewhat cockily at Alice. "I wanna know something else though."

"What's that?"

"What's the cutting about?" He answered back immediately, moving his hands to hold her right arm, gently tracing his thumb over the heavily accumulated scar tissue. "And all the other shit? I don't get it. Why do you hurt yourself?"

Although the question surprised Alice, she didn't hesitate much in her answer - there was no reason to lie after all, he already basically knew all the worst things anyway.

"Because it feels good and it's instant and reliable. It's always been there for me. Sometimes it's just a distraction or adrenaline, sometimes it feels like I deserve it-"

"Why would you deserve that?"

"That's another question, it was one for one. You haven't answered mine yet, so now it's your turn."

"What! No. I won't interrupt again!" He protested.

"Sorry buster, it's your go." Alice giggled but her determined eyes let John know she wouldn't give this up.

"Okay fine." He cleared his throat before continuing, searching his brain for the words for a moment.

"It's usually the same one, I'm in the trenches." He was trying to stay nonchalant but the distant look that had appeared in his eyes made it evident that he could see the memory as clear as day.

"The mud is so thick I can hardly walk.. and all I can smell is blood. Stepping over the bodies of men I knew... And then I turn a corner and you're all there." He recounted with an airy tone.

The confident smile had faltered and his gaze drifted downwards to the table. He'd never said any of it out loud before and he felt an unfamiliar tight feeling in his chest. His hairs stood on end and his muscles tensed.

"Ada, Arthur, Mum, Pol, Finn, Karl, Tommy.. and now you. Piled up, bleeding, swollen and rotting like the men were."

Alice's smirk had also left her face, her hands switching position with John's and soothingly stroking his arm. She'd heard of war time trauma but had never really seen or heard it in person - practically living under a rock for the entirety of the war. John's pain made her think of her brothers, what they'd seen and endured before dying, and it made her feel uneasy - having pushed most grief away to the box in the back of her mind of things she didn't think of.

"And then... it doesn't matter." John cut himself off sharply, mentally entering the room again and looking back at Alice with clear eyes.

"I ain't shell shocked or nothing like that, not crazy." He quickly added with a nervous swallow.

"You think I'm judging if you're crazy?" The disbelief in Alice's voice followed by a giggle quickly dissolved the heavy mood that had formed, a chuckle even falling from John's lips.

"We both know where I would've ended up if it were anyone else that found me on the road that night." She confessed. "And even then I was slightly surprised that you didn't get me put away."

"Why would I do that? You're a bit nuts but you're just.. you. You're Alice." His tone was almost dreamy. "Far too beautiful to be hidden from the world; scars and all."

A silent moment of appreciation passed before Alice responded, wearily curious.

"Okay, my turn... Does it ever make you uncomfortable? Or maybe that's not the right word... Cautious?"

"What do you mean?"

"The way I am."

John took a sip from his glass, taking a second to look at her curious, unhurt eyes before answering.

"No. But it makes me scared."

The disappointment was immediately visible although she tried to hide it, her expression shrinking and grip on his arm loosening.

"Oh. I'm sorry." She scratched the back of her neck anxiously.

"Don't apologise. I just wish you could see you how I see you, then maybe you wouldn't want to hurt yourself."

Eye contact had ceased now, although John's sight remained glued to her face whilst she looked down at her lap.

"What do you see? Why would it make a difference?"

"That's another question. It's my turn now."

"Oh come on!" She suddenly looked up with a smile again, as if all the awkwardness had been removed from her in one swift, invisible action - lighting up the room with her pearly grin.

"You came up with the game!" John chuckled and then continued in a more somber tone "I want to know, why would you deserve that pain? I just don't get it, Alice."

She shot him a glare - half playfully - before answering, somewhat nonchalantly.

"Because I just do, John. Even before my husband, you remember, I was a fucking nut case. My whole life I've attracted trouble and now it's become me, or I've become it. I don't know. It's just the way it is."

Before he had time to respond she quickly added "Now tell me what you see. Why would it make a difference?"

An amused scoff left John's lips and he moved his arm to stroke her face, gently tracing his thumb across her bruised cheekbone. Despite her attempt to fluster him and keep the conversation on her terms, his mind collected and took note of every detail she spoke, attempting to settle the mysteries but still not understanding enough to.

"In my hand right now, I see the most gorgeous woman I've ever known. In this light, you look like a story mum used to tell; there were so many she'd tell me and Ada, princesses and all that bollocks." He laughed in happy remembrance. "But yeah right now, you look like those stories, how they made me feel; like the world could have something.. special in it." He shifted his touch to her lower face now, fingers brushing her lips. "In the morning, waking up next to you, I know the world has something special in it. You're like a fucking angel. It almost feels wrong to touch."

Alice couldn't quite believe the romances confidently falling from John's mouth, never knowing him to be so observant or descriptive.

"You're drunk." Was all she could justify but he immediately protested.

"Hardly. You're the drunk one. I'm surprised you ain't bloody wasted with that bottle you finished."

A short exchanged look followed by a minute of hard laughter. "Maybe I am a bit drunk." Alice thought to herself as she watched John clear the table and head downstairs.

"I'll do the washing up in the morning, just leave it in the sink." She yawned and went to stretch before the sharp pain of her ribs stopped her, a hiss leaving her lips that was heard from the stairs.

"And that's why I'll do it tomorrow." He spoke easily through the thin walls, his steps shaking the house.

Alice didn't bother to protest and stood up to get changed into pyjamas. John's baggy, white top and matching trousers from his teen years had proven to be extremely comfortable. It also made John feel a certain way, somewhat accomplished in his desire to have her belong to him, his clothes were a stand in ring. Maybe it was the white as well, it seemed to compliment her perfectly in every way.

He was back upstairs in a minute, unbuttoning his shirt to get into his own sleeping attire as Alice watched him with adoring eyes. She couldn't work out how it had happened but she was a woman obsessed. In the flickering orange light his toned, pale body resembled one of a marble statue - pale skin accompanied by rock hard muscle. From his dazzling blue eyes to the considerable sized bulge in his pants, her eyes were stuck to him like glue.

"You're so handsome." She smiled, giddy.

John chuckled slightly and looked at Alice, taking in the glow the fire gave her for another moment before extinguishing the flame, plunging the room in to sudden darkness. The faint glow of the moon peeking through gaps in the curtains was the only light afforded to the small space now but that didn't make it feel any less cosy. Instead, their combined body heat was like a flame of its own.

The next morning Alice awoke to an empty bed, momentarily confusing her until she heard clattering from downstairs and realised John was in the kitchen. A shushed cry of frustration followed the sound of something breaking and the woman giggled in entertainment at the realisation that he was obviously struggling with breakfast today.

With a big yawn followed by a pained hiss, Alice stretched out of bed and made her way downstairs. It was cold in the house, the air still defrosting, and she shivered walking across the creaking floorboards. John turned his head at the noise and was relieved to see her familiar brown eyes gazing back at his.

