#smashed my phone into the side of the glass table in rage only to realize the sides were diy padded with foam

[brain-empty]

When i acquire a house of my own theres a good chance im gonna end up with a padded room for me to punch and kick like theres no tomorrow and it's probably gonna be padded with pool noodle foam

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pause, m | myg | 2

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Life is like a cassette tape. It seems like it’s constantly repeating, flipped from side A to side B, and the songs can’t be skipped. You can only pause, rewind, fast forward, play after you’ve already heard the song. After you’ve already lived it. All Min Yoongi knows is his own tape, until it smashes right at his feet, and then he has to learn to dance to a different beat.

warnings: rated M (18+) - please be warned this story has a physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; emotional manipulation; gender stereotyping; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

The music reader listens to is inspired by Frederic, specifically their songs ‘oodloop’, ‘OWARASE NIGHT’, and ‘Kanashii Ureshii’ and you can look up the MVs on YT. They have subs, yes the lyrics inspired certain scenes, no I have no idea what is going on, and I don’t know why they’re dancing like that lol

–

1.

-

She slapped him across the face.

You froze.

The cassette smashed.

“I hate you, Min Yoongi!”

She shouted it so loud that you heard it over your music. Your finger instinctively went to your earbud and tapped it, pausing the sound. You couldn’t believe your eyes. What had this guy done? What had this guy done to be yelled at like that the second he stepped off the night train to stand in front of his girlfriend?

“Useless piece of trash, always fucking late!”

Slapping him over and over, so loud because the train station was completely empty except for you and these two, yelling obscenities and the guy was just standing there, taking it, saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry for what? Why did she keep hitting him? Why? Stop it. Stop hitting him.

“Such a fucking waste of life, I can’t believe I have to be your girlfriend!”

Stop it.

“No one will ever fucking love you, you shithead, so I’m stuck with your stupid self!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Mumbles. Fear.

Stop it!

“You think anyone will ever do anything for you the way I do? I’m all you have!”

Within two seconds, you crossed the space between you and them.

You smacked her hand away from him.

Pause.

You hesitated to press play. Standing in front of this random guy you didn’t even know, fury in your chest so strong that you forgot you were a stranger, glaring at this scowling, rage-filled woman with vehement disdain. You had no idea what the fuck was going on, you had no idea why he was being slapped so much, you had no idea why this woman was so angry and maybe there were very good reasons for it all, but somehow.

Somehow you didn’t think so.

Play.

“Stop it. He said he was sorry,” you barked, narrowing your eyes.

Her pretty face twisted with rage. “Who the fuck is this bitch, Yoongi? A whore you picked up?”

“I… I don’t know her…” the man behind you rasped, trying to move around you, but you kept yourself between the two, shouldering your backpack.

“I don’t know him. I just know you shouldn’t be hitting someone like that.”

The woman snapped at you, rising to her full height, challenging you. “This isn’t any of your fucking business. This is between me and him and doesn’t concern outsiders. Tell her, Yoongi.”

But you didn’t let Yoongi tell you, cutting him off as he tried to speak.

“This isn’t my business, but I’ve seen enough examples to be able to spot domestic violence when I see it,” you growled.

The woman scoffed, flipping her hair. “Domestic violence,” she snorted. “He’s a man. It’s not like I hit him that hard. I’m a woman.”

You curled your hands into fists.

“You stupid bully.”

The woman looked taken aback. “What?”

“I said, you’re a stupid fucking bully,” you snarled, taking a step forward and forcing her to take one back. “You think this is nothing, until you have children and your children have to watch this shit over and over, every night, thinking it’s right, thinking it’s the way it should be, but you’re fucking wrong, because this is not a relationship, this is not love, this is fucking bullying and you are a stupid, dumb bully who can’t admit you have an inferiority complex and your kids will spend years in fucking therapy wondering why they don’t understand how to make relationships with other human beings because their mom was a terrible fucking example, so do me a fucking favor and get the fuck out of here and leave this guy alone, because you are an absolute sewage of a human being.”

She gawked at you, slack-jawed, probably never been talked to in such a forceful manner before, but you didn’t care, because you didn’t spend years in therapy to watch this shit happen right in front of your face.

Never in your entire life had you ever been so angry at a stranger before.

The woman seemed to gather her bearings and spat at the floor, staining the concrete with her spit. You raised your eyebrows, unintimated. She stamped her foot at your lack of reaction, pointing accusingly at Yoongi behind you.

“Don’t you ever think about coming back home. I’m burning all your shit.”

She turned her heel and stomped away.

You almost expected Yoongi to run after her, but he didn’t. He just stood behind you and breathed laboriously. You suddenly realized that you might have done something mildly insane. She said she was going to burn all his shit.

“Hmph,” you heard the mumble behind you. “All I had was clothes anyway.”

You turned around. He wasn’t looking at you. His black hair was all over his face, and his face mask was half-pulled down, revealing his red cheeks. You looked away quickly, taking a step back.

“Are you… okay?” you asked quietly.

You saw his eyes shift around. He didn’t actually respond. Just shrugged.

You bit your lip.

Silence.

“There… are no more trains,” the Yoongi guy whispered.

“Y… Yeah.”

Silence.

The lights above you were harsh, casting large shadows all over the concrete. Nothing but the sounds of the city and the darkness above, the moon witnessing it all.

He turned away from you, walking over towards the benches. Walking away. The crumpled paper of a man, shrinking as he took one step, then another, farther and farther away from you, and you opened your mouth to shout after that black back, extending your hand in the air.

“H-Hey!”

Pause.

He turned his head around to look at you with broken and lonely eyes.

“If you want… I have a couch and some blankets.” You swallowed, knowing how crazy it was. “Because… You shouldn’t go back. I…” Don’t want you to end up like my dad. “Even if it’s one night.”

I want to break this cycle.

“Just one.” You lowered your hand, holding up one finger. “One.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

Only turned around wordlessly and walked back to you, stopping in front of you. Saying nothing.

He didn’t say anything the entire walk.

Didn’t say anything as you opened the door and gestured him inside. Showed him the couch, got him the blankets. Asked him if he wanted anything else. He shook his head instead of talking. You ran to your room and got him a spare pillow. Held it out to him. He took it silently. Ran off again and got a new toothbrush from your stash of toothbrushes. An unopened travel toothpaste. Asked him if he wanted anything to eat. A glass of water. He shook his head.

Showed him the bathroom. A shower?

Shake, shake.

Okay.

You told him if he was cold to let you know. You would find another blanket.

Yoongi said nothing.

You nodded and turned away, letting him be. It was hard to look at him. You didn’t want him to think you pitied him or anything. But he reminded you too much of your dad if you stared at him too long. You had gotten him everything you could think of and let him know that if he needed anything to tell you.

You went to your bedroom and let out a big sigh.

No dance party tonight.

You went to your computer and opened Spotify. Put your headphones on and listened to the music, letting it carry you away. Before you knew it, one song flowed into another. You slowly began to bounce your head to the music, the cheerful, quirky beats making you smile, your hands moving on their own, lip-syncing the lyrics.

A happy tune with sad lyrics, but it made you smile at the same.

You failed to notice Yoongi appear at your door, holding his phone. He needed a charger. Did you have one? And then he saw the back of your head, bouncing along, headphones on.

He retreated back to your living room, clutching his phone. Decided to go to sleep instead.

Hours later, you finally decided to sleep, placing your headphones down. Was Yoongi sleeping? You padded over to the dark living room, seeing a bundled form on your couch. His coat was over the blanket. His head was under the blanket. Was he cold? You went back to your room and collected a pink knit one. Walked back to the living room and moved his jacket aside onto the armchair, putting the extra blanket on top of him.

His phone was on your coffee table, flashing. It was low on battery.

You checked if it was Android or iPhone. Android. Good, because you didn’t have a lightning cable, although you would have gone to the twenty-four-hour convenience store nearby to get one if he did have an iPhone. Back to your room. Got a charger and struggled to find an outlet in the dark. You’d think you would know where your own outlets were, but apparently you were too sleepy to remember. You felt around in the dark and poked at an outlet, stabbing the wall repeatedly before plugging it in. Maybe you should have turned a light on, sheesh.

You snaked the cable around and plugged his phone in. It vibrated approvingly and you gave it a thumbs up, even though it was an inanimate object.

Let’s just say living alone made you weird.

You let out an exhale and wandered off to brush your teeth.

Not noticing Yoongi had woken up and been watching your struggle. Saying nothing.

Pause.

Fast forward.

-

Morning.

You yawned and nearly jumped when you saw the unmoving pink blob on your couch. Oh, right. You were surprised he wasn’t awake, but you shrugged. The blankets were over his head, blocking out the sun. You tried to stay quiet, opening your fridge, staring at the contents.

Staring at it with a million question marks.

You had… kimchi. Eggs. Cheese. Definitely expired take-out. You took that out and dumped it in the trash can, grimacing at it. A stranger didn’t need to see how disgusting that was. You went back to your fridge. Um. It wasn’t that you couldn’t cook, it was that you didn’t have jack shit. And if you cooked on the stove, you would definitely wake up Yoongi.

Your stomach screamed in rage.

Feed me!

Ah, well. Sorry Yoongi. You settled on a kimchi-egg-cheese pancake thing. Was it going to be good? Sure. Was it not the most elegant thing in the world? Maybe. What can you do?

You began to chop the kimchi.

-

Yoongi turned over on the couch, groaning. He heard the sizzle of the pan. Smelled spice. Eggs. The world was unfamiliar. No one was yelling at him to get up. No one was doing the blankets off of him and calling him a lazy pig. 

"Motherfuc–!"

A female voice cursed in a loud whisper. You cut yourself off, muttering.

"Stupid oil, ugh."

Not his girlfriend. 

Slowly, Yoongi pulled the blankets off his head. An unfamiliar scent, different laundry detergent than he was used to. The sofa smelled different too, like vanilla with a hint of stale popcorn. Probably from being dropped in the cushions and forgotten about until months later. 

His stomach growled. 

The smell of the food enticed him. He got up, seeing you at the stove, wearing black pajamas with the sleeves rolled to your elbows, and a cream scrunchie holding your hair up. You made a face at the pan and scolded it. 

"Who's the boss here?" you hissed hotly at the sizzling food. "That's right, me, because I'm about to eat your ass, so simmer down and stop trying to singe my arm hair off."

Yoongi blinked. 

He got off the couch as you continued your quiet tirade, shoving your hand into a bag of cheese and sprinkling it on top, laying down a generous layer. 

You should cover it, Yoongi thought. To let the cheese melt. 

You grabbed a pan lid, and covered it. The lid definitely went to a separate set because it was a different shade of silver, but it didn't matter. You mumbled triumphantly at the pan. 

"Ha, take that, you stupid eggs, who's in the hot seat now, eh?"

Yoongi stared.

You lifted the lid and checked the cheese. A billow of smoke floated out. You seemed satisfied and turned off the gas. Lifted the pan and spun around. 

Froze. 

Yoongi blinked at you. 

Your eyes were wide, still holding the hot pan. 

Silence. 

A good ten seconds past. 

You slowly put the pan on the cork potholders at the counter. Two plates were at the counter with two sets of chopsticks.

"Uh... I made a kimchi-egg pancake t-thing..." you stuttered. "With cheese on top. You don't have to eat it. But I'm not going to poison you or anything. Er, well, that's something a someone who would poison you would say, huh? Oh, maybe I should have checked the expiration date on the kimc–"

"Why do you talk to your food?" Yoongi asked pointedly.

You turned bright red. 

"Um... bad habit. 'Cause I live alone..." You shifted your eyes. "No one... to talk to."

Yoongi stared at you. 

You turned around abruptly and grabbed a knife. Took off the pan lid. The kitchen was suddenly filled with the delicious smell of eggs and kimchi. The cheese bubbled as you cut it into pizza-like slices.

Yoongi sat down at the barstool, staring at it. He was the one who usually cooked. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal by someone else in forever. Not since he lived with his parents. 

That was a long time ago. 

"I seasoned the eggs beforehand and poured it on the sautéed kimchi..." You placed a plate with a pair of chopsticks in front of him, ears still red. You avoided looking him in the eye, scratching your cheek. "I, uh, have to go grocery shopping," you mumbled, taking a slice. "Sorry it's not that fancy..."

Yoongi picked up the chopsticks and took a slice. He blew in it carefully and took a small bite. Spicy, savory, delicious. He took another bite. And another. The food was hot, almost burning the roof of his mouth. This must be a dream. He wasn't in his nightmare. He wasn't going to question it. 

As long as he wasn't in his nightmare, he could pretend this was reality. 

Yoongi didn't notice you watching him with relief. 

He took another slice. The meal was quiet, but not suffocatingly so. It was calm, only interrupted by chewing. You reached into the cabinet below you and produced a water bottle. Put it next to him. Didn't say anything. Yoongi are three more slices, throat prickling with the spice, lips puffy, before he opened the water bottle and drank from it.

"If you want, I can direct you to a shelter."

Yoongi put the water bottle down. Stared at his stained, now empty plate. 

"Or you can call a friend to shelter you," you continued. "You can even get a restraining order if we involve the police–"

"No."

He said the word with harsh finality. 

"It's not that bad."

It wasn't. He was just being a child, running away. 

"... Okay."

Yoongi looked up. For a split second, there was immense pain in your eyes. Why? None of this was happening to you. You didn't know anything. You were just some stranger. Why was he even here? Why had he come here to sleep on some random couch? So dumb. Some random woman couldn't save him from his problems. 

... Your kids will spend years in fucking therapy wondering why they don’t understand how to make relationships with other human beings because their mom was a terrible fucking example...

Yoongi stilled as he remembered your words from last night. That was far too specific. His brows furrowed. You let out a sigh and took his plate.

"Do you want a shower?" you asked. "I have spare towels."

Yoongi tilted his head. "I don't have a change of clothes." He stared at the hardwood floor. "And my other clothes are probably burned by now."

You placed the dishes in the sink and began to wash them. 

"We can go buy some. I need groceries anyway."

He didn't understand why you were being so nice to him. It was strange. You didn't know him. Well, actually... he didn't even know your name either. 

"Uh..."

You looked up from the dishes, hands covered in soap. Yoongi did all the dishes at home. He did all the housework, in fact. This was weird, watching another person do housework. His voice was quiet, timid, crumpled like a piece of paper. 

"What's your name?" 

-

"Do you want white or black?"

You held up two multi-packs of t-shirts in his size.

"Uh... Black."

You dumped the black in the cart and put the other back. Yoongi stayed behind you, not picking out anything. You were wearing your backpack, a black cap, red wide-knit sweater, and black jeans. Black combat boots, the familiar staple for you. The two of you are standing in an aisle at the local convenience store. Yoongi was still wearing the same clothes from last night – black parka, black turtleneck, black jeans, black face mask. 

He mostly stared at the floor, following your boots. 

"White or black?"

Yoongi looked up to see you on the other side of the cart, holding two multi-packs of underwear. White briefs and black boxer briefs. He felt his cheeks heat up as you blinked at him. Instead of speaking, he grabbed the black boxer briefs from your hand, intending to chuck them into the cart.

Except his jacket sleeve caught a strand of your red sweater, the Velcro sticking to and unraveling it, so that when he twisted his hand to throw the plastic pack into the cart, the yarn tangled around his fingers and got caught, rapidly getting pulled around. Your eyes widened, gasping as the red string was yanked from your sweater. 

"O-oh!"

"Fuck!"

His hand was tangled in it and the part around your wrist tightened, the missing yarn causing the constriction. Yoongi cursed again, trying to shake free, panic rising. Oh no, fuck, what if you got angry? What if you started yelling at–?

You laughed. 

You started laughing. Yoongi froze, slowly lifting his head to witness your laughter. Your shoulders shook, shaking your head, big smile on your face. The yarn hung in the air, shaking a little.

The red string connecting you to him. 

Yoongi stared. 

At you.

His heart thudded in his chest. 

Thump. 

"Hold on," you chortled, reaching over and following the red yarn.

Thump.

His heart was like a bass drum. Consistent and loud, rhythm in his own ears. You untangled the mess slowly, carefully, wrapping the exposed end loosely around your wrist. Finally, it was off his fingers. Your fingers were centimeters from the back of his hand. You grasped the red yarn tightly. Yoongi looked at the end, trapped in the Velcro of his parka.

Thump. 

A fleeting feeling. 

Happiness.

You ripped the red yarn off, the end frizzy and scraggly. 

Another fluttering feeling. 

Sadness. 

You backed up, going back to the cart, tucking the end in next to your wrist, all chuckles. Thump, thump, thump. He couldn't breathe. It was impossible. What was going on? Why did he suddenly start shaking all over?

"I'm sorry," he blurted, breathless in panic. 

You shook your head, waving a hand. 

"Don't worry about it. This thing is old anyway." You pointed to the rack. "Is four enough? Or do you need more?"

"U-uh..."

"Let's get one more. I can always return it if you change your mind."

-

"Do you have a job to go to? Because I have to go soon," you were saying as you shoved the groceries into the fridge. Yoongi was unwrapping the plastic and cutting off the tags from the few clothing items you two had bought. 

"Um... yeah, I work at a music studio..." Yoongi mumbled. "I make my own hours."

"And it ends right before the last train, right?" you affirmed, nearly dropping the green onions and making a mad dash for them before they touched the ground. Whew. You shoved them back in your fridge. You didn’t really have an organization system. You probably should. Being an adult was hard.

"... Yeah."

"Cool, you should take a shower now then. I'll get a towel, hold on!"

You scrambled out of the kitchen to find a towel in the linen closet, the fridge door still open. 

"... Alright..."

-

Pause.

Fast forward.

-

Yoongi spent the entire train ride tense. You sat in your usual spot, humming along, bobbing your head to your music in your earbuds. Neither of you attempted to sit next to the other. Yoongi fully expected his girlfriend to be there as he stepped out of the train, at the last stop. He thought he was going to get yelled at once again. He thought she would be there to smack him upside the head again. He braced himself as the doors opened, exhaling deeply as he walked out of the sliding doors.

"Ugh, I need some energy," you mumbled behind him, yawning. 

No one was there. 

The bright streetlamps only illuminated the concrete. 

"Hey, Yoongi."

He turned his head to see you tilting yours. 

"You coming?"

You bounced on your heels. He remembered your usual routine. 

"Wanna race?" you asked with a big grin. 

-

Morning. Night. Morning. Night. 

Empty station at the last stop. No one but you and him getting off. 

Morning. Night. 

"Hey, Yoongi."

Morning. 

"You coming?"

Night. 

“Wanna race?”

Repeat.

The cassette tape replayed over and over, flipped around in the stereo, day in, day out, stuck on replay, a weird reality that wasn't his until it became his, seeing your face when he woke up, watching you cook breakfast in the morning, chastising inanimate objects when you thought he wasn't looking.

Your lips asking him once again. 

"You coming?"

Then you and him, breaking out into a run, racing to your apartment. 

At first, Yoongi didn't smile. 

Then one day, he did. 

And he kept smiling, smiling as he ran breathlessly with you. 

-

"What are you doing?"

You froze. 

Literally one second before you heard those words, you had been wiggling your arms like an octopus in front on your full-length mirror, flapping the long sleeves of your over-sized blue sweatshirt, your billowy knee-length gray shorts following suit. You reached up to your Bluetooth headphones to take them off.

And realized, with heated cheeks, that the music was not coming from your headphones, but the Bluetooth speakers on your desk, blaring the odd twangs of guitar and quirky drum beats, paired with whiny, almost nonsensical lyrics. 

You turned around. 

Yoongi stood at the entrance of your bedroom door, staring. He was wearing a black t-shirt. Black sweatpants that were slightly too short, exposing his pale ankles. 

The song went into the guitar solo. 

He blinked at you. 

"Uh... dancing?"

Blink. 

Normally after work, Yoongi would either be asleep or watching television in your living room. You told him cable came with the apartment and you never watched TV, so he should at least watch some in your stead. You usually went to your room. The first couple nights, you only danced in your chair. Then you got up and danced next to your desk, and then you were back to your wacky mirror dancing, thinking that if it was though headphones, then Yoongi wouldn't notice. 

But, of course, you had disturbed him with your music blasting through the speakers, which had never been disconnected all this time because, well, how were you supposed to know? They must have connected because your over-ear headphones died.

"That was dancing?" Yoongi echoed.

Your eyes shifted. "Er... it's stress relieving?"

Yoongi stared at you.

Blink. 

The song changed. One of your favorites. 

Your shoulders began to bounce. Your head tapped to the beat. Then your heel. 

Blink. 

"Are you possessed?" Yoongi asked with a deadpan look. 

The tune was getting to the good bit with the xylophone. Fuck it. He had already seen you octopus it up. You began to bob your head from side to side, breaking out to a big grin, shooting him some finger guns before going back to your full-body jiggle and arm flapping, singing along on the top of your lungs, prancing around your room, Yoongi staring at you the entire time in mild shock. He probably thought you were psychotic, but who cared, because you were clapping along to the snare drum, skipping in circles, pointing at him at certain parts in the lyrics and playing air guitar. 

His normally downcast cat-like eyes were huge.

You grabbed his hands at the guitar solo and he yelped, his arms rippling as you swung them around, you stumbling through the lyrics, singing the absurd words, and Yoongi gawking wide-eyed.

The song went to the final chorus and you wiggled like a fucking squid. 

Only to see Yoongi burst out laughing and wiggle his arms with you, tiny wiggles compared to your full-blown tentacle swings, but it made you laugh too, because it was all stupid and ridiculous and very embarrassing. 

With a start, you realized you had seen Yoongi laugh. 

And he looked so wonderful laughing, perfect teeth and pink gums, huge smile and scrunched-up face, black hair falling back from the strength of his chuckling, revealing his lovely fair-skinned features and those cat-like eyes sparkling.

Sparkling with brightness. 

The song ended and you were panting breathlessly.

Yoongi raised his eyebrows in disbelief, half-smirk on his lips. 

"Your music taste is nuts."

You smiled as the next song started. 

"Nah, this is just my nighttime dance party music. It's supposed to be crazy."

You flapped your sleeves to the beat of the drum. Grinned at him. 

"Because every night should be a dance party."

And you started dancing again, Yoongi watching you and laughing, even joining in sometimes. 

From then on, every night was a dance party. At one point, Yoongi started to bring you songs and weird beats he discovered for you to dance to. He even said a few times, "Hey, I made this. Can you make a dance from it?"

You'd dance to anything. 

You weren't great at it. 

But it was always hilarious. 

And it was always worth it, watching Yoongi laugh all night. 

-

Pause. 

Fast forward. 

Wait. Are you sure?

You can always rewind. 

You don't have to press play. 

Pause.

Play. 

-

“Do you like rap?”

You were sitting next to Min Yoongi on the night train. There were still people around, not yet the last stop. He was clutching his phone, face mask on his chin. He looked a little nervous.

“Yeah, of course. I like all music,” you said cheerfully. “Something you want me to dance to?”

Yoongi chuckled a little, giving you that little half-smirk. “No.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a… music producer. And I… I make music. And I wondered if you wanted to listen to a little bit my mixtape.”

“I do.”

Yoongi looked taken aback. You grinned.

“I definitely want to listen to it.”

You connected your earbuds to his phone and listened carefully. His words, his beat, his rhythm. Yoongi sat beside you, wrapped in his black parka, looking nervous as he chewed on his lip, but you didn’t notice, bobbing your head to certain bits, mouthing the chorus, raising your eyebrows as he altered the framework of a traditional song. He had only five tracks on the playlist, but you listened to them all, holding his phone. When the playlist ended, you clicked back to your favorite parts and replayed them, over and over, listening to his strong, raspy voice.

Yoongi sounded confident when he was rapping.

Like he was meant to do it, perfectly expressing himself with his simple words and elegant phrasing, his anger, his sorrow, his hopes. You could tell there was an underlying theme, an uncertainty about the future. As if he was taking steps to an invisible, unlit path, and he wasn’t sure whether to run forward without a guiding light or go back to all he knew.

You handed him back his phone with a smile. You understood him a little better now.

“Well?” he asked, still biting his lip.

“I really like it,” you said. “Especially your vocals. It’s different from other voices I’ve heard.”

“… It’s not that–”

“And I like your lyrics. They’re simple, but they pack a punch and make you think.” You smiled widely. “I like music that makes me want to listen to it over and over again. That’s how your rap makes me feel.”

Yoongi looked stunned.

You pointed to his phone. “You could release it just like this, if you wanted.” You tilted your head. “Hm, maybe a few more songs though. It seems like you’re trying to tell a story.”

He blinked rapidly, putting his phone in his pocket. “Y-Yeah… I’m working on a few more that I want to add.”

You nodded. “That’d be awesome.”

The train screeched to a halt. There was no one in the car. That was your cue. You stood, stretching first and then shouldering your backpack. Yoongi stood as well, pensive and silent. The train doors slid open. He walked out first and you followed. Streetlights harsh and bright on the concrete. Yoongi did his usual routine of looking to the edge of the train station.

Both of you froze.

“Get the fuck over here, Yoongi.”

You recognized her. She might be wearing a different dress and a different coat, but it was the same woman all right, with the same harsh scowl.

“I knew you wouldn’t be a man and face the music. Instead, you went off prancing with some whore.”

“She’s not a whore,” Yoongi muttered, pulling up his face mask.

You didn’t say anything. There was a sudden pressure on your chest, an overwhelming, tense heaviness, because you knew what was coming.

“Are you telling me that you’re not going to come home to the woman you supposedly love, the one you were supposedly going to marry and give a comfortable life to?” the woman accused. “Are you telling me that you can’t take responsibility for your actions? That you’re not a man, but a child?”

Yoongi took a step towards her.

The weight in your chest felt like a ton of bricks crushing you.

Another step.

“Yoongi.”

He turned his head, dark brown eyes flickering to you.

You smiled.

Smiled even though the moment was killing you.

“I… I have to finish this,” he mumbled, the sparkle in his eyes dulling with every passing second.

You kept the bright smile on your face.

Like a cheerful-sounding song with sad lyrics.

“Okay.”

Pause.

You wanted to rewind. You wanted to rewind so bad, even if it was only to ten minutes before this painful moment. With a shaking hand, you pressed play.

“My door is always open for you, Yoongi.”

He made eye contact with you. He nodded.

“Goodbye.”

You turned and ran.