"I didn't wake you up did I?" His concerned tone was met with a tranquil chuckle from Alice as he put his back to the pan and held out his arms.

She quickly accepted the embrace, burying her face into his chest and taking a deep inhale of his scent.

"No. I did hear you struggling though."

John exhaled slightly in amusement, his eyes suddenly catching sight of the cold nipples pressing through his t-shirt.

"Someone's a bit chilly." He teased before moving a hand to gently cup one boob, his thumb circling her nipple in a way that instantly made Alice's legs squirm.

She had to keep her cool though. Despite the whole doting lovers thing, there were moments where she still remembered to keep her cool.

"Someone's overcooking the bacon." She cocked an eyebrow and he instantly turned around, muttering a quiet 'fuck' as he flung the bits of meat out of the pan.

"What are you doing down here anyway? You should be in bed." He questioned, his gaze now concentrated on buttering the bread in his hands.

Whilst he was at least partially distracted, Alice moved to the sink and began to scrub at the dishes from last night. She didn't like offering nothing to the house whilst he was kind enough to let her live there.

"I don't hurt too bad today. And I've been thinking we should probably go back to work soon." She answered nonchalantly.

John's tone was slightly more dreary, any mention of the outside world instantly adding to the drip that had been gradually decaying the foundations of his fantasy "You don't need to until you're healed. I'll make sure of that-"

"John, you know I hate being such a burden. And besides, I like work! I like being outside!" She protested, cutting him off.

For a second, John felt a pang of something bad in his gut. Was it jealousy? Or anxiety? Or guilt? He couldn't pin it exactly. But it made him look up from the sandwiches and back at Alice in a swift movement.

Upon seeing her confused expression those feelings mostly disappeared though, and he instead felt the previous bubbles of adoration rising from his stomach to his head. He put the butter knife down and stepped over to Alice, once again embracing her and pressing his lips to her head.

"You're so cute, you know that?" He smiled, inhaling her scent and moving one hand to pinch her bum, earning an amused gasp.

"Shut up. I'm serious." She retorted but couldn't hide her smile as she pulled away from him, determined to wash the last dish.

Once he noticed the sink full of soapy water, it only took a second for John's arms hands to automatically dive in there - splashing Alice from head to waist. Before she even had time to react he splashed her again and again, a low chuckle exiting his throat as a scream rose in hers.

It was cold and she was shocked, standing silent for a moment before letting the scream out and turning to John.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

He was already running though, laughing as he went into the living room and hid behind the sofa, followed by Alice.

"You're a fucking prick!" She declared, lunging towards him but he quickly shot out the way. His laughing only got harder as she continuously failed to catch him.

Like a mad man, he darted around the house and jumped just out of reach every time Alice got close to victory. By the time they'd reached back to the kitchen, she was also laughing, her ribs and stomach hurting from it.

"Just come here! I'm gonna get you!"

She hadn't even realised that they were back at the sink, John took his chance and struck again - this time soaking both of them as he violently thrashed at the water. Another scream escaped her mouth but this one was quieter, less shocked.

"You're ridiculous. You know that John Shelby?"

He scoffed, his eyes slowly trickling down from her big eyes and rosy cheeks to the translucent material sticking to her chest.

"You recon?" He smirked "Tell me, what would you do if you got me?"

Alice quickly caught onto the direction of his gaze, defiantly crossing her arms and wrinkling her nose.

"I would send you to a circus to perform with other monkeys." She tutted before letting out a teeth chattering shiver "Now can I please have some dry clothes?"

"Can I not look at you for just a minute longer?"

She rolled her eyes and dropped her arms with a giggle, losing the internal fight of acting cool and accepting it. John's gaze made her stomach swirl and her cheeks pink; a feeling she hadn't enjoyed since childhood, a feeling that she'd spent years being scared of and then years after that forgetting. His eyes studied her, a million thoughts visibly racing behind them, whilst his lips pulled into a small smirk.

"It's actually quite mad to me just how beautiful you are you know?"

The words combined with his sudden touch at the base of her top sent butterflies in all directions.

"You're sweet." Her voice was barely above a whisper and John replied in a low tone.

"If you knew what I was thinking you wouldn't say that."

Alice's lips also pulled into a small smirk.

"Do you not think I'm thinking the same thing?"

"What's that?" John raised his eyebrow.

"What do you mean what's that? You know." Alice shot back, confused.

As if his face couldn't get any smugger, his smirk deepened and he shook his head with a swagger.

"I wanna hear you say it."

Alice almost gasped, wanting to mock the game he was playing, but she herself couldn't resist playing it and so replied, with an exasperated eye roll "John Shelby, if you wouldn't mind, could you fuck me before I freeze my tits off."

"That's more like it."

[mushe-room]

what do you mean i can’t warn my younger self that our dad’s anger only gets worse?

[downbadf0rficppl]

someone's there

Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

Repost

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n]

Someone's there.

Bucky x Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

AN: This is definitely not what I intended to write when I started but anyway. Have good day my dudes!!!

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! I want to make a petition for jason todd with a reader who basically has a personality and background of yui komori, that is, she is super kind, sensitive, shy and who went through a very traumatic situation related to kidnapping and abuse and who because of that she is very scared and has post traumatic stress disorder, i hope it's not so dark for you and i don't want you to write this if you don't want to.

⚠️ I don’t believe I accurately depicted PTSD in this…like at all, most of my info on it came from the NHS website on PTSD. So please take this depiction with a pinch of salt.⚠️

Jason has a body littered with scars, wether it be the ones on his body, his heart or his mind. Scars that could turn anyone away and despite knowing that he has the ability to push you away whenever he wanted, to offer you an opening to leave when things started getting serious, he never could when you held his face in your hands and looking at him with those worried eyes of yours; Looking through him and into his soul as though he was anything but a broken man.

Jason becomes soft, sweet and overbearingly domestic when he’s with you because all he wants for you in your relationship was the best treatment, for to him, you were the most precious thing to have ever walked into his life and he never wants to take advantage of that. To Jason, to take advantage of a good thing were a bastard move and those who did that sort of thing weren’t worth their salt nor worth their partners time nor love.

There were days where Jason would stop reading and instead watch what you were doing from the corner of his eye, smiling to himself as he vowed to himself to never let moments like these slip from his fingers, to never let you slip from his fingers and protect you to the best of his abilities.

Jason would be willing to do anything you wished/desired, he believes that if he were to find some interest in your hobbies, he’d find all the more things to share with you and receive in return. It’s his most favourite thing in your relationship, when you share things and in return learn even more things from the other.

Jason has always been taken aback by everything you did for him and even though you knew he could do them himself but you always insisted that you could help him as payment for everything he’s done for you in return and how you felt helpless and or useless for standing on the side lines whilst he patches himself up from his nightly vigilante activities.

He’d always tell you that it wasn’t your responsibility to clean up after him but whenever he’d come home, nursing a couple more bruises and cuts then usual, you were already out of your shared room with the first aid kit with a determined look on your face as you tell him to sit on the nearest flat surface as you disinfect his wounds and ice his bruises.