Ran and ran, hoping he was running after you, but you knew he wasn’t, you knew he was walking towards that toxic woman and you could do nothing about it, you couldn’t care, you just had to keep running, running and running until you hit your front door, fumbling with your keys and running inside, slamming the door closed.

You froze.

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you ran to your room and threw up a specific playlist, a playlist full of cheerful-sounding songs with agonizing lyrics, hopeful beats tainted by upsetting words, and danced the night away, danced and danced. Not wanting to think about the blankets on the couch, the suitcase you had dragged out to let Yoongi borrow and put his clothes in, not wanting to think about his toothbrush on your bathroom sink, not wanting to think about all those nights dancing stupidly in this bedroom with him, and focusing only on dancing alone, singing the night away, on and on and on until you couldn’t stand anymore, couldn’t sing anymore, and you just fell on your bed and passed out, completely drained.

Physically.

Emotionally.

Empty.

-

3.

--

masterpost

[prettypinkguts]

Can I request an headcanon of Brahms meeting for the first time his shy and small s/o ? I'm in love with this stinky boy 😔❤

A/N: I’m sick to my stomach and have a terribly high fever, yet now is the time that I feel like writing. My body is a bitch to itself >:( 

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

Brahms meeting his shy and small s/o for the first time

Brahms calloused hands had itched to touch you from behind the confines of the Heelshire manor walls the moment he saw you. His brown eyes had stared at your small, shy form with both animalistic lust and uncontrollable adoration, demands of you to stay and become his new nanny already forming on his tongue. Even if your hands shook and your voice wavered under his mother's watchful gaze as you handled his doll for the first time, Brahms would still look on from behind the walls as his eyes would focus on your seemingly gentle touch and kind, motherly words. And from that very first encounter, Brahms knew that he had to have you. 

Happily following you from behind the walls Brahms would watch your every move throughout the Heelshire manor. He’d stir in bed with excitement every time you entered his room in the morning in order to care for his doll and small hums of happiness would spill past Brahms lips every time you pressed a kiss to its porcelain forehead after you read it a story or changed it’s clothes. But, the more Brahms spent time with you from behind the walls, the more he wanted to spend time with you outside the walls. And that was just what Brahms was determined to do one early July morning. 

Sunlight had danced across the kitchen counter-tops as you had made breakfast that morning, soft chatter leaving your lips as you talked lovingly to the doll that you had grown to love. Even when the doll mysteriously moved out of place, whispered secrets to you through the phone during the dead of night, and left you snacks outside your bedroom door, nothing had prevented you from loving the small porcelain boy. So, it had only been natural for a small smile to grace your lips upon turning around and finding Brahms chair empty, a giggle fading away into the hall towards the parlor room. “Brahms? Where did you go, you silly boy?” you would call out, your voice soft and sweet as you would tip-toe through the Heelshire manor halls, breakfast plates still in hand as you would laugh quietly to yourself at Brahms little game. But as soon as you reached the parlor room, your laughter had been cut off by your own shriek and the sound of plates smashing against the floor. A man was in the parlor room and he was holding your doll. 

It would only be when the man would call out your name in an all too familiar tone that you would finally remember to breathe. Shaky, frightened breaths would slip past your lips as the man would approach you, your eyes darting from his curly brown hair, to his dirty old clothes, until finally they would land upon a familiar porcelain face. “Brahms?” you would gasp, the sudden realization feeling like a punch to the stomach as Brahms, the real Brahms took one last stride towards you until the smell of his old clothes was far too powerful to ignore. “I-I thought th-that….are you hungry?” 

Your own question had caused you to find your body frozen with shock, but the longer you stared at the man, the longer you felt your love for the doll leaking through you. And it was with a deep breath through your nose and a shaky exhale through your mouth that you would press your hand against the small of Brahms back, your voice shy and shaky yet authoritative as you would instruct him to watch out for the broken glass on the floor and head into the kitchen. Brahms had tilted his head at you at the sound of the words, his big, toned, and muscular hands clenching and unclenching at his sides with anger? Shyness? You could not tell, but after letting his eyes linger on you for one moment longer, he would eventually heed your orders and walk towards the kitchen as silent as stone. 

It was only when you had placed breakfast in front of Brahms with shaky hands, orange juice spilling over the rim of a cup and splashing onto the table that you had finally let your legs fall from under you as you would sit in a chair across from Brahms. But, your moment of rest was short lived, for the moment you sat down you could feel eyes on you, honey-ed brown ones that bore into your skull, shadows made by the mask hiding hints of a gleaming something behind his stare. And that was the moment when you found yourself staring back. Dirty brown hair fell in curls around his face, the dark color only making his eyes stand out even more against the soft kitchen glow that filled the room, and when you squinted you could even see that his right eye seemed red and damaged. Chest hair peeked out from under a dirty, old tank top, and as you studied him you found a blush creeping up onto your cheeks upon seeing how strangely muscular he seemed, even if a moss green cardigan covered the entire length of his arms. And like the rest of him, even his strong hands looked unkempt and covered in dust.  But, what really caught your attention was the bright porcelain mask with a mass of a curly beard hiding behind it. Holes had been poked into it in order to make room for his own, but besides that and the copious amount of filth that covered it, it looked just like the face of the doll that had been left long forgotten in the parlor room. 

The sound of cutlery smashing against the table and a rageful roar was the only sound that had brought you out of your head and into the real world once more. Brahms had shifted since you had last been paying attention, and it was with wide eyes that you watched as his chest heaved and his right hand gripped his cut and bleeding left, his eyes wild and angry as if he had lit a fire underneath them. “Brahms! A-are you alright?” the quiet words had left your lips in genuine urgency as you found yourself getting up from your chair and rushing towards the sink, your hands grasping the first rag they could find before dousing it with water and rushing back to Brahms side. “Here, let me see it, okay?” 

Your words seemed to have an immediate connection with Brahms, for the moment you had reluctantly stepped beside him you could see the fire in his eyes slowly dying out as it was replaced yet again with that glimmering, warm something. In fact, you could feel the hot wave of another blush creeping onto your cheeks the moment he held out his hand to you, his eyes never once leaving yours as you began to clean up the small, bleeding cut on his palm and it was with an even hotter blush that you realized exactly how big, Brahms was, his size dwarfing you in comparison. And shame would begin to flow through your veins like ice water the moment you found yourself wondering exactly how big Brahms was compared to his doll, how small you would feel seated in his lap, how tiny and child-like your hands would feel clasped together with his. 

“Pretty…” the deepness of Brahms words would send a shock through you, his accent sending lighting through your body the moment your head would begin to register what he had said. And with that, a shy cough-like squeak would leave your lips as all kinds of thoughts would bounce around in your skull as your hands would continue to clean up Brahms’. You still had so many questions to ask, but with a small smile all you could really focus on was 3 things. Brahms was alive, you weren’t nearly as scared as you should be, and perhaps this new arrangement wouldn't be so bad after all.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Bar fight

“When you said you were taking me to a place of your culture, I was expecting someplace more.....refined”  Morgal stepped out of the cab after his human friend and gazed at the establishment in front of him. The outer walls were covered in decaying wood planks that looked like they could catch fire any second. The noise coming past the saloon doorway was overflowing with laughter and music and as Morgal watched a human stumbled out, threw up on the pavement, then proceeded to pass out on the ground. He made sure to step extra carefully around the pile of vile as he followed his friend to the entrance.  “I’m guessing you were expecting an opera theater or art gallery?” Jack asked as he wrapped an arm around Morgal’s shoulder and ushered him to the door. “That’s high society bullshit, the smallest of the small of human culture. You want to find the beating heart of mankind, this is where you come to.”  Morgal looked once more at the shady establishment and then back at his friend before sighing, letting himself be carried along by Jack’s arm. When he moved to this new world Morgal could not help but feel like he was always being watched by the humans and judged. His species carried three extra sets of arms across his body which must have intimidated them. Jack had been his first human friend since migrating to the human homeworld and he had not felt the same gloomy cloud of judgement when they were together. They both worked in office positions side by side and had developed a friendship over the previous months. Jack had gone out of his way to help him understand human customs and had not once asked for anything in return saying “Friends don’t bargain.” Tonight he asked Morgal after work if he’d want to join him for some “human culture” and he felt accompanying him would in some small measure pay him back for his kindness.  Jack pushed open the doors and Morgal finally got a look inside. Unlike the decrepit exterior, the inside of the “saloon”, as Jack had called it, was vibrant with color and life.  Rows of round tables were filled with various humans laughing, drinking, eating, and playing various games. Uniformed human females walked between the tables delivering goods and taking orders.  One side of the saloon had a large stand with countless bottles of strange liquid, each one held in a different glass bottle of color and shape. Morgal noticed with amazement how the humans behind the stand listen to orders made and somehow slide over to the exact bottle and perform a vivid acrobatic display of pouring the drink for them before accepting payment.  Morgal was so transfixed by the skill that he hardly noticed Jack pulling him over to a nearby vacant table. The two swept off a pile of crumbs from the previous occupants and sat down at the table. “So, what do you think so far?” Jack was nearly shouting to be heard over the roar of the gathered crowd. “It is..” Morgal began as his eyes made another pass around the room, “not what I expected.....” As his eyes wandered they laid sight upon a human female walking past him carrying several large beverage containers, more than Morgal thought possible for a species with only two arms.  As she skillfully avoided a patron who suddenly fell in her way her eyes met his. For a moment Morgal realized he had been rude by staring at her and remembered that Jack said some human females don’t like it when they are stared at. Before he could look away he noticed the uniformed female smile and wink at him as she passed by. Morgal felt something he was unsure of for the first time that made him feel lighter than normal and he attempted his practiced human smile back at her before she vanished into the throng of patrons.  Morgal looked back at Jack who was now staring at him with his head cradled in his hands.“I think I am enjoying it much more now.” Morgal admitted as he slacked back into his chair while Jack drew a mischievous grin and raised his arm up. Morgal was curious for the meaning when suddenly the female he had been staring at was beside them.  “What’s your poison?” she said as she pulled out a pad of paper. The smile at seeing her again rapidly left his face at her words. Did I offend her!? I knew I shouldn’t have stared! Why did I stare!??!!?  Morgal’s head was racing with ideas, each worse than the last. “She means what drinks are we ordering Morg, not literal poison.”  As Morgal let out a sigh of relief Jack continued speaking with the uniformed woman. “I’ll have a glass of whisky with three shots of tequila.” The uniformed female nodded and then looked at Morgal. “And for you hun?” Morgal paused to consider his options, he was still unfamiliar with human drinks so figured he should play it safe.  “Do you have anything fruity?” he queried. She nodded, “We have a strawberry daiquiri that’s nice and fruity; though I’d have picked you for something a bit more sweet.” She made a movement with her lips and eyes and Morgal cursed himself for not learning what human facial gestures meant. Thankfully Jack came in to save him before his mind began racing again. “He’s a sweet heart alright, basically a giant teddy bear with all those arms. He’s still getting used to our drinks so we’ll start with those daiquiri’s and see how the night goes.”  She wrote down something and then left the table back to the stand at the far end for the drinks. Morgal was content to watch her go when Jack motioned his attention. “Think she’s into you man.” “But I am not a man Jack, we’ve been over this.” Jack shook his head. “No, I mean I think she’s got you on her radar. Play your cards right and you might get some digits tonight.” “Why would I need more digits? I already have 45.” “I mean her phone number digits.” “Your phones have digits?!”  Jack’s hands covered his face for a moment and dragged down across his face. “I think she likes you and wants to know you.” Morgal felt that light feeling again at that and stared back at her. “Why didn’t you say so?” “Remind me to get you a book on human sayings. You are in desperate need of one.”  Before Morgal could ask further he felt something grab hold of his right shoulder. He turned his head and saw a rather bulky man behind him, his massive hand firmly clenching his shoulder.  “Can I help you?” “Yeah, by leaving.” the man replied. Looking past the man Morgal could see two other men standing behind him, one cracking their finger knuckles while the other drinking from a glass bottle.  “I do not understand.” Morgal was unsure if this was another human custom or not, but he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten further.  “Don’t care what a alien freak like you gets or not, so long as it’s getting your sorry ass out of this place. Now.” The expression on the bulky man’s face was one he had often seen in human motion pictures, “Anger” he thought it was called.  “Who you calling freak?” Morgal turned to see Jack stand up and walk over to them. “You look like the shit I scrape off my shoe when I get home at night.”  “Buzz off limp dick.” one of the men standing behind the bulky man said. “Yeah, this is between us and the alien.” the other chimed in, finally finishing their drink. “His name is Morgal, and he’s my friend.” “Gay friend” the knuckle man chuckled.  The uniformed female returned to the table and set down the tray. “Here’s your drinks fellas.” She began putting them out on the table but then stopped when seeing the situation. “If you’re going to fight take it outside.”  The bulky man let go for Morgal’s shoulder and looked at the female. “Don’t worry hun, they were just leaving.” He glared at Jack with daggers in his eyes to emphasize the point, but Jack just shook his head and reached for his drink. “We’re not going anywhere till we’ve had our drinks.” he said as he brought his whisky up to his mouth.   “Then let me help you finish them.” In an instant the bulky man’s hand lashed out and slapped the glass out of Jack’s hand. The liquid spilled across the table as it flew towards the uniformed female. She started to raise her arms but the glass was too fast and was about to smash into her face when a hand sprung out and caught it.  Morgal calmly set the glass down on the table and stood up to face the Bulky man. “That...was rude.” The words came through clenched teeth as Morgal began feeling angry himself for once. He could handle name calling for himself, but this Bulky human had nearly hurt the female human who had made him feel light, and that upset him.  The Bulky man smirked and brought his fists up. “Yeah? What’re you going to do about it?”  Jack’s fist smashed into the man’s face and sent him sprawling back into the two men behind him. “How about that for starters?” Jack quipped.   One of the men holding the Bulky figure dropped him and lunged at Jack. Morgal grabbed him with his arms and casually tossed him in a different direction. They landed on a nearby table and sent the collection of cards and drinks scattering to the floor, much to the displeasure of the table’s occupants who then stood up and advanced on Jack and Morgal.  “Thanks for that, but could you’ve aimed for someplace else?” Jack said as he slowly began backing up. Morgal shrugged. “It was either that or the other option.” “What other option?” Jack asked as a fist came hammering into his gut.  “That. That was the other option.” One of the new comers grabbed hold of a chair and swung it at Morgal. He brought his arms up just in time and the chair shattered into pieces on impact. A chair leg went flying into the glass of another patron and shattered it, dousing them in cold brew. Letting out a roar of anguish the doused human rushed the chair wielding human and began savagely beating him with his fists.  More and more patrons began getting drawn in as the constant shoving, punching, and flying debris hit bystanders sending them into a drunk filled rage. Morgal quickly found himself having to constantly defend himself from all sides.  Through the chaos he saw the human female he had been speaking to before grabbed by another male human, he could see she was struggling to get free of his grip. He began moving towards her, throwing away battling patrons that blocked his way as if they were twigs.  As he reached her he grabbed the man’s arm with three of his own and squeezed. The man let out a yelp and let go of her as he turned to face Morgal. Still holding the man’s arm he lifted him into the air and began punching him with his remaining five arms in rapid succession before swinging him like a rag doll over his shoulder into a nearby table.  He turned around to the human female and saw her looking at him again. The anger suddenly was sapped from him, replaced with an almost sheepishly demeanor. He did not know what to say, so he just bubbled the first thing that came to mind.  “Sorry about the table.” She shrugged and rubbed her wrist where the man had grabbed her. “Place needed a makeover anyway. Thanks for the help.” Morgal was about to say something else when he saw her reach for a glass bottle beside her and fling it at Morgal. He brought his hands up to block but the bottle instead flung past him and hit the man that had grabbed her straight in the face sending him back sprawling to the floor once more.         He was grateful that she had saved him when he remembered what jack had said earlier. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a business card and held it out to her as she ducked another flying bottle. “Thank you for saving me, here is my phone number. Feel free to call me.”  She took the card out of sheer surprise then ducked back down as Jack came flying back between them. Morgal excitedly knelt down to Jack. “I did it! I gave her my digits!” “That’s great pal.” Jack coughed as Morgal helped him to his feet. “Can tell me all about it later, but kinda need your help for a second.”  They turned to see the Bulky man from before now back on his feet. He picked up an entire round table and flung it at the both of them.  Despite the swirling chaos around them, Morgal was surprisingly happy that he had decided to join his friend tonight. Maybe they would do it again soon. 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Marked (Part 23)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~4670