Meanwhile Jason would stare at you adoringly, only snapping out from his stupor when you tended to a particularly nasty would on his side causing him to hiss out a harsh ‘fuck.’ Causing you to drop everything in order to apologise profusely for causing him more harm and it wasn’t until then that Jason clocked how you became rigid and on the defensive within the blink of an eye; all the while with a frightened look upon your face and how you’d made yourself look small compared to him as though you were trying to show that you were of not threat to him.

Jason took this sudden moment of realisation to recall the moments where his aggression would slip out accidentally and how you’d react by way of flinching, backing yourself into a corner, your breath hitching in your throat, avoidant eye contact or straight up apologising for things you had nothing to do with whatsoever.

Originally he was pissed that you had past experiences of what he assumed were abusive and or manipulative relationships but was quick to realise that by giving into his anger would only make you more hesitant in opening up to him about your past, your problems and might even cause a crack in your relationship.

So he calmed himself down through some deep breathing, clearing away his mind of some violent thoughts aimed towards the people that had dared in laying their hands on you with harmful and the most vile of intentions; before looking over at your scared form with soft eyes and said; ‘you should never be made to apologise for things that aren’t your fault or doing, sweetheart. You just caught me by surprise is all, we’re alright, we’re okay.’

‘You. did. nothing. wrong.’ He states firmly but what broke his heart even further was your soft response of ‘okay.’

The next time something similar happened was when you began experiencing nightmares of your time being a sacrificial lamb for a household of vampires, stuck in the middle of nowhere. You honestly thought you were going to die there with how often they fed off you that you still got the scars from every place that they’ve ever fed from.

sometimes you’d have moments where it was as though you were stuck in that household again, experiencing the piercing of fangs digging your skin again and again, and again, and again, and they’d always occur in the parts of your body where you’ve been bitten before, one, twice, even multiple times. You would even remember the feeling sensation of lightheadedness from how ‘carried away’ they’d get during their feeds.

It didn’t matter whether or not they needed to feed on you as often as they did but it wasn’t like there was anything you could’ve done to defend yourself. You were a human going up against the supernatural, you were fated to loose that fight real fast and you didn’t wish to think of what could’ve happened has you died trying; you wondered even less about what they’d do to your body afterwards.

you reframed from looking at them when you got changed for bed or went into a shower. Hell you barely looked into any reflective surface in fear of your eyes drifting towards the fang marks that littered your neck and be transported back to that hellhole.

One night, it had gotten so bad to the point where you couldn’t bring your self to going back to sleep and seek a safe haven within the kitchen, where you helped yourself to liquid magic in the form of tea/coffee; Focusing on the taste and the way it goes done your throat more so then anything but also being hyper aware of your situation, going so far as to bring down with you a metal bat that Jason got for you.

Not those aluminium ones that bent after a couple of hits, but bats mad out of proper strong stuff that would do more damage to the recipient of the blows, rather then the bat itself.

So when Jason awoke to you not being in bed, he’s immediately presuming the worst has happened and is quick to act by flying down the stairs, but back in the kitchen the frantic sound of feet clambering down the stairs had you already on your feet, bat in hand as you readied to defend yourself.

‘Woah! Sweetheart! It’s me!’ Jason would say, hands in the air when he noted the bat in your hand. ‘Nightmare?’ He’d ask, having been in your place a fair share of times. So if there was anyone to note the signs, it was Jason. ‘Yeah.’ You said weakly, still gripping the bat despite feeling better knowing that it was only Jason. Your body however was still very much coming down from acting upon your inbuilt fight or flight instincts.

‘Mind if I join you?’ He then asked, gesturing to the space next to you.

‘Please.’ Was all you said.

‘Okay.’ With that Jason made himself a strong coffee and stood on the other side of the kitchen as to give you space but he could tell you appreciated him not delving deeper into it and he couldn’t blame you, the trauma of the past never truly goes away and it’s never an easy topic for one person to tackle on their own.

Right now you can both attempt in catching up on those shows you’ve been meaning to catch up on tougher.

[lacallemojada]

Maya and Carina {LINES AND LYRICS}

- inspo 

[reliquaryofflesh]

Let’s play Fight Club. Slap, punch, kick, slam each other into the walls and tackle each other to the floor. And then let’s fuck nasty. Or nicely. I don’t care let’s just fuck after we beat each other up. Press our aching bodies together, kiss with bloody lips and caress with red-knuckled hands. Maybe fall asleep battered and spent in each others arms and wake up sore but satisfied.

[cassiaallen]

I have had this in my notes forever, and since I’m not sure if I’ll ever turn this into a fanfic, I thought I’d post it here.

A lot of this is my own version of canon, but it’s also partly inspired by wonderful accounts such as @halfblood-princes-crown, @moonlightdancer26 and more.

Hope you enjoy!

Severus Snape’s Death Eater Journey

-Eileen married Tobias because she was the eldest of her siblings and thus the "heir" and hated it

-she was in Gryffindor (hat stall, almost in Slytherin)

-Tobias was a misogynistic wife-beater and child abuser

-he hated magic

-he didn’t like feeling his wife was superior to him

-he beat his wife to "get the magic out of her" and when that didn’t work, he did the same to his son

-Severus started to resent T when he was about 5

-his first bit of magic showed during a time when he was defending himself against his father

-he started thinking "are all muggles this bad?", but slightly changed that view whenever he spoke to his muggle neighbours and the Evans family

-Sev is excited to go to Hogwarts as he thinks he can finally escape his family’s tormenting

-he latches onto Lily as she’s A) magical (and thus, an "outsider" like him) and B) a complete contrast to everything he had ever known

-encounter in the train 01.09.1971

-at first, he brushes it off

-Lily being Sorted into Gryffindor upsets him mainly because it reminds him of his miserable home life (Gryffindor as a symbol of badness)

-first week of school, J&S play a prank on Sev

-they find his reaction funny, play some more pranks on him during the next few months and decide to make him their main target

-part of J&S detentions are the result of Sev telling prefect Lucius (this in turn contributes to their hatred of Sev and Slytherin)

-the pranks are physically harmless at first, "just" humiliating

-Sev throws himself into his studies, becoming a very skilled wizard

-in year 2/3, the "pranks" become more and more physically violent

-in year 4, Sev accidentally hexes an OC as he believes them to be one of the marauders (he just saw someone coming in his direction from the corner of his eye)

-he apologises and takes the OC to the hospital wing

-the only people that somewhat listen to him when it comes to the M are Slytherins

-he is not close to any of them though

-he starts hanging out with Avery and Mulciber

-he’s happy to be somewhat included, so he doesn’t openly criticise their anti-muggleborn views

-despite his friendship with Lily, Sev associates the Light™️ with his oppressors

-he begins to learn more about the Dark Arts to fight back (he focuses on the opposite of what his bullies stand for)

-he hears slurs in his common room all the time and often they refer to his bullies (which is largely why he calls Lily that)

-he never says the slur out loud, only in his head/under his breath

-one time Sev and Mulciber bitch about the Gryffindors/his bullies in particular and Sev calls Remus + Peter the slur under his breath (he wants to get back at them for all the pain they’ve caused him by supporting J&S)

-Sev says he dislikes an OC as much as the M, which leads to people believing he calls everyone of Lily’s birth the slur

-January 1976 Werewolf Incident

-February 1976 Mulciber tries doing something to Mary MacDonald ("They don’t use Dark Magic though.")