Warnings: Dean being an absolute dickwad. Which! In my defense! He usually is, canonically, when he’s upset... also, angry sex. 

A/N: So a while ago my brain was like “Here! This needs to happen!” And I was like “oh thanks I hate it.” So. Yeah. Been dreading this chapter for a while. Here it is. Thanks to @covered-byroses @fangirlxwritesx67 and @fookinghelljensensthighs for showering Marked with compliments when I was about ready to smash my head into a wall. Y’all helped. 

He’s okay.

I exhaled, long and shaky.

Good. What about you?

There was no answer. I fell asleep holding my phone, waiting, with a cold heavy ache settling in my chest like a stab wound.

When they came through the door the next morning, Sam was limping and pale and leaning heavily on Dean, but he was there, alive, trying to smile for me, and for a moment I could breathe.

I had to fight the urge to run to Dean, wrap my arms around him, prove to myself that he was really there.

“Can I do anything?” I asked softly, as Dean started to steer Sam to his room.

“Painkillers might be good?” Sam winced.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” Dean said, smiling sharp like a dagger.

-----

I gave them some time. I tried not to worry. It was normal, for Dean to be stressed. He’d calm down.

When I finally went to his room, I didn’t bother to knock. He was sitting at his desk, staring dully at the glass of whiskey he was rolling between his palms. He didn’t seem to notice when I closed the door behind me. I leaned back against it, keeping my distance, trying not to push.

“How you doin’?” I asked quietly.

“Just peachy,” he said, without looking up.

“Dean. Come on.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” It sounded like he was running on autopilot.

I wondered how many times he’d told that lie in his life.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

“Yeah, that was a stupid question,” I muttered, more to myself than him. I felt cold all over.

He downed the last sip and immediately poured himself a refill from the half-empty bottle on the table. Then he turned and gave me one of those canned smiles he was so good at; I wasn’t used to seeing it aimed at me, but I recognized it.

I crossed the room slowly, like I was approaching a skittish animal. He raised an eyebrow when I grabbed the glass out of his hand, but he didn’t try to stop me. I drained it and set it back down in front of him, and he immediately reached for the bottle and poured another.

“I think I need some space,” he mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. “Can you just… not do this? Not with me.”

He didn’t answer. He settled back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking at me mulishly. I crossed my arms right back at him and we stared each other down, one brick wall to another.

He shook his head after a moment, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. He picked up his glass again and frowned at it.

“I can’t do this with you right now,” he said gruffly. “Maybe you should just… go home. At least for a couple days.”

I knew him, I knew he didn’t actually want me to leave, but that still stung. I took a deep breath.

“Nah, I’m good here.”

He scowled. “I’m serious. I need… family time.”

“Sam just took so many painkillers he’ll be out cold for the next couple days. By ‘family,’ do you mean ‘whiskey?’”

“Stop,” he sighed.

“Stop being a fucking fuckwit and talk to me,” I snapped, exasperated.

I could see him studying me, tilting his head to the side, mouth twitching unhappily, but then he squared his shoulders like he’d made a decision.

“Don’t you have anywhere better to be?” he asked coolly. His eyes had gone oddly blank.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I don’t have time for this whole fuckin’ mess right now,” he said, gesturing between the two of us.

“That’s not-” 

“Can you just leave me the fuck alone?” he barked, but I could see the pain lurking behind his anger, twisting his features into a bitter mask. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Just want you to talk to me,” I said quietly.

“There’s nothing to fuckin’ say,” he growled.

“Asshole.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I made an incoherent noise, too frustrated to form real words. I grabbed the bottle off the table, raising an eyebrow and silently daring him to comment as I unscrewed the cap and took a sip. The burn made me feel a little less like I was choking. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and slammed the bottle back down roughly.

“Oh, that’s real mature,” he said sarcastically.

“Can you just-”

“You’re a real slow learner, aren’t you?” he snarled, and the sudden venom in his voice took my by surprise.

“What-”

“People who hang around me for a while? They tend to get hurt,” he said flatly. “You of all people should know that by now.”

I took a deep breath, grinding my teeth, hands squeezing into fists at my sides. He watched me, gauging my reactions. He looked implacable, wearing a plastered-on expression of disdain; if I didn’t know better, I’d think he didn’t care.

He knew exactly how to cut me apart. He knew all my soft vulnerable spots. If I let him, he would eviscerate me. He’d do it clean and clinical and neat, just cut himself out of my life, and then I’d be alone, nothing left to do but sanitize the wounds with cheap whiskey and hope the blood loss wouldn’t kill me.

Fuck that. Last time he drew a knife, I’d barely survived.

“Gonna take more than that to chase me off,” I said. I sounded more confident than I felt.

Dean licked his lips, eyes darting over my features like he was analyzing something, before he stood up abruptly, crowding into my space and making me take an instinctive step back.

“You should go,” he repeated, low and dangerous.

“I’m not scared of you.” I looked up at him, defiant.

He took another step forward, predatory and prowling. My back hit the wall. I realized what he was going to do a split-second before I felt his fingers on my wrists.

“You should be,” he said, voice ragged and bitter, pinning my hands over my head.

Bile burned the back of my throat. I swallowed it down and held eye contact.

I could see how much this was hurting him. His words were rough, but his eyes were huge and soft, fucking anguished; he looked like he was drowning.  I could feel the instinctual prickle of fear creeping up my spine, but there was no way I could ever mistake the raw, real, scared Dean in front of me for the monster who’d been wearing his skin that night.

My heart was racing, but it was from anger, more than anything else.

“Are you done yet?” I said hoarsely. “‘Cause even for you, this is a whole new level of bullshit.”

His eyes went wide for a moment, and then his face just sort of crumpled, tension going out of him all at once, mouth dropping open. He stepped back, releasing me with a choked gasp.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if he could hide from me. “Shit, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m sorry.”

I was shaking, adrenaline flooding my body, but the only thing I could feel was rage.

“Dean,” I snapped.

“Sorry. I just- I thought it would be easier. If you just… had to leave.”

“Fuck you,” I spat.

He flinched away from me. I threw myself at him, stumbling forward and colliding hard, wrapped my arms around him, and held on for dear life.

He took a deep, convulsive breath. I could feel the hitch of a repressed sob where I had my cheek pressed to his chest. His hands were gentle at first when they came to rest on my back.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. He ran his fingers delicately up my shoulderblades.

I squeezed him again, hard, clutching at the back of his flannel, and then he gave in with a barely-there sigh and clung to me desperately, breathing soft and shallow and panicky.

“Asshole,” I hissed, but it came out muffled with my mouth pressed into his shoulder. “Fucking… motherfucking piece of shit.”

I was so fucking furious I felt dizzy, and my vision was blurring through the tears. I nuzzled into the curve of his neck and slid a hand to the back of his head, pulling him closer, and then I cupped his jaw and surged up blindly on my tiptoes to kiss him, head spinning as my teeth sank into the softness of his lower lip.

Dean sighed, a quick sharp sigh that caught in the back of his throat, and I tasted copper. There was so much energy just rocketing around under my skin with nowhere to go, making my nerve endings sizzle and spark. When he bit back, nipping sharply, the sting felt like a distress flare roaring to life with a blinding magnesium-bright blaze. He gasped against my lips and then crushed his mouth to mine again, sucking and biting and setting me on fire.

I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him, and then I wanted to kiss it better, and I felt like I was going completely fucking crazy.

I whimpered as I tried to press myself closer. His hands found my shoulders and held me in place with an iron grip.

“Wait,” he said, forehead pressed to mine. “Wait, I just - I’m -”

“I know,” I snapped.

“- I’m so sorry, I -” 

“Fuck now, talk later,” I said breathlessly, and he huffed out a laugh, thumb stroking the hinge of my jaw, as we tried to pull ourselves together.

We were both trembling, still, and I could feel tears drying on my cheeks. I spared a millisecond to wonder whether this was healthy, whether this was really the best choice, whether we should stop and figure things out before we dove in deeper… then he was shoving me backward, pushing me against the wall again, his hands strong and sure as he hooked them under my thighs and hitched me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and sucked a bruise into the soft skin just under his ear, and he let out a long, rough whine, hands squeezing my ass.

He spun us around and carried me to the bed. Maybe he couldn’t see where he was going, maybe he didn’t care. Either way, I was still tangled up in him when we crashed onto the mattress, his weight coming down on top of me, punching the oxygen out of my chest. I could feel him, the solid grounding pressure of him, all down my body. I dug my heels into the bed, pushed my hips up, and he was grinding against me, pinning me down and rutting into me. I saw stars.

“Clothes,” I panted, and tugged at his shirt, trying to get it over his head. Before I could make much progress he was sliding down my body, yanking my jeans and underwear down as he went. I only managed to get them kicked off one foot; they were still bunched around the other ankle as Dean hooked his hands under my thighs so that he could grab me by the hips and hold me where he wanted me.

He just breathed, for a moment, close enough that I could feel the warm air ghosting over my pussy, and then he slid the very tip of his tongue down my center, parting my lips gently.

“Don’t fucking tease, I’m not in the mood,” I groaned, trying to tilt my hips up.

He didn’t say anything, just spread me open and ducked his head. His tongue dragged up and over my clit with just the right amount of pressure behind the soft swirl of it, and then he curled two fingers into me, licking between them. I grabbed at his hair, arching up so that I could rub myself on the flat of his tongue. He moaned, low and dirty, and buried his face between my legs, lips working my clit in a way that sent molten heat through my belly.

Dean scissored his fingers and pressed them up, and my vision went white for a second. I bucked up against his mouth and made an incomprehensible sound, hooking my leg up over his shoulder and digging my heel into his back to urge him closer.

He fell into a rhythm, sucking my clit with these long waves of pressure and catching my g-spot with the calloused pads of his fingertips every time he curled his hand up against me. He added a third finger, twisted, pressed, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the fireworks threatening to blind me.

“Don’t fucking stop,” I gritted out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t- don’t-” 

It wasn’t the sort of slow-build orgasm that swells and peaks and eases you into the crest of it; this was instant obliteration. I let out a long, wordless cry and went under. It was intense and overwhelming and so fucking good, flashing out from my center and making me twitch up into the hot wet pressure of Dean’s sinful mouth.