-Sev's anger and bitterness increases as Dumbledore forces him to keep quiet about the WI

-May/June 1976 Lake Incident (+ failed apology)

-Sev comes home that summer to find out his father had (accidentally) killed his mother ("She fell down the stairs.")

-the summer holidays are awful as A) Sev misses his mum and B) his father now takes all his anger out on him

-he spends as much time outside as possible

-he spends some time on the playground where he first saw Lily

-he writes her a letter, delivers it personally, and Lily’s parents promise to give it to her (she never responds)

-year 6 is the worst bullying ever, as J&S A) realise Sev no longer has Lily’s support and B) Sirius’s disowning fuelled their anger at Slytherins

-Lily pointedly ignores him

-Sev's only safe haven is the Dark Arts, but he is also hesitant as this is what drove Lily (=the Light) away

-due to the increased bullying that year, Sev ends up in the hospital wing every other week

-summer 1977 is when he starts getting caught in the loop of "I want power to protect myself from my pain (J&S, Gryffindor, everything they represent)" and "but I don’t want to commit evil acts (Cruciatus Curse etc)"

-through spies at Hogwarts (Lucius?) Voldemort finds out about a skilled and vulnerable Sev and starts preying on him

-he is on the fence, but when he finds out Lily is dating James (his tormentor) in 1978, that tips him over the edge

-his motivation for joining the DE is revenge for the pain the light side caused him (the M bullying, Dumbledore covering it all up, Lily "betraying" him by joining his tormentors), gaining power to protect himself against future attacks, and to protect Lily from "their clutches"

-he comes home that summer to find out his father died in a car accident (he was driving while drunk), so he owns the Spinner’s End house

-he receives the Dark Mark a few months after graduation September 1978

-Voldemort instructs Sev to use his home to make potions for the DE

-he occasionally takes part in battles, but during his first year, his main job is brewing potions

-while spending so much time at home, he goes through his old belongings and discovers things from his friendship with Lily

-guilt starts to manifest, but the DE are the first people who value him and his skills and don’t make fun of him, so he ignores their pure-blood ideology even though he doesn’t believe in it himself

-in 1979/1980 Voldemort starts using Sev as a spy as he recognises his talent for it during previous battles

-15.05.1980 the Prophecy

-August 1980 Voldemort decides to go after the Potters and guilt hits Sev in the face so hard he can barely breathe

-"well, I don’t care about Potter, but I can’t leave Lily dead or unhappy"

-asking Voldemort to spare her (had he asked for the whole family, it would have been suspicious)

-asking Dumbledore to spare all ("Anything.")

-starts teaching at Hogwarts (V believes it is to spy on D but it’s actually the opposite)

-Halloween 1981

-guilt and grief times ♾

-"Always."

[letstalktea]

Death Won’t Do Us Part

Content: Harper x Reader, Avery x Reader, Reader is dead at the start of the fic and it does not get better, physical abuse, Reader and Avery are implied to be in a more serious relationship, mentions of brain damage

Word Count: 1.5k

This wasn’t you. This lifeless, immobile husk with clouding eyes staring blankly ahead and skin that was slowly losing color. These stiff, cooling hands weren’t the same ones Harper had so lovingly held, disguised behind an unsteady mask of professionalism, each time you walked into their office for a check-up.

Their swirling eyes looked up at the dark brown ones – so dark they were nearly black – staring down at them. “You should have called sooner.”

Avery looked none the worse for wear, even staring directly at your corpse lying in the bed of his guest room which he must have moved you to – or paid someone to move you to. “It took time to clean the mess they made.”

A mess? Rigor mortis was already setting in and Avery was calling your death a mess. Not even an accident. Just a mess.

“And how can I help you with this mess?” Harper hated using Avery's callous words to refer to you, but they also knew the extent of the man’s rage and how easily it could turn on anyone he thought couldn’t do anything to fight back against him. They’d taken care of your open wounds and broken bones plenty of times to know just how dangerous the man was behind closed doors and they weren’t willing to find out just how much lower on the totem pole Avery thought they were than himself.

“Fix it. Discreetly.”

That would have been easier if Avery had called them when you had first gotten hurt rather than waiting to cover his own ass. If they had gotten there sooner, been able to see you before the life had left your eyes and Avery had moved your body – and you had clearly been moved – Harper may have been able to stabilize you. Better yet, if Avery had brought you to the hospital rather than hiding your body away in the guest room, they likely could have given you proper treatment. As things stood now, however, bringing you back from beyond the grave would require a miracle.

They wanted answers, both because they wanted to know what Avery had done to you this time but also because they needed to know what it was they were being asked to fix. 

“How did this happen?”

Avery’s face twisted into anger, as if being questioned was in and of itself a taboo. Now that they had seen the expression for himself, Harper understood why you were always so secretive about your injuries even though it was obvious where they had come from. If that was the face you saw every time you stepped out of line or made even the smallest mistake, they could understand why you never dared to say anything that would risk your safety any further.

Harper wasn’t you though. They were just the person having to deal with the aftermath.

“The longer it takes me to figure out what happened to them, the more time they have to rot. Their eyes are already clouding over and their eyesight won’t be as good as it was. They may even have some leftover joint and mobility issues due to the chemical changes in their muscles. It would be more helpful if you happened to know how they hurt themselves.”

Avery was too put together to click his tongue, but Harper could sense that it was the exact reaction to display his displeasure with the situation.

“They tripped and hit their head on the corner of the bookcase.”

In other words, Avery had hit you hard enough that you fell and hit your head, and that had killed you.

They’d seen your blood many, many times. From collecting it in vials to patching up the less than savory injuries you’d come into the hospital with over the years. They’d seen you in all manners of state. Once, they’d even had to cut your forehead open to pick out shards of glass that had buried themselves deep beneath your skin. That day was awful for everyone involved. They swore to themselves that nothing could be worse than that day, especially after you started crying in fear that your face had been ruined and how angry Avery would be if the stitches left a scar after your wound healed.

Avery always made you bleed, it was just that this time the bleeding had been mostly inside your brain. They wouldn’t know if it was epidural or subdural without further testing, but the result was the same either way; death. Even if they managed to bring you back, a feat seeming more and more impossible by the second, you would have brain damage. 

If Avery would be upset by a scratch on your face, they couldn’t imagine his unadulterated rage when they told him that you wouldn’t be the same person when you came back. Avery wanted a trophy, not a partner. If you weren’t polished to his liking, he would throw you away and get another. 