He didn’t give me any time to recover, even when I started to squirm away. His tongue kept up the swirling pressure on my clit and his fingers rubbed that perfect spot inside me, and I couldn't stop shaking with the lingering shocks of my orgasm.

Pleasure started bleeding into shivery wrung-out not-quite-pain. The pulses of it were setting my teeth on edge, making me twist my hands in the sheets and whimper.

“Dean,” I said breathlessly. “Dean, fuck, c’mon.”

He pulled away just enough to look up at me and answer, “Hmm?”

Jesus, his mouth. His lips were swollen and red and used, puffy from my bruising kisses and now glistening wet. I could feel it, could feel how slick I was, slippery and soaked where his knuckles were stretching me open, but it was something else altogether to see the obscene shine all over his mouth and his chin. I made a strangled, high-pitched noise, clenching around him, and he did something with his fingers that sent a whole new wave of heat through me.

“Want you to...” I started, but trailed off into a moan; his tongue was flicking over my clit again and I couldn’t form words.

He gave me one last lick, slow and savoring, and then he was sitting up to pull his shirt off and reveal all that gorgeous skin. I had that feral urge to mark him up, sink my claws in… I could barely tear my eyes away from Dean long enough to sit up and get my own shirt off.

Luckily, he seemed to be on the same page. He was on me as soon as he’d managed to kick his jeans away, hands on my waist and teeth on my neck, biting his way up to my ear and then whispering, “What do you want?”

That seemed to be the impossible question of the entire goddamn week.

I hesitated for a moment before turning over, getting on my hands and knees, and Dean hummed in agreement, or maybe it was appreciation. I arched my back and looked over my shoulder at him as he shifted into place, and I could see him staring down with hungry, heavy-lidded eyes.

“Dean?” I said hoarsely. “Just… fuck me hard.”

He licked his parted lips, eyes going dark. The expression on his face sent this thud of need through me just as he sank in, filling me up so completely I couldn’t see straight. I dropped my head down and rocked against him, panting as I tried to adjust.

“Yeah?” he rasped. His hands gripped my waist. I just shifted forward and then pushed back, grinding on his cock, feeling the perfect ache where he split me open.

It was like the first orgasm had barely taken the edge off. All that aggression and pent-up anger and blistering lust were still there, simmering low in my belly, starting to boil over again.

“Fuck me already,” I hissed. 

He let out a growl and slammed into me hard enough that I almost lost my balance. I dropped down onto my elbows to brace myself.

“Hard enough for you?” Dean grunted, fingers digging into me and holding me in place.

“That’s all you’ve got?” I said, goading him on, but the high, breathy whine in my voice gave me away. “Want you to fucking destroy me, come on.”

He laughed, gripping tighter, fingernails stinging my skin, and then he was fucking me with long, grinding thrusts, hitting my g-spot every time. I was dripping wet, slicking every hot, hard inch of him, easing the slide as he moved sharper, faster, pounding into me with a rhythm that made my toes curl.

“Love the way you take my cock,” he panted. “God, look at you, you gonna come for me again?”

I was shaking already. I twisted my hands in the sheets, trying to get some sort of purchase, some leverage, so that I could push back, get more, somehow take him deeper.

“More,” I whimpered. “Please, Dean, more.”

Dean leaned forward, planting one palm in the middle of my back, between my shoulderblades, shoving my face down into the mattress, and then he wrapped the other hand around my throat. That was all it took; the feeling of being overpowered, held down by his big rough hands, sent me over the edge. My entire body went rigid, and I bit down on the sheets to try to keep myself from screaming.

Dean was cursing as I came back to myself, rocking into me, and I could feel the way he was holding back.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he groaned. “Don’t want this to end yet, I…”

He pulled out and I whimpered, but he just shifted us forward, guiding me until I was flat on my stomach. He pushed my legs closer together, straddling my thighs, and when he thrust into me again it felt so good, so tight and overwhelming, that a little shiver of an aftershock went zinging up my spine.

I felt him take a deep, ragged breath. He was running his hands down my back, just smoothing them over sweat-damp skin. Then he dragged his fingernails down, a trailing fiery sting. I cried out, arching my back almost painfully to try to thrust back against him.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, and then he rolled his hips, grinding against me and making me squirm and pant under him. He was crushing me down against the mattress, trapping me in place, but I wouldn’t have been able to muster the coordination to move, anyway, with the way each movement made me tremble. I felt so fucking full.

Dean was getting close; I could feel it in the desperate, jerky way he was starting to move, and I could hear the way his breath caught in his throat.

“Wanna feel you,” I said hoarsely.

Instead of speeding up, he slowed down even more. He seemed to sort of melt, draping himself over me, pressing his chest to my back, and I could feel his gasps and his racing heartbeat.

He nuzzled the side of my neck, pressing his lips clumsily to my skin. I turned my head, straining, so I could kiss him, sloppy and off-center, more a brush of slack panting mouths than a real kiss.

I could feel Dean’s entire body on mine, like this. I felt his muscles bunching and flexing, his chest heaving, his cock dragging over some secret spot that made my vision go white and sparkly at the edges.

I had that too-full, achy sensation in my chest, like choking, like love, making it hard to breathe.

He slid one hand up my arm, up to my wrist, and then blanketed my hand with his, lacing his fingers through mine where they were pressed flat to the bed. He held my hand and he worked his hips, buried impossibly deep inside me, making me shudder down to the tips of my toes.

I wasn’t sure when fast and filthy had dissolved into this syrupy-slow intensity. I could feel every rock-hard inch of him pressing against all those perfect spots inside me, so goddamn close to me, so goddamn full, so intimate and pulse-poundingly good it didn’t leave room for anything else, least of all anger.

“God, I wish you could feel, you have no idea,” he said desperately, quiet against my ear. “Feels so good. Just hot and wet and so tight, dripping on my dick. When you come I can feel it in your pussy, just… squeezing me, like you can’t get enough, best thing I’ve ever fucking felt, and… oh, fuck, I can’t, baby, I’m so close, I - touch yourself for me, want to feel you come with me, just…”

He still had my left hand in his, but I worked my right hand between myself and the mattress, fingers finding my swollen clit. I didn’t have to move, not really, with the way his hips were grinding in perfect little circles. I let his movements do all the work, shoving me into the blunt pressure of my fingertips.

It was almost too much, the shock waves of pleasure that started jolting through me. I whined, overstimulated. Then Dean’s hips surged forward harder, making me shout.

“God, there,” I moaned, and then we were rushing toward the finish line together.

There was nothing graceful about it, nothing that would’ve fit in a romance movie sex scene; we were lost in each other. I was making these raw, shredded noises, sweating and cursing, too far gone to be self-conscious. Dean was clutching at my arms, my hair, hands grabbing at every part of me he could reach as he fucked me, hips swiveling, grinding down, crushing me into the mattress. It was rough and animalistic, and all I could think, in time with the throb of heat in my core, was love you, love you, love you.

“That’s my girl,” Dean gasped. “Just like this, c’mon, baby.”

I broke with a shout. Everything tensed and finally released, electricity splintering through me with this fierce, sharp, near-painful intensity. He let out a guttural moan, driving into me wildly one last time, and came, cock twitching with the first hard pulse of it, spilling hot and messy inside me as my cunt spasmed around him, over and over.

I couldn’t catch my breath. I took deep gulps of air like I was drowning, wrung-out and lightheaded. Dean shifted, taking some of his weight off my ribcage, but he didn’t pull away yet.

I could feel the flutter of him going soft inside me, the tickle of sweat cooling between us. My heartbeat began to slow.

For the first time since the phone call, I felt calm.

Dean nosed the damp hair at the nape of my neck and nibbled at the shell of my ear, and then he was pulling out. I made a disgruntled noise and he kissed the top of my head before getting up, padding over to grab a washcloth and a fresh glass of water.

We got cleaned up and settled properly into the bed, snuggled up against the pillows. I curled into his side and traced the lines of his tattoo. He stroked my hair gently for a while in silence.

“I almost forgot, y’know?” he said softly. “What my life is like, most of the time. I’m never gonna be that guy.”

“What guy?” I asked, sitting up a little so I could look at him.

“The guy who gets a happy ending,” he said, with a bitter twist of his mouth. “I don’t get the happy ending. I forgot, I guess. When you’re here, it’s so easy to forget about everything else, and then… people get hurt. Sammy got hurt.”

“Dean,” I said, swallowing hard. “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“I let him down,” he said grimly. “I let people down, I can never -“

“But -“

“And it’s not just that, it’s… I’m afraid I’ll hurt you, cause I just suck at this. Relationships. I’m fuckin’ crazy about you, Christ, but I don’t deserve you, not after that shit I just pulled. I’m crazy about you, but I’m kind of a dumbass when it comes to talking, and feelings, and shit like that.”

“Not gonna argue there,” I muttered. He half-laughed, but it turned into a sad little grimace. “But, like… I’m not the picture of sanity myself, here, y’know? And I love you so much I can’t think straight when you’re around.”

He ran a finger down my cheek, smoothed his thumb over my lower lip, tracing my face like he was trying to memorize it.

“Maybe that’s not a good thing,” he said. “You don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, and it doesn’t really matter how you feel if you can’t trust me. Right?”

“I’m working on it,” I said, blinking back tears. “I’m trying to get better.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested, anguished.

“I know, Dean. I know.”

We looked at each other for a moment, quiet and sad. I curled up against his chest again, pressing my ear over his heart, listening to the steady comforting thump beating in his ribs.

“Maybe we could figure it out. Maybe it could work, if we did it right, y’know? So if you really wanted to, maybe we could try,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around me. “But…  do you? I mean, do you even want this? A couple days ago…”

“I don’t know, Dean. That’s the problem. I keep hurting you right back, stringing you along, just fucking being here when I don’t know what I want. I know I’m hurting you.”

“Okay,” he said soothingly, running his fingers through my hair. “Okay, baby.”

“I’m afraid we’ll just tear each other apart if we keep this up,”  I whispered, tears trickling from my closed lids and dripping down onto his skin.

“Maybe we both need to just take some time,” he said.

I didn’t want him to be right, but it made sense. We weren’t healthy, either of us. This wouldn’t be healthy. Part of me almost felt relieved, thinking about it. It’d be easier, if I just took some time away from him.

“Maybe it’ll be better, when I’ve had time to… heal, or whatever,” I said, miserable and unsteady. “Get myself under control. I don’t want to hurt you either, and maybe… maybe I’m just not ready.”

“Think we both need some time to figure our shit out,” he said shakily.

“What if we just gave it a couple days, for now?” I suggested. “Think about it. Make sure we’re doing the right thing. I’ll go home, and… I dunno, try to get my life together.”

“I think that’d be a good idea. Get some space. Get our heads on straight. I’m not so good at being rational when you’re around.”

“And in a couple days, we can just… I dunno. Talk again. See how we’re feeling.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

We didn’t say any more. We held each other, for a few minutes. I felt hollow and fragile, and I didn’t want to walk away, knowing it might be the last time for a long time, but there was no point in waiting.

“Just one more minute,” Dean whispered.

——-

I didn’t let myself glance in the rearview mirror. I didn’t let myself look back.

This was the right choice. It had to be. We couldn’t keep hurting each other like this. If we kept slicing each other open, we’d do permanent damage. Better to take a step back. Better to find our footing, get ourselves under control, before one of us bled out.

This is right, I told myself, as I pulled up to my dark, empty little house. This is good.

I just felt hollow.

.

.

NEXT PART HERE. 

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[samsgirl2020]

Paradise by the Dashboard Light

This is my FIRST TIME, so please be gentle.

PART 1

Word Count: 1, 581

Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader

Warnings: Language

Summary: A female hunter has a bad night and meets an old friend in a tavern.

Notes:  This story was inspired by the Meatloaf song by the same name and by one of my own personal fantasies.  DON’T JUDGE ME! :p

HUGE KUDOS go out to my sister from another mister and my beta, LaNae Weaver.  As far as tags, I’m still really new here, so I’m not sure who I should tag and who I shouldn’t.  Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated.  ENJOY!

PARADISE BY THE DASHBOARD LIGHT

 You touched the cold beer bottle to the side of your face and hissed.  That was DEFINITELY gonna leave an impressive shiner.

 You slowly scanned the tavern and wished that you had just stopped by the closest gas station and got a six pack and went back to your motel room.  Men, women; hunters of all shapes, sizes, and colors crowded around the pool tables, the bar, and the one or two random tables.  There were FAR TOO MANY people around and by the sound of the bell above the door, it wasn’t slowing down.

 Your recent hunt had been a shit show.  The intel you had gotten from your contact had been completely wrong, and you knew you were lucky to be in one piece, let alone still alive.  You set out that morning thinking you were tracking a SINGLE female werewolf.  Your gear was good, YOU were good, but when you arrived at the location your contact sent you to, you found the female wolf…AND her mate.  You cursed under your breath as you relived the evening’s events.

 You drove your truck to the farm about 15 miles outside of town.  When you got out of the vehicle, the clouds parted overhead, and revealed a huge full moon bathing the land and the desolate barn in silver light.  The corner of your mouth lifted up in a smile as you took the pistol out of your duffle bag and opened the chamber to make sure it was loaded.  Once satisfied, you stuffed the weapon into the waistband of your jeans. Straightening your shoulders, you turned and made your way toward the barn.

 The female wolfs mate jumped you almost as soon as you stepped through the door.  He grabbed you by the back of your shirt and jeans and tossed you into a stall.  You crashed to the floor with a thud and groaned. Remembering the pistol in your jeans, you rolled onto your back and emptied 3 silver bullets into the male’s chest just as he was about to pounce on you again.  You scrambled into a sitting position as the male collapsed onto the barn floor.

Getting shakily to your feet, you heard a whaling cry come from across the barn.  Shaking off the effects of your flight through the air, you turned your head to see the female fling herself onto her mate.  She slowly raised her head, and her yellow, animalistic eyes met yours. A sinister snarl left the female as she rose to her full height.

You shrugged your shoulders and smirked.  “Sorry about that.”  You said.

 The female wolf roared with rage and ran toward you. You braced yourself for the inevitable collision, and the two of you slammed into the back of the stall with enough force to crack the rotting wood.  The crash also caused you to drop yur gun with your only means of defense inside.

The female wolf tangled her claws into your hair and began to slam your face into the barn stall wall.  Three separate times.

“Alright, bitch.  That’s it!”  You shouted, and regained control of the situation.  You lifted your right leg and connected your boot heel with the she-wolfs right shin.  She cried out and lost her grip on your hair.  You dropped to your knees and crawled to the steel weapon gleaming in the moonlight.  You raised the weapon and fired.

The wolf froze; a surprised look on her face that would have been comical in any other situation.  She looked down as dark blood started to ooze through her tank top.  She raised her yellow eyes to you once more before her knees buckled and she fell to the floor.

You got back to your feet and walked towards her.  As you stood over her and watched, the female’s eyes changed to a beautiful sparkling blue.  She looked at you as she gasped for air and coughed up a spat of blood. Her breathing became shallower and finally stopped.  You nudged her with your boot, and when there was no response, you sighed loudly and had to fight to keep yourself on your feet.

“Great.  I’ve probably got a fucking concussion.” You said, rolling your eyes.  The eye roll caused another bolt of pain to smash through your skull and you kicked at a random piece of wood.

 You dragged the bodies of both the she-wolf and her mate to the back of the barn.  You went to your truck, got some salt and some lighter fluid, and lit the two corpses on fire.  When the blaze had finally died down, you got back into your vehicle and left the scene. You fished your cell phone out of your duffle bag and connected with the last number you dialed.

“Colton?”  You asked into your cell phone

“Y/N?  What’s up, darlin’?  How was the hunt?” Colton asked, jovially.

“How was it?  You SON OF BITCH!  Do you THINK that you might be able to pull your head out of your ass and give me CORRECT intel next time?!” You yell.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“What do you mean what do I mean?!  There were TWO WOLVES, COLTON!  TWO!  I almost ended up as puppy chow and it’s your FUCKING fault, you ass-hat!”

“Y/N, I…I’m really sorry, babe.  I…I really didn’t know.  Every piece of info I had said it was a single female.  All my sources said…”

“Colton, I don’t give a DAMN about your other sources! YOU are the one that is supposed to have my back!  I am supposed to be able to trust you not to get me killed!” You shouted as you pulled your truck into the bar parking lot.  “I’m done, you shit head.  I’ll handle my own hunts from now on.”

“But, Y/N, please, babe…” Colton started, but you cut him off.

“SHUT UP.  And stop calling me babe!” You yelled and hung up on him.

 You shook your head and sighed as your thoughts came back to the present.  After taking a long swig on your beer, you pressed the cold glass to the side of your face again.

“Damnit!”  You cursed.

Finishing off your beer in two more swigs, you peeled yourself off the bar stool and decided the tavern was FAR MORE crowded then you were comfortable with and knew that it was time to leave.

You were looking down as you walked, wondering if the stain on your shirt was food or blood, so you were unaware of what was in front of you.  Suddenly, you ran into a hard wall of muscle and promptly fell onto your ass.

 “What the hell?  I am gonna….” You started, ready to shred whoever was at fault for knocking you to the floor, and then you froze, and your throat clamped shut.

“Y/N?  What are you doing here?”  A deep, slightly amused voice asked.

 Your eyes slowly crawled up long, denim clad legs. They continued to rise and spied a red and black flannel shirt, covered by a light brown jacket.  Finally they reached the top; and were greeted by dark, long hair, and brilliant hazel eyes.  And, if ALL OF THAT was not enough to crash your internal train, there was a small smile crossing his lips and those damn dimples were making their entrance.  Sam FUCKING Winchester.

 “Uh….Oh, hey, Sam.” You mumbled.

 He reached out a hand to you to help you off the floor and you just stared. (You had ALWAYS been fascinated by his hands).  You came back to yourself, met his gaze, and took his hand.  He lifted you off the floor with ease.

 Sam tilted his head slightly and grimaced.  “That looks like it hurts.  You okay?” He asked.

You donned your famous, “Of course!  I’m right as rain!” grin and nodded.  “Never better.  What are YOU doing here?”

He chuckled softly and sighed.  “Getting some air.  I kinda got evicted from my hotel room, and I found this place down the road.”

“There is no air in here, trust me.” You said, dusting off your back side.  “I’m guessing Dean is poling the electorate again?”

Sam grinned and nodded, almost embarrassed.

You nodded back.  “Right.  Well, I was just headed out, so…” You said, walking past him, praying like HELL he couldn’t see how his smile had made you shiver.  Suddenly, your world began to swim, and you felt like your beer was going to make an encore.  The last thought you had before your eyes rolled into the back of your head was, “Shit. Wolf bitch DID give me a concussion.”

You felt yourself falling backwards, but before you could hit the floor, strong arms were around you, cradling you tightly.

“Okay, Y/N.  Take it easy.” Sam said, a note of concern in his voice.

 You looked up into his face as he held you in his arms. The sensation of Sam holding you close to him had shallowed your breathing and your mind was racing.  You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and again PRAYED that he wouldn’t notice the physical effect he had on you. Had ALWAYS had on you since the first day you met a year ago.  You tried to clear the fog and racing thoughts with a small shake of your head and realized with another wave of nausea that THAT was a bad idea.

“ Sam fucking Winchester” you whispered, and passed out cold.

[memoriesofkpop]

These Words For You

These Words For You

Based on the song Second Life by Seventeen Written in 2nd POV Jeonghan x female reader Joshua x female reader Genre: Angst

=============================================

          “With this ring, I promise you companionship. I promise you a life together. I promise to stand by you, not ahead nor behind. I promise to love you endlessly with all my heart. If we are given a second life, I am sure we will end up together. Even if I live and breathe differently than I do now. I will find you again. I will love you again. I may not be able to give you the world you deserve, but I will give you my universe,” Jeonghan stated with a smile, eyes brimming with tears as he slid the ring onto your finger. His sincere words and bright eyes were more than enough to convince you that this was the best day of your life.

        “You may kiss the bride,” said the officiant, beaming along side the guests that filled the room. 

        His soft lips gently pressed onto yours as butterflies erupted in your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, causing him to reciprocate the action and even let out a soft chuckle. 

        You were happy. 

...Or at least you were at that moment.

---

        The sound of fragile porcelain smashing into the hard tile floors echoed throughout the building. You wouldn’t dare call this place a home. His voice rose in volume as words continued to pour out of his mouth. At this point, his words were nothing more than muffled sounds that simply reached your ears. Regardless of the lack of meaning to you, it made your blood boil with rage. Before you knew it, you were yelling back, trying to get him to listen to you despite you yourself refusing to listen to him. 

        Another plate carefully adorned with a floral design came crashing onto the floor. This time, at the hands of his-- your supposed one and only love. 

        “Why the hell are you breaking the dishes?!” you screamed at him, pointing at the small white pieces that littered the floor. 

        “Oh like I was the one who started it?!” he yelled back. 

        “Of course you started it! Who else could have? A ghost?!”

        “Might as well have been! You never admit to your mistakes!” 

        “I can’t believe you! You-”

        “You know what?! That’s it. I’m done with all of this!” he cut in, pushing the rest of the dishes off the table and he stormed out of the room, pushing past you as well as slamming the door as he went. 

        “Jeonghan! What the actual fu-” you yelled only to be cut off by another slam of the door. This time, the front door. 

        Not only anger filled you, but a hint of sadness and frustration as well. Staring at the broken pieces of glass and porcelain on the floor, you couldn’t help but break down into tears. You crouched by the fragments with your head buried in your arms, hoping for the world to just disappear as you felt your marriage falling apart. 

        Minutes passed before you were able to regain control of your breathing. You were desperate to calm yourself through your sobs. Standing up, you walked straight to your shared bedroom. You pulled out a suitcase from the closet and began gathering your belongings-- moving quickly as your vision blurred again. As you shoved another shirt into the large case, your hands stopped. The light had caught the diamond in your engagement right just right, causing your eyes to go straight to the pair of rings on your left hand. Your beloved engagement ring and your wedding band. You yanked them both off as if they were burning your skin and walked over to the nightstand. Slamming the rings onto the marble surface, you glared at the photo of you and him. The picture seemingly mocking you with bright smiles plastered on both faces. You push the frame down so that the photograph can no longer be seen before walking back to the suitcase and continuing to fill it up swiftly. 10:04 pm.

        You couldn’t help but scoff at the time. 

---

        “Isn’t it ridiculous?! And then she had the NERVE to accuse me of starting the whole argument in the first place!” Jeonghan complained, dramatically waving his arms in the air. Joshua sat there listening to his friend with a concerned look on his face. He’s heard it all. From the beginning of their love story until the latest argument. Jeonghan continued rambling like he always does when suddenly Joshua let out a deep sigh. Surprised at the response, Jeonghan seized talking, resulting in just staring at the younger. It was only then that Joshua realized he had been spacing out and not really listening.

        “Ah.. sorry,” he sheepishly apologized. This was unlike him; he’s always been a great listener. But when it came to you, someone he always felt comfortable and very close with, his thoughts went into overdrive. If he was honest, right when he met you just a few months before you and Jeonghan began dating, he thought that the two of you would be the ones who ended up together. Instead, he preferred living this lie. Just at this moment, Shua’s phone lit up with a small buzz. 

        “Hey... is the passcode to your apartment still the same?” 

        Without any hesitation, he swiped open the text and replied with a “yep!”

        “Sorry about that. What were you saying?” He asked Jeonghan, redirecting all of his attention back to one of his closest friends. 

        “Who was that?” Jeonghan questioned. 

        “Don’t mind that,” he replied, expecting the elder to ignore it and continue with his rant as usual. What he didn’t expect was for Jeonghan to grab the phone from him and scroll through his messages with you. Instant panic shot through Joshua as he automatically reached for the phone to take it back. However, Jeonghan was faster at pulling it away from his grasp. 

        “Who’s ‘Little Carrot’?” Jeonghan asked, continuing to scroll through the most recent messages just as Joshua successfully regained ownership of his phone. 

        “No one,” he calmly lied, thanking God that you two basically constantly spoke in code. 

        “Didn’t seem like no one to me,” Jeonghan said, nudging him a bit. Shua only shook his head before standing up. He had seen the word “guitar” and knew despite already hearing about the argument from Jeonghan, something had gone horribly wrong this time-- something different.

        “I’ve actually got to go now. Sorry about this. I hope you two work it out! Don’t give up on her!” Joshua said as he made his way past Jeonghan and out the door of one of the many studio rooms. 

        “Wait-” Jeonghan started but Joshua had already began walking faster since the very first step out of the room. 

        He didn’t know why, but his feet always traveled just a little bit faster towards you, and his heart beat just a little bit faster, than to anyone else. 

        His actions seemed automated as he made his way home, wasting no time. Right when he swung open the door, his eyes locked onto you. You had picked up one of his guitars and been messing around on it for a bit, remembering the times when you were able to actually play. 

        Glancing up from the strings, your eyes met with his.

        “Hey…” was all you could manage. 

        “Hi. Were you just playing Sunday Morning?” he asked, closing the door gently behind him and making his way to the couch you were at, picking up another guitar before sitting down. 

        “Yeah. I still never finished learning it actually. Jeonghan always said it was too noisy and rough sounding when I would try to learn,” you replied softly, fingers falling from the neck of the instrument at the memory. 

        “Nonsense. Guitars always sound great in the hands of great players,” he replied in an attempt to comfort, beginning to pluck at the strings, encouraging you to do the same. You smiled at him, feeling a bit more confident. Or maybe it was the way he made you feel wanted. 

        His fingers effortlessly played the notes, pausing from time to time to help you with the chords you struggled to strum. 

        Hours had passed in what felt like minutes. Before you knew it, the simplistic clock on the left wall showed that it was a quarter past three am. Time just flew by when he was with you, and despite believing you two would have been perfect together, you preferred living this lie. The life where he was simply one of your best friends-- someone you can count on but will not break your heart when he did anything disappointing to you. 

        “Are you tired?” asked Shua, now resting both his arms and head on top of the guitar in his lap, looking in your direction. You chuckled a bit. 