But one person’s trash was another person’s treasure.

Avery wouldn’t want you if you didn’t live up to his ideals, but Harper would. They would always want you, no matter what you were like when you came back. If Avery would gladly let you go and leave you in their waiting hands, that would be fine. In fact, if the brain damage was bad enough, perhaps they could get you a permanent residency in the asylum, where they could keep a close eye on you everyday.

You would have no more injuries, no more late night emergencies, no more terrifying calls like this one. You would be perfectly safe in a room they would never allow you to leave because they could write that you weren’t capable of being on your own. You would only have to see them everyday. They wouldn't even allow the orderlies to see you. Even when they were away at the hospital, they wouldn't allow another person near you.

Harper tried not to smile because they knew it would give away their intentions.

“May I have a moment?” They asked Avery in the hopes that he would leave the room so they wouldn’t have to try and suppress their jubilation.

Avery didn’t move.

“This will be ghastly,” Harper said, trying to touch on Avery's sensitivities.

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “I expect results.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“And if you can’t do anything?”

“Whether I can or can’t, you won’t find this issue when you come back.” Because, if they couldn’t fix you, they knew Avery was expecting them to get rid of the problem in a way that didn’t cause him any more trouble than he’d already gone through. That’s what it meant to be discreet.

Avery looked at them, then at you. 

If Harper didn’t know better, they would think the annoyance gave way to the smallest spark of sadness when his eyes landed on your placid face. But he didn’t earn the right to be sad about your current state.

Avery left the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as it was just Harper and you, they smiled. They smiled so widely that their cheeks hurt and they had to hold back their laughter. 

They could whisk you away right now and Avery wouldn't question a thing. They could put you in your new – technically old – room and keep you close. Avery would never look for you at the asylum because he thought the place was beneath him. 

The only flaw in their plan was that you were very much still dead.

No.

You couldn't be dead.

The dead didn't come back to life. No matter how good of a doctor Harper was, that would remain true. You were simply playing at being dead because you were trying to get away from Avery. That was the only way this night could end in any way other than tragedy. 

Harper understood your plan without you telling them a thing and was happy to help you carry it out. They examined the spot where you'd hit your head and reasoned that it was merely bruised. The clouding of your eyes was a trick of the light and your stiff limbs were the result of your tiredness.

You were fine.

You had to be because, if you weren’t, there was nothing they could do.

But, because you were clearly fine – maybe a little roughed up due to Avery's heavy hand, but otherwise fine – they would have to whisk you away from this place. Avery already gave their tacit approval for you to vanish without a word or trace and Harper saw no reason not to take him up on his generous offer.

Harper would gladly keep you.

[the-witchs-cafe]

[traumadumpwriter]

Heavy trigger warning: Blood, violence, gore. Mentions of self harm, sexual assault and rape.

Check out the other chapters by going on the Freedom tag on my page!

Sorry for the slow updates. I’m much more regular on my Wattpad and already have a lot more chapters uploaded there. The @ is slowlychanging .

Don’t forget to like and comment if you’re enjoying! It really does mean a lot. Stay safe xx

Freedom: A John Shelby mini fic

Chapter Ten: 4199 words

The intense car ride home reminded John far too much of that first car ride with Alice - after he and Arthur had seen her in the middle of the road that fateful night - and it made his stomach turn as he was once again plagued by questions that were all likely to have bad answers.

He was careful to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around her, holding her close to his chest and looking down at the high cheekbones and plump lips of her blood splattered face with an uncomfortable feeling of desperation. Sweat dripped from his face onto hers - but he daren't move his hand to wipe it - unable to bring himself to unwrap his arms from the tight position they were in around her, like he was holding pieces of shattered porcelain together.

Once they were back at his, John wasted no time cleaning things up - quickly checking between her passed out body on the sofa and the boiling water as he prepared a bath. He wasn't too sure of where all the blood had come from; it certainly wasn't all Ergin's and that was worrying him deeply. He moved fast but careful.

Gently, he placed her in the steel tub and watched the red rise to the surface, clotting and creating ink like patterns in the water. His hand swished away all those patterns swiftly though, delicately patting her from head to toe with a flannel until all of the blood was gone from her skin.

In most other situations her naked body would've excited him. But as he lifted her from the tub and carried her to his bed, he felt as if he were handling a delicate antique doll, terrified to crack the china skin. Her injuries were now clear and the water had even opened some of them up, creating more small trickles of blood although not enough for John to panic. His previous fear subsided as he realised the blood was from shallow cuts, littered amongst the hundreds of scars she already had from her neck down to her toes.

That confused him. "Did they make her do this? Or did she do this to herself somehow?" They weren't there that morning and she'd been busy all day, so the first option seemed more likely.

He couldn't imagine ever wanting a woman to hurt herself for his own pleasure but he'd heard of some sick minded men enjoying it - maybe the Turks were in that category of men. His jaw clenched at the thought. Maybe that's how Tommy knew Ergin would like her.

Then, he naturally ran his eyes along the rest of her body; some bruises already starting to form - particularly the finger shaped ones around her neck. That made him painfully grimace.

He could only look at her for a second longer before quickly pulling a clean blanket over the sleeping body and then pacing towards the front door, his anger reaching new heights as he imagined whatever had happened to Alice in those twenty five horror filled minutes spent inside the enemy territory.

With flared nostrils and shaking hands, he pulled on his coat and stormed out the house, instantly lighting a cigarette as he strode towards Watery lane. After only a couple seconds of walking he heard a familiar set of heels stepping towards him and soon Aunt Pol appeared out of the fog, strutting with a concerned expression.

"Is she alright John? What happened?" She asked worriedly, but could guess the answer after seeing his furrowed brow and clenched fists.

He simply shot the woman a glare before continuing his march, determined to get to his brothers and give them the nastiest fight he'd ever given them. Pol of course let out a huff before turning around and following him, having to walk faster to keep up with his wide stepped pace.

"She's alive isn't she?" Her voice had an unintentional amount of panic in it.

"Only just."

"Well if it's only just what the fuck are you doing out here and not with her? See to your brother tomorrow." The tone had lost its previous softness as she snapped at her nephew.

"It ain't just Tommy, it's you and Arthur too. All three of you fucking put her up to this." John hissed, his eyes staying focused on the pavement ahead.

"Oh please! Like you're not the one completely desperate to see that bloody bastard husband of hers dead. The Turks are gone and now it's only time until he comes to us-"

"What's the point him being dead if she ain't alive?" He stopped his pace and turned to his aunt dramatically. "Huh? I can't marry a dead woman! Can I!... She's fucking lucky she made it outta there alive and she certainly ain't fucking unscathed as Tommy fucking put it!" With an angry scoff he chucked his cigarette to the ground. "And you know what! After tonight I don't give a fuck about her being married already! Fuck that bastard, I'm gonna marry her! She ain't his and she never was - dead or alive - she's mine! And ain't no one, not you, not Tommy, not anyone is gonna take her from me! You got that?"

His eyes were wide and his breathing heavy - never having been angry enough at his aunt to rant at her so aggressively before. Usually he would keep his mouth shut and step into line, but something about Alice was making that submissive part of him disappear - at least for anyone who wasn't her - and he felt as if he could fight the whole world if it meant his girl would be okay.

Polly didn't tut or raise her hand at his outburst as she usually would at the slightest infraction though, staying calm as she looked at her nephew and only felt pity. The proposal was something she'd seen coming a mile off, but the pain he was feeling as a result of tonight - it was palpable. From his steely, reddening eyes to his raised but ragged voice; the young man was desperately in love. Desperately in love with a woman even more damaged than himself.

"Oh how awful love can be." Polly thought, letting out a sigh before adopting a more gentle tone again. There wasn't any satisfying answer to his outburst and so much like he did to her, she replied with another initial question of her own.

"Why have you left her on her own then? You and I both know that's a bad idea-"

"She's out cold." Again, John cut Pol off icily but could gradually feel himself calming down as he looked into his aunts comforting, knowledgeable face. If she was calm, then things had to be okay - that was the way he'd always known although he struggled to feel it in that moment. "So I can't even ask her what happened but she were covered in blood, fucking naked n only half awake when I found her so I'm sure you can fucking guess!"

Polly felt her heart drop to her stomach, a wave of nauseous guilt overtaking her. She should've expected it but she didn't, having faith in her nephews plan and even in the merciless violence that Clara's nightmare daughter seemed to have been capable of.

"And it don't even matter that the Turks are fucking dead. Because they still hurt her. I'd rather them be alive so I could fucking do to them what they done to her." His voice still frothed with anger but was considerably quieter now, sounding more tired and depressed than amped and violent as it was previously.

"Perhaps it wasn't as bad as John thought though. Maybe she did just dance as Tommy had said she would. Perhaps, Alice had been able to kill them before they had the chance to really hurt her." Polly tried to have herself believe as she attempted to soothe her heartbroken nephew.

"She's a tough girl and I'm sure she'll have Tommy herself when she wakes up." One corner of John's lip nearly twitched upwards at that image but was quickly anchored down before it actually had the chance to rise.

"She'll be fine, John." Pol continued, placing a hand on his shoulder before starting her walk back to the family home. "But you should be with her now. Tomorrow will come soon enough."

And with that she was gone back into the fog, stepping with less speed than before now that she knew Alice was alive and at least semi-okay.

It was news that Arthur waited impatiently to hear, unable to see his brother himself after hearing about the bloodstained car ride from Isaiah. He knew exactly how angry John would be and couldn't blame him one bit for whatever violence he was sure to want to inflict on him. But that wasn't the thing that stressed him most - he'd grown a genuine soft spot for the extra ordinary woman and was now terrified that he'd played a role in another traumatic experience or at the worst, her untimely death.

Sure, he knew the Turks sadistic reputation - but he also knew Alice's and now, like Pol, realised that he had possibly placed too much faith in it. After all, she wouldn't have been able to torture David without the assistance of the brothers - in fact if they hadn't been there he probably would've had his way with her. Why hadn't he even considered that fact until now? Why did he have to just trust that Tommy's plan would go completely perfect?

Stressed, he ran his hands through his hair and looked up at the clock - each second dragging agonisingly as he waited for his aunts return. As soon as the door opened and her dark locks were visible, he rose from his seat and opened his mouth but Polly beat him to the punch.

"She's out cold as your brother put it - you won't be getting any real answers until tomorrow. But alive at least."

Arthur nodded silently, relief flooding him although you wouldn't be able to tell from his stoic expression.

"I've never seen him like this before, Arthur. He was on his way to whack you and Tommy until I stopped him... He's completely in love with that girl. He'll never forgive us for this."

Meanwhile a few streets away, John's face was as unreadable as his brothers but instead of being relieved, he felt sick. He carefully carried Alice up the stairs and into his bed - her body still heavy and limp as she showed no signs of waking soon. The blanket remained draped around her and soon she was tucked under another one - an attempt at providing the most comfort and warmth possible without actually wrapping himself around her.

She didn't stir even slightly throughout the night, remaining stiff to point where John would check her breathing occasionally - unable to sleep until the early hours himself. And when he did finally fall asleep, he was plagued with nightmares; his usual ones of war but now they cruelly had Alice intertwined into them too.

It was around eight that the woman finally awoke, instantly groaning from the pain across her body before her eyes even opened. She could smell John and feel the soft texture of his bed against her bare skin, something she peacefully soaked in for a second before the memories of the night before came crashing into view and she became acutely aware of her unwilling nudity - along with the sore injuries she seemed to be covered in.

Panicked, she sat up straight - instantly gasping and falling back down as she felt a shooting pain in her ribs. John shot up at the slight noise and quickly turned towards her, feeling as if he hadn't slept at all and was immediately alert.

Seeing her deep brown eyes open again, although they were full of fear, lifted a weight from his shoulders that he didn't even realise was there and he was quick to try to soothe her.

"Hey, hey it's okay-" he went in for a hug but she sharply flinched away, panicked breaths and tearful eyes making her look as vulnerable as a shot lamb.

"It hurts.. my ribs. I think they're broken." She gasped, looking down at her body and letting out an even more scared pant before looking up at John.

"I, I didn't want to get nude. Please don't think I'm a whore. I, I should have listened to you. I'm sorry." Her voice was a weak stammer and tears started to brew at her waterline as John quickly jumped out of the bed and raced to stand by her side - his speed unintentionally making her jump in fright.

Before she could panic any more though, he bent down and placed a long kiss on her forehead, holding her bruised face with one hand whilst the other interlocked with her shaking fingers.

"It's alright. You're okay. I'm with you. No one is ever gonna hurt you or have their bloody way with you again. I swear on it." He cooed, instantly relaxing her slightly. "And Tommy is gonna pay for sending you in there, I promise."

The silence that followed accompanied by John's gentle touch felt like heaven compared to the traumatic night before. She was safe now.

It gave Alice a real moment to collect her thoughts and calm herself down, the tears that were brewing quickly evaporating. She pondered on his words, how much it clearly worried him that she might've had sex with the Turks, and that was something she had to set straight before it could fester on his or her mind any longer. She didn't want him to think of her even more dirty than she already was.

"They didn't have their way, John. I wasn't raped. In fact, you arrived just in time." Her voice was still quivering, although considerably less than before. His touch seemed to have almost numbed her, a nonchalant energy to the R word as her body realised that she was now safe and no longer had to panic.

It was a word that some women wouldn't dare to utter, but Alice was so desensitised to it that it rolled off her tongue like any other word would. John decided not to think on that though, gently stroking her bruised cheekbone and placing another kiss on her forehead before he spoke again, a small relieved smile on his lips but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He didn't know whether to believe her or not - clearly so scared of being judged as some sort of whore although he could never see her that way.