        “Tired mentally? Yes. Physically? I don’t even know anymore,” you confessed, arms and head resting on the guitar in your lap as well, facing the boy. “Thanks for cheering me up, by the way”. His breath got caught in his throat for a split second as he saw his own face in your two eyes. It was as if the world had stopped and all he wanted to do was hug you and hold you tight. As quick as the thought arrived, the moment was gone as he forced himself to refocus on reality.

        “Anytime. And you’re more than welcome to stay here if you need a place,” he replied.

        “Was it the giant suitcase that gave it away?” you said with a slight smile. He only laughed softly in reply. His hand reached out to brush a stray hair out of your face and tucked it gently behind your ear. “..Thanks.”

        “Not a problem.”

        “..I mean thanks for everything. Always being here for me, you know?”

        “What are friends for?”

        You couldn’t help but smile back at his sweet smiling face. 

        “Friends forever?” you asked him.

        “Till death do us part,” he stated.

        Satisfied with his answer, you sat up and gently placed the guitar back into its nearby stand, suddenly feeling more tired than before but was willing to fight the heavy feeling. You turned your body to face him and pulled your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them to keep your legs in place. Letting your head rest against the couch, you watched Shua place down his guitar as well. 

        “I’ll go grab some snacks, yeah?” he suggested. You simply nodded and followed him with your eyes as he got up from the couch and disappeared into a room. It was just for a moment, but you let your heavy eyelids flutter close as you waited for him to return. 

---

        Knowing you would be in a deep sleep by the time he got back, Joshua went to his bedroom and grabbed a rose quartz and serenity blue quilted blanket-- one of your favorites. He gently placed it on your sleeping figure and sat down on the other couch. He sighed as he watched your steady breathing, suddenly strangely aware that he was breathing at the same rate for some reason. He knew you like the back of his hand to the point where words were no longer necessary to communicate between you two. The gaze you shared was simply enough. Your name fell from his lips in a light whisper without him conscious effort until he heard his own voice. That was the moment reality truly hit him. He recalled that you would never be his and he would never be yours-- not really . 

        “If I’m given a second life, one where I live and breathe differently compared to now, I’m going to be the one by your side. And on days where I’m suddenly alone, I’ll find my way to you...wherever you may be…” he said in a soft voice with his head down, not daring to look at you. With that said, he stood back up and turned off the lights that illuminated your face. With a final glance, he walked out of room, knowing that he could never promise you a life together nor promise to solely stand by you. He could not give you the world nor give you the universe he so desperately wanted to give. What he could promise was to love you endlessly with all his heart.

        Joshua made his way back to his room and walked straight to the closet. Moving aside some jackets, he opened a small hidden vault. Inside was nothing more than a small wooden box that held just two items. A ring and a piece of paper. 

There, sat the ring he had wanted to give to her. To you.

There, sat his whole heart.

There, sat his sole regret in life.

There, sat the reason why he could and cannot ever be truly honest with you.

There, sat a secret only shared between Jeonghan and himself. 

There, sat the original copy of the vows he had written to say to you on what was supposed to be his best day of his life.

A/N: Contains errors

[steebrogurz]

Save Me (Part 3)

Summary: Bucky comes to your rescue during a fight with your boyfriend.

Warnings: angst, abuse, sexual assault, violence, blood, 

word count: 3255

a/n: this chapter is an intense one also not a very happy one. Please reblog and let me know what you think :)

"What are you doing here, Alex?" I ask but my mouth is suddenly as dry as a desert and my words come out no louder than a whisper.

“I tried to let you go,” Alex sniffles before taking a swig of vodka, the clear liquid sloshes inside bottle and a few drops dribble down the side. “I tried to forget about you and our baby, but I just couldn’t, Y/N.” 

I wince at the sound of his voice, he’s not yelling but there’s an unhinged edge of anger to it that tightens my chest in fear. “How did you get in here?” I start to slowly back away towards the front hall. Bucky’s still outside. I think to myself. If I can just get to the door he might know something is wrong. I keep my eyes on Alex, watching as he twirls the knife in his hand. I take another step backwards when he stands up from the couch and turns to face me fully.

“I came in through the back window,” he says twisting his arm to show me the ripped sleeve edged with blood. That’s where the breeze came from. Some small part of my brain that isn’t frozen in fear speaks up. He takes another swig of vodka and I decide to use this slight distraction as the opportunity to turn and run for the door. 

I skid around the corner just as the bottle explodes against the wall above me and I duck, covering my head with my arms as I’m showered with vodka and tiny pieces of glass but I never stop moving. I can feel the sting from the tiny cuts forming on my arms but with the adrenaline rushing through me they are nothing more than a pin prick, I have more important things to focus on. 

The door is within reach and for a split second I feel relief, I can get Bucky’s attention and he’ll come in to save me one more time. My hand closes around the doorknob and I turn it, almost! But before I can pull it open Alex is behind me grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. I let out a scream in fear and pain before he smashes my head against the door.

My vision blurs and I'm disoriented as pain explodes in my head and I stumble to the side, letting go of the doorknob, but I’m pulled upwards and my back hits his chest. He releases my hair and wraps his arm around shoulders holding me in place while the other presses the edge of the knife against my stomach, I let out a shuddering breath in pain as the knife bites into my skin. “You took my baby from me,” he growls in my ear, his breath is hot and stinks of alcohol. “But you know what? I forgive you. We can just make another one, and then we can be happy together.” Alex buries his face into the side of my neck and inhales deeply through the nose. I squirm in his grasp trying to get away without hurting myself more on the knIfe still held to me. 

"No, please," I gasp when his words sink in and I realize what he's about to do to me.

Everything about him, up until this very moment, is sloppy; the way his words slur together, the wild movement of his arms and the few stumbling steps he’s taken but when he slips the knife under the hem of my shirt he’s laser focused and whatever struggles I put up against him freeze as soon as the cold metal touches my skin. The sharp edge easily cuts through the fabric all the way up to the collar and when he’s satisfied with his handiwork he throws the knife to the side then he turns us around to move back into the living room. I don’t know when I started crying but I can feel the tears on my bare chest, and I let out a whimper when one of his hands moves under my bra to cup one of my breasts while the other keeps going down my body to undo the button on my jeans. 

Just then the front door bursts open and I’m whipped around again like a rag doll in a child’s arms as Alex turns to see what’s going on. James Barnes, the Winter soldier, former assassin, Avenger, and my saviour stands in the doorway like the goddamn super hero he is. His chest is heaving and concern, rage, determination and a myriad of other emotions cross his face in the seconds it takes for him to take in the scene before him. “Let her go,” he demands for the second time today.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Alex tightens his grip on me. “Did you follow her here?” He looks between me and Bucky seemingly trying to piece something together. 

Bucky takes a step forward focusing his gaze on me. “Y/N you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you out of here,” my lip quivers and I manage to nod but Alex keeps moving us backwards away from Bucky who raises his hands in surrender, a sign that he’s not going to fight Alex if he can avoid it. “You don’t have to do this. Let her go and you can walk outta here.” 

Alex brings a hand up to grip my throat and squeezes. He keeps his hold loose enough that I can still breath but barely. This is a threat. “You fucked her didn’t you! Is that right Y/N? You killed my baby and then you moved on to the next fucking asshole who breathes your way? You fucking slut!” 

Tears are streaming down my face and I shake my head. “No,” it’s all I can say before his grip tightens more cutting off my air completely. I can hear Bucky shout something but I’m too focused on trying to breathe. A second later I’m thrown to the side and I trip over a side table hitting the floor. He spits at me and I scramble to get as far away from him as possible until my back hits the wall behind me. I hear a crash and a few grunts, then silence.

After a few more seconds a shadow falls over me and I cower further against the wall. “Please stop.” I whisper, unable to do much more than that.

“Y/N, it’s me, it’s Bucky. You're okay, I won’t hurt you.” His voice is gentle and I lower my arms to look over and see Alex sprawled out in the middle of my living room floor unconscious and bleeding. 

I hiccup and begin to sob uncontrollably. Bucky’s hand gently cups my face but I pull away and try to hide myself from the world. He pulls back but doesn’t let me leave his sight. “Hey, you’re okay, I’m not going to hurt you. But can you look at me, Y/N? Your head is bleeding and I need to check it out.” 

He doesn’t touch me again and I slowly lower my arms away from my face to look at him. His jaw clenches and a spark of rage flickers in his eyes as he examines me. The adrenaline in my veins begins to dissipate and I become aware of the dull pain in my forehead above my right eye. “It doesn’t look too bad but you’re gonna need stitches.” His eyes roam my face then move down my body, looking for more injuries and his gaze rests on the cut on my abdomen left from the knife. He quickly looks away and shrugs off his jacket draping it over my shaking shoulders. 

I wrap the soft fabric around my body, holding it tight against my skin as if that alone could protect me from what just happened, however the faint scent of his cologne does help to calm me enough to stop sobbing. "Come on, let's get you out of here and I'll fix this." Bucky very gingerly wraps an arm around my waist to help me to my feet and I don't shy away this time. Instead I lean against his side for support as he walks me through the door and sits me down on my front steps. "I'll be right back," he says before disappearing into my house again and I'm left to sit alone with my thoughts.

This is definitely not how I was expecting the day to go, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy with the abortion and everything but the fact that being assaulted in my own home is my reality is a hard to believe. 

I sniffle and raise my arm to wipe at my nose but stop to examine the small cuts. Most of them are more scratches than anything but there's one that has a small piece of glass half sticking out. Without thinking I pinch it between my thumb and index finger and gingerly pull it out. I suck in a breath through my teeth as the shard slides out and throw it to the ground. 

A minute later Bucky returns with a clean washcloth holding his phone to his ear. "-yeah, bring the car. Thanks Steve." He hangs up and sits down next to me gently pressing the cloth to my forehead. "Steve will be here in a bit and I'll take you to the hospital." 

"I don't want to go to the hospital." I speak up staring into the distance at nothing in particular. I know that I’d be waiting for hours to be seen and once they get to me I'd be asked all kinds of questions that I'm not ready to answer. 

"Doll, you need stitches, and you should probably be checked out for a concussion." He gently brushes the hair from my face and I turn to fix him with a glare as anger sparks in my chest. 

"I don't want to go to the hospital." I repeat firmly.

Bucky exhales through his nose and nods. "Okay, no hospital. But I'm taking you to the compound and I'll do it there myself." The wind picks up and I hug the jacket closer to block out the chill. "Are you cold? I can get you a blanket." 

I only shake my head and go back to staring at nothing, willing myself not to cry again, I’ve done enough of that today. We sit in silence until Steve pulls up to the curb behind Bucky's bike. He jumps out and Bucky stands to meet him at the end of my walkway. I watch their conversation in silence, Steve glances past Bucky at me his jaw set and nostrils flaring in anger. Bucky hands him something and he nods moving past him towards the house. I track Steve’s movements as he walks past me through the door and into my house. 

Bucky returns to my side and helps me back to my feet. "C'mon doll, time to go." He leads down the walkway and the few feet from the stairs to the car seem like miles as my legs shake beneath me, and it feels like an eternity has passed when we reach the car and Bucky helps me slide into the front passenger seat. He gently closes the door and gets behind the wheel.

"What about Steve?" I ask once we're moving and Bucky looks over to where I'm curled up on the seat. I can see the muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth, I don't know exactly what I look like but judging by his reaction every time he looks at me it must be bad. 

“He’ll take my bike once he’s done dealing with your ex,” he turns to face the road again and I close my eyes resting my head on the seat. I suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion rush through my body, my limbs feel ten pounds heavier. 

“What’s he going to do?” I open my eyes again to look at him. Alex can’t be arrested since I’m the only evidence of what he’s done and Captain America isn’t the type to kill a civilian, even if that civilian is an abusive rapist who deserves it a thousand times over. 

“Don’t worry about that Y/N,” he looks over at me again softer this time. “All you need to know is that he won’t be a danger to you anymore. I will do everything in my power to make sure he doesn’t hurt you ever again, I promise.” Bucky reaches over and cups my cheek, this small gesture eases some of the tension in my shoulders and I heave a shuddering sigh of relief at the feel of his skin on mine. “Go to sleep, doll, we’ll be there in a bit.” Before he finishes speaking I’ve already closed my eyes and drifting in and out of a restless sleep

I jerk awake when the car rolls to a stop and in my groggy state I look out the window to see a large building with a giant A on the side. “Are we- ah!” I scrub at my face momentarily forgetting about the cut on my forehead. I bring my hand away to find fresh blood coating my fingers.

“Shit,” Bucky picks up the cloth and presses it to my head again. “Hold that.” 

I do as he says opening the door and in a flash Bucky is at my side with his arm around my waist. Even though I can walk on my own I don’t say anything because the only place I feel safe right now is at his side, tucked under his arm where no one can hurt me.

“Welcome to the Avengers compound.” Bucky announces as we walk through the front door. He takes me up a flight of stairs into a bathroom off to the side and motions for me to sit on the toilet. He begins to open all the cupboards looking for something but from his increasing frustration he isn’t finding it.

“This whole place is supposed to be up to date on everything. Stark built this place to have everything we would ever need except a first aid kit apparently,” he mutters to himself. When he’s searched every inch of the bathroom he sticks his head out of the door and shouts into the building. “Sam! I need a first aid kit!”

I hear someone shout back and Bucky turns back to kneel in front of me. He reaches up and pulls the cloth from my hand and brushes the hair away from my forehead to get a better look. His eyes roam over my face for a second before meeting my eye and he smiles. “How are ya doing?”