"If I had been a few minutes later?" He asked quietly, trying to coax the full truth from her swollen lips.

"Then I imagine he would have had me." She replied plainly, no more shakiness or fear in her voice. The blunt tone was all he needed to know there was no lie, in fact it was her familiar blunt tone of brutal honesty - the words that came from it usually leaving a trail of hurt upon whoever received them. "But he didn't. You were there in time. So there is nothing to dwell on."

Another moment of silence passed, his hands remaining in their delicate positions before he slowly pulled them away and stepped backwards from the bed, getting a full look at her bruised neck and feeling that rage from last night kick in again.

"I'm assuming everything else went well? The Turks are no longer a problem?" She continued, not even acknowledging John's visible change in mood.

"Burnt to the ground." He spoke lowly.

"Good."

There was now an awkwardness in the air as John clearly wanted to say so many things but didn't know how to. Alice could guess what he was thinking anyway.

"I'm still going to punch your brother in his fucking face. I thought I was gonna die when Ergin was... and Tommy told me I'd be fine." Her voice was losing its confidence again as she thought of the fear she'd felt and she had to cut herself off to stop the shake from coming back. The anger in John's eyes was already blistering - he didn't need to hear how scared she'd really been.

He knew anyway, thinking back on the tales she'd told of Jones and how much it must've felt like being with him. He could never let that happen to her again. So, with a heavy exhale, he looked to his feet and then up again before speaking.

"I'm gonna drive you to the hospital, get those ribs sorted. We'll pick up Ada on the way to keep you company, I doubt you'll be there very long anyway." He instructed, moving across the room to get dressed as Alice lay with an irritated scowl.

She knew he was right but god she resented being told what to do - even by John.

"And what am I to do in the hospital? What about Tommy? I want to give him a piece of my mind." She moaned.

"You're to lay still, recover and stay safe." He replied before making his way back over to the bed with a small pile of clean clothes to pick from. "Don't you worry about Tommy, he's gonna get a piece of my, and probably even Pol's mind once I get my hands on him."

Alice sifted through the clothes, letting out an involuntary painful hiss as she moved out of the bed to get dressed.

The damage done to her body was clearer in the morning light illuminating the small room: dark bruises and vicious cuts. She looked even worse than John had realised in the dimness of the night before. He thought about the beautiful white dress she'd confidently galavanted in less than twenty four hours ago; how regal she looked even with a gun in her hand, how angelic she seemed. Now she didn't look much better than the men he'd seen at war.

Alice noticed his bewildered expression as she weakly pulled on a white shirt - the most comfortable from the pile - and found herself racking her brain for some words of comfort. She knew she looked bad and she knew John was worried but there was nothing to be worried about - atleast in her mind - she'd made it out alive, relatively unviolated and the blinders had won the battle.

Why did he care so much about her injuries? His intense gaze paired with the furrowed brows were starting to make her feel ugly.

"Stop looking at me like that, John. I'm fine." Her voice almost sounded angry, it probably would've come out a lot more intensely if she weren't so tired.

"Look at you like what?" He scoffed, watching her pull on a grey pair of trousers with an obvious attempt to keep a straight, unpained face.

"Like you're so... I don't know." She struggled to find the exact words as a pounding headache started to kick in. "Scared, or worried, or maybe even sad? Like I said, I'm fine and there's nothing to dwell on."

John scoffed at her again, louder this time and with more irritation. He looked to the floor with a tut before regaining the previous intense eye contact.

"You shouldn't be fine. You ain't fine! You should be upset, like you were just five minutes ago. But you go numb.. you go empty. It's like you don't even give a shit about yourself.. about what could've happened."

"What. Upset that a man could've forced his dick in me for the millionth fucking time? Or actually, finally killed me? La dee fucking da John! It didn't happen, so it don't matter. And even if it did why would it make a difference at this point? I'm already damaged goods, we both know that. So why do you care?"

The mood had drastically changed from the comfort of each others company to extreme irritation within a couple of seconds. Mood swings were a common part of being around Alice, yet John still found himself occasionally shocked by the intensity of them. Especially in this circumstance.

"Because I fucking love you, Alice! Jesus fucking Christ! What is actually wrong with you?" He raised his voice "You're actually fucked if you really think like that! Why don't you give a single fuck about yourself? Why aren't you angry?" A lash of agony laced his tone, every word she'd spoke landing like a knife into his chest.

"You think I'm not angry?" She scoffed this time, much more venomously than him. "I'm more angry than you could ever fucking know. I was kept prisoner for five years, John. I just learnt to hold it in."

"Well you don't have to hold it in anymore." He was desperate to quell her mood, to bring out her vulnerability again as atleast it meant she was human. But her defences stayed up and her expression mimicked one of a savage tiger, hissing and ready to pounce.

"Oh yes I do. Trust me. If I didn't, I'd never get to leave that hospital. I think you know that. Now let's fucking go and get it over with, Ada doesn't need to come, I can be left alone."

~~~~~

No more words were exchanged between the unofficial couple until they reached the hospital, both stubbornly side eyeing each other during the drive, secretly hoping the other would initiate the talk.

John didn't know what to say and Alice felt embarrassed to speak. Embarrassed that she'd panicked that morning, embarrassed that she'd then been rude and even more embarrassed that she'd even gotten hurt last night - having felt so certain of herself previously. All of these things made her weak - at least in her mind - and so she awkwardly kept her eyes to the ground as she struggled out of the car, holding in a pain filled groan.

Despite her attempts at hiding the breathlessness the forced silence was causing her, the observant man was instantly at her side, offering a hand by holding out his but still saying nothing.

With a defeated sigh, Alice intertwined her fingers with his and looked up into his eyes for a second before averting her gaze back to the floor. His sympathetic gaze could only be withstood for that long before she felt embarrassed again.

"I'm sorry." She sighed with an uncomfortable swallow of pride; not used to feeling so weak.

It surprised John as he was just getting ready to break the silence himself, unable to bear it any longer after a peak at her depressed expression. There was a lot he wanted to say in response, conflicting answers followed by questions, but they were both so tired that he decided against it.

"It's alright." He simply responded, a wooden pick balanced between his teeth. "Let's get this over with."

As they ascended the great stone steps to the lobby, Alice found herself needing to lean into John far more than she wanted to, once again feeling weak and embarrassed, unable to even keep eye contact with the receptionist as John demanded an immediate and private consultation - a big emphasis on those words only added to by the wad of cash gripped in his free hand.

God her cheeks were red by time she was being sat into a wheelchair, watching John whisper something to one of the nurses before they were quite ready to whisk her away. It wasn't hard to guess what he was saying, considering that Ada hadn't been picked up.

"Make sure she's not left alone."

So ashamed she could've cried on the spot and starting to completely disassociate, his face suddenly inches from hers made her jump as it took a second to register. She wasn't used to getting looked at with pity - it was usually the opposite - "or atleast it used to be" was all she could bitterly think.

"I'll go get Ada now." John's tone was still flat, struggling to maintain a calm composure himself. He tried to keep Alice's eyes on his with a deep stare, but once hers hit her lap they were seemingly anchored there; along with the corners of her mouth.

"You told the nurse not to leave me alone, didn't you?" What would usually come out as an intimidating sneer came out in a quiet sigh.

"Can you blame me?" His hand moved to stroke her arm but he stopped himself, swallowing and pausing for a moment before stepping away as he felt his emotions starting to badly brew again.

He didn't want to leave her, not even for an hour, in fact it was the last thing he really wanted to do. But the anger was becoming too much and he needed to let it out before he threw any of it at Alice - even if she was the cause of some.

So with a short, deep breath, he said "I'll see you later" in a tone so empty it shocked Alice for once, a friendly nurse wheeling her away but her words sounding like nothing as the woman's difficult thoughts reached max volume.

[sulasnsleep]

“and there is an anger—an ugly anger—bubbling inside of me all the time. and i attempt to douse it with water, to make it stop, all to no avail. and it burns. this ugliness inside of me.”

— sulasnsleep

[sopebubbles]

Lone Wolf: Chapter Three sneak peek

I considered trying to make a mood board for about .7 seconds, but im the least aesthetic person on the face of the planet, so im just gonna give it to you straight.

Warnings: this chapter contains explicit depictions of child ab*se, including physical violence and abusive language, please take care.

This time Hoseok didn't knock before entering your room and found you sitting in the same protective position he had left you in. He set the bowl down on the table beside your bed and moved away. You looked between the bowl and him but did not move to grab it until he turned his back to you. He heard you sniff it and hum softly to yourself before the spoon began to clink against the porcelain. You began to take greedy spoonfuls of the hot stew while he walked back into the hallway. From the linen closet in the hallway Hoseok gathered several beloved blankets and fresh sheets. When he returned to the room you were slurping up the thick broth from the bottom of the bowl and set it aside with sheepish eyes, as if he would take such behavior as anything but a compliment.

"Do you want some more?" He asked, but you shook your head. He had a whole pack to feed and you shouldn't take too much. "If you get up for a minute I'll change the sheets."

"You don't have to do that!" Something in your belly felt deep shame knowing how they smelled of your heat and the mess you had made.

"Don't be silly. There's no point in staying in messy sheets. And you don't need to feel embarrassed about it. We all do it. That's why I always keep a lot of clean sheets." You lowered your face at how easily he had seen through you, but got off the bed when he waved a hand at you. "And I brought lots of blankets. Unless you're more of a pillows kind of girl. I'm sure I can find a few spare ones."

"Pillows for what?" You stared at him blankly as he began to strip everything from the bed.

"For your nest, pup."

"Oh. That's okay. I don't nest."

"Jimin said you're not allowed at the shelter, but you are here!" Hoseok said cheerfully, the mere thought of building a cozy nest to sink into filling him with joy.

"No, I mean I don't at all," you replied, and he paused to turn to you.

"Never?" You shook your head. "Why not?"

You scratched your nails up and down your arm, squirmy under his scrutiny and shaky on your legs. Hoseok dropped the spoiled sheets on the floor and when it seemed like you wouldn't answer while he watched you, he picked up a clean sheet and began to stretch it over the mattress.

"It's bad for you, isn't it? I mean, they say it's unhygienic. And it makes omegas lazy."

Hoseok scoffed and turned to give you an incredulous look. "Who told you that?"

You shrugged. You'd heard it at home and probably at school more than once. The few times you had tried to nest they had told you they didn't want it or a lazy omega.

Hoseok was speechless. Who would have told you something so plainly untrue? Nesting was an important part of emotional well being for omegas. It was harder not to do than to do. It was important for the pack, too, making sure that all members had a comfortable place to rest. Making sure that all scents were present was important to maintaining bonds and bringing comfort. How could you deny yourself such a basic need?

Not knowing what to say, he simply finished putting the sheets on the bed. When he was finished he took the old sheets under one arm and grabbed the empty bowl with his free hand. He stopped to look at the pile of blankets and then at you with troubled eyes.

"I'll just leave these here in case you want to give it a try." Maybe your omega instincts would kick in during your frenzy when you couldn't meet your other needs.

May 4th 6am CDT/8pm KST

[hi-iamaj]

Tumblr Etiquettes

Hey everyone, if you are new to Tumblr, don't worry, we got many posts to help you navigate your way in this hellsite. Hope you enjoy your journey with us and I hope you come back again :D

Anyway, Tumblr etiquettes:

1. Old posts

We on Tumblr doesn't care if you scroll until our oldest posts ever (yes even posts from almost 2 decades ago), it just shows us that YOU enjoy our contents. Think of it as a mutual relationship where you get to tell others the type of content you like (and get new friends who also like that content) and the person you reblog from get happiness

2. DNIs

DNI (do not interact for those who don't know) are sacred here. If a blog have a DNI, please read it and follows the DNI. If you are not sure if you fit the DNI, you can ask about it (s long as you are respectful, most blog will explain the DNI further)

3. Blocking someone

Blocking isn't some taboo thing here. You don't like someone or their content, block them. You hate their pfp, block. Ugly username, b l o c k. You can literally use any reason to block someone and they won't even care about it

3a) Discourse, cancel culture, hates and others

In Tumblr we curate our own contents. What that means is, if you dislike something, you don't send hate or make a discourse or cancel them or other things, you just don't interact with them and block that content or the blog. Trust me, doing that in this site, you will get ridiculed and we will laugh at you and make jokes about it

3b) Tagging

Tags are quite important in here. It is how your posts gets around as people will search what they are interested in using tags (It is also a whole other etiquettes). But in this post, I'm going to talk about how blocking and tags works together. In Tumblr you can block tags (you can do this in the settings). Blocking tags are used to hide the contents you dislike or triggering posts so please tag your posts properly (for example, if your posts have abuse, tag it with abuse (I will show it in this post tag too)). Also don't cross tag as it is annoying and might lead to you getting block by others

4. Bots

Bots are annoying creatures that lurks in this site (if you stay long enough, you will get at least one bot follower). If you have met one, just block, report and move on. Also, if you are new, change your blog so we don't mistake you as bots. If you are not sure if your blog is considered to be a bot, here's my posts on how to NOT be mistaken as a bot

5. Reblogs vs Likes

Tumblr doesn't really have an algorithm. How posts travel in this site is by reblogging posts that you like. We love getting reblogs as it shows that you like our contents and wants to share it to other people too (we see how good a post is doing by their reblogs, the more reblogs it gets, the better). This applies doubles for artists. If you want to support your favourite Tumblr art blogs and don't have money to commission them or just want to let other people know, reblog their posts as it will get around to others (I'm saw a post on the reblogging web line of posts a few months back, I will link it if I can find it again).

If anyone have any other suggestion on Tumblr etiquettes, fell free to add yours in

[sunflowers-and-adoration]

Ryn ran his hand over some scars on his arms, looking at them solemnly.

[chrissophrase]