I shrug and look away. Is he serious? “Considering everything that I’ve been through today? Fucking fantastic!” I give him the thumbs up and Bucky chuckles at my sarcasm.

“Sorry, that was a dumb question.” 

Just then the door opens and someone walks in holding a white box. “Hey man, here’s the first aid- oh sorry. Oh!” The man hands Bucky the box and stops short when he sees me, I quickly turn my head to hide the worst of my face, even though I know he’s already seen it, as Bucky stands to talk to him at the door. “Dude, what the hell happened? Is she ok?” I can hear the concern in his voice and I clench my fist in anger. I understand the concern that comes from seeing someone with injuries like this but at the same time I can’t help but feel like I’ve been reduced to nothing but a victim who is incapable of saving herself, especially since Bucky has come to my rescue three separate times in the last twelve hours. I hate that, at this moment, I don’t want to be anywhere without Bucky beside me keeping the monsters at bay. 

“She’s fine,” Bucky’s words are short and leave no room for anymore questions. “Thanks Sam,” he closes the door and stands at the sink to wash his hands before kneeling back down in front of me and pulling out the supplies he’ll need to stitch me up. He instructs me to look at him and sets to work cleaning my wound. “This is gonna sting but just for a minute. You ready?” 

I nod and close my eyes preparing myself. I’ve been through worse I can get through this. I tell myself as he starts on the stitches, and my eyes start to water from the pain of the needle but I stay as still as possible and let him work. Thankfully he’s done two minutes later and gently pressing a clean bandage over it. He leans back on his heels and gestures to my stomach. “May I?” 

Again, I nod and lift the hem of his jacket to reveal a thin cut, crusted with dried blood, running from my belly button to just above my right hip. Thankfully this one doesn’t need stitches and has already stopped bleeding, Bucky cleans it and bandages it too before standing back up to wash his hands again. “I’ll grab you a change of clothes, you can stay here tonight and in the morning I’ll take you back to your house.” He opens the door and holds it open for me.

I slowly get to my feet and walk past the bathroom mirror stopping in front to finally get a look at the damage Alex had caused. A small bandage is taped above my left eye which is darkening into a large purple bruise. My breath catches in my throat at my appearance, how am I going to explain this to people? I reach up to touch my black eye and wince at the tender skin, I hate this. I hate I let Alex into my life and because of that this is now my reality. Abused, assaulted, and no longer safe in my own home. 

“Come on, doll.” Bucky holds his hand out to me with a smile of encouragement. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

Something snaps in me and anger rushes through my veins, I whip around to face Bucky slapping his hand away. “Don’t tell me what I need to worry about!” My hands are shaking at my sides and I glare at him. “Alex broke into my home and attacked me. He almost raped me!” I’m certain others in the building can hear me yelling at Bucky but at the moment I don’t care. I’m exhausted and angry. Mostly at Alex for everything that he did to me, but I’m angry at myself too I never should’ve told him about the baby. I should’ve just ended things with him and dealt with it on my own. 

We stand there in the bathroom staring at each other, him in shock at my outburst and me trying to calm down. I know my anger is misplaced, he’s only trying to help. I heave a sigh and cross my arms. “Just show where I can sleep,” 

“Right,” Bucky set his jaw and pushed through the door, leaving me to follow behind him. He leads me down a long hallway and stops at a door on the right. “This room is empty,” he pointed to a door across the hall. “I’ll be there if you need me.” with one last look at me he turned and walked away.

Tags: @oliviawestbay @doralupin01 @whatsupbucky

[prorevenge]

Assault my cat? I chop your pride and joy in half.

So when I used to live in Florida, I lived in a low grade suburban area, when many people (including myself), were not the wealthiest of the much and could very rarely afford nice things. I was 23 at the time, and I had a cat named George. I had rescued the cat from a corner store/gas station in a different part of town. The cat is black and was about 1 year old by the time I found it.

Side note - When I was a teenager, I LOVED to split wood in my dads backyard, so I was really good at getting the right hard hit in. I haven’t chopped wood in over 4 years, but I still kept a maul,(just think half axe half hammer), in my garage.

There was this asshole, let’s call him Jered, he had just got the new dirt bike that he told everyone he was saving up for. The bike was LOUD. He would ride it whenever he felt like it, so it was unpredictable as to when he would ride it.

I’ve made acquaintances with him at the time, but didn’t really like him.

One day he comes down my road, revving the engine, and SHREDS UP MY LAWN. I haven’t done anything to him to deserve it. I was PISSED. I start pacing around wondering what to do. I had cameras outside my house that I went and checked. That’s when I new I had him.

He only lived about a 2 minute walk from my house, so I run over there, to see him just getting off his bike. He has no helmet on.

I confront him and tell him I saw what he did to my lawn, and he completely denied any of it. To my surprise, I heard my cat meow next to me. He had followed me all the way to jareds house. I didn’t think much of it.

Me and jered continue arguing while my cats constantly meowing. After about 3 minuts of us going back and forth, my cat jumps onto the dirt bike and starts scratching the seat. Jered charges over and strangled my cat, and threw him against the wall of his house. I was in complete shock. He stormed inside, so I grabbed my cat and ran. When I got home I put my cat on the table to make sure he was ok, and his upper left paw looked really deformed and horrifying. I was furious. I think I smashed a glass but it was a blur of rage and frustration. I grabbed my phone and called my brother to take my cat to the vet. I waited 10 minuts and my brother arrived. He took George and brought him to his car and drove away. Angry I grabbed my maul and marched to his house. I went right up to his bike and pushed it to the ground. I swung many times at the bike before he got outside and realized that I had already destroyed the engine. I could see gas coming out of the tank, and thus forth I took my lighter and threw it at the engine.

Jered runs up to the bike in flames, screaming like a little girl, PUTS HIS HANDS ON THE BURNING ENGINE. He pulls away with a little bit of burn on his right hand, charges at me, ready to fight. I stick my maul at him in a threatening kind of way and go home. The bike was a good distance from the yard and the house so nothing else caught fire. The bike was destroyed and my cats paw was fixed.

Needless to say I moved out soon after.

(source) story by (/u/4124938126)

[cutelipsonaboy]

Hi, i was wondering if you could write a Elliot x Reader imagine where Elliot goes to see Krista and he tells her how much he misses you, since you are away on a business trip, and one night he gets really lonely and gets upset but luckily its the night you come back and you find him crying so you comfort him. Thank you!!!

What a sweet idea, hope you like the read xx

Y/N = your name

title: The Silence

genre: angst

words: 2229

I’ve been seeingKrista for a long time now; sometimes out of choice, most of the time mandatory.She’s managed to get a lot of things out of me over the years that, until thatpoint, I fully intended on taking to the grave. We’ve spoken in depth about my drughabits, abhorrent thoughts surrounding world corruption, hell, even the factthat I see my dead father every now and again, and she’s never once made mefeel like I was doing something inherently wrong. That’s not to say she hasn’t triedto change me; we’ve had our fair share of fights, but I never hold any of itagainst her because I can recognize the toxicity of all those things. It’s herjob, after all, to guide me in the right mental path; I’m just stubborn. I knowthat. What I didn’t expect, however, was to ever be in the position I’m in now,talking about this. Krista puts her hands neatly in her lap and almosthesitates before she speaks.

“Elliot, I’m worriedthat you’ve become a bit emotionally dependent on (Y/N).”

“What’s thatsupposed to mean?” I ask. It comes out a lot more aggressive than I intend, butthat’s purely because I’m embarrassed. Me? Dependent? Krista purses her lips asthough she’s about to say something she knows is going to upset me. I’velearned to chart her facial expressions by this point.

“She’s been gonefor six days now, correct?” I nod but I don’t look at her. “And you called mehere for an emergency appointment. Elliot, I thought something tragic might’vehappened.”

“I’m allowed tomiss her.” I mumble through dry lips. She’s right though. I’ve never seenKrista on a day other than when I was scheduled to. But I didn’t know who elseto go to.

“I know that. Ofcourse you are.”

“Shouldn’t you behappy I’m not alone anymore?”

“Well, it’s notreally about that, is it? Of course I’m happy for you, Elliot. But you justsaid–”

“I know what Isaid.” A fraught silence. I can feel myself forming walls around my mind toavoid the anguish that inevitably follows vulnerability.

“Look, I’m yourtherapist. I have to show my concern when a patient says something like ‘I’mgoing to kill myself if she doesn’t come home soon.” I look away from her andstare at an unidentifiable stain on the wall to keep myself from biting my lipsraw. “Elliot, what are you thinking about?”

It’s obvious,isn’t it? (Y/N). Her smell. The way she holds me into her chest for hours withoutspeaking because she knows I just don’t have the words sometimes. How much Ihate that I need it. The silence,since she’s been gone.

“Nothing.” I say.Krista frowns. She knows I’ve already initiated emergency shutdown in my brain.

“Perhaps yourreactions are a result of something deeper, Elliot.”

“Never mind,Krista. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m not going to kill myself, I wasjust…kidding.” Some joke. I snatch up my backpack and stand up from the chairbefore she can even react.

“Maybe if you talkabout how you’re feeling I can understand a little more. Take a seat, Elliot. I’mno stranger.” She’s right. I wonder if her masters in psychology has given herthe ability to smell out when her patients want to say more but are afraid to.I sit back down. “Why do you feel so anxious when (Y/N) isn’t around?” Thewords are begging to pour out of my mouth but I’ve got it on latch. “Go ahead,start small.”

“When I’m aroundpeople I still feel… alone. Like nobody can hear me.”

“Why do you feellike no one can hear you?” She crosses one leg over another and leans back intoher chair.

“Because, I don’ttalk.”

“What do you mean?”This is hard. I look at Krista’s face and I wonder if I’m just another patientto her. I wonder if she really wants to help me or if it’s all for a paycheck.The words trickle slowly. If not for her, for me.

“I mean of course Italk but… it feels like my mind isconstantly running. Like a million things are sprinting around and bouncing offthe inside of my skull and I can’t get any of them out.”

“You are a deepthinker, Elliot. That’s something I’ve learned about you. You’re alwaysthinking, and while that’s not a bad thing, it’s healthy to take a pause oncein a while to breathe.”

“It feels like Ican’t breathe sometimes. But (Y/N), she can hear me. Even when I don’t talk.”For some reason, this pulls a smile out of the corner of Krista’s lips.

“What does she do?”She asks. I run my hands through my hair a few times.

“I don’t know. Idon’t know why she cares. But she does.”

“Everyone deservesto be cared about.” What a completely delusional statement. Not me. Not afterthe things I’ve done. “And she’s not the only one, Elliot. You are not alonejust because she isn’t here. Have you guys been talking?”

“Yeah, kind of. I don’treally like talking on the phone but I’ve been calling just to hear her voice.”

“Well, maybe youshould consider calling her whenever you’re having a bout of anxiety. Thatmight help ease it a little bit, at least until she’s home.”

“She didn’t pickup any of my calls today.” The words come out dryly.

“She is away onbusiness. Have you considered the fact that she’s just been busy?”

“It went straightto voicemail every time. It’s been hours and she hasn’t said a word.”

“I understand howeasy it is for the mind to go immediately into the worst-case-scenario, but that’swhere you have to reason with yourself. If she’s that special to you then you haveto understand she’s most likely not ignoring you, Elliot.”

“She always picksup my calls.” I’m getting more insistent because Krista doesn’t seem to get it.“What if something happened to her? How the fuck would I find out if she’sacross the country in Seattle? She could be dead…or…” I have to take a momentto catch myself. A horrible, familiar feeling washes over my chest and spreadsdeeper into my body. “Or she could be fine.”

“Exactly.”

“And she’s justrealized she doesn’t need me.” This makes Krista frown again, but I couldn’tcare less. I feel like the weight of the world has settled itself on my throat.

“Jumping to conclusions like that is only going totear you apart, Elliot. You have to learn how to reason with the voice in yourhead that tells y-“ I don’t even let her finish. I grab my backpack and headout the door with my head ducked down. Krista doesn’t call after me.

My apartment is inshambles when I walk in; not that it was any different with (Y/N) here, but atleast she made the mess feel like home. I start picking up some of the clothesoff the floor and run across one of her Sonic Youth t-shirts I’ve been sleepingwith. I press it into my face and take a long inhale to scrounge what I can ofher smell.

It’s funny howfast things can change, even after long periods of stagnant routine. A year agoI was living here alone. The only people who ever visit me are Darlene and Angela,and even that is a rare occurrence. Loneliness owned a large part of me. Itnestled itself into a deep, dark crevice of my mind that I never kept an eyeon, and it grew. After I met (Y/N), it was still there; reared its ugly headwhenever she was asleep before me, or when she got home late. But all thatmattered was when she silenced it. As soon as her eyes would open, as soon asshe walked in through the door and kissed me, I forgot all about it. Lonelinesslost its power to her.

But now she’sgone. I slide my phone from the pocket of my jeans and desperately try callingher again. The picture I have for her caller ID pops up on my screen. It’s one ofher kissing me on the cheek on Valentines Day and I almost look content. Thefirst Valentines day I ever spent with someone else. How could a picture thathas so many happy memories tied to it, bring so much grief? The voicemailrecording answers and something comes over me that is even worse than the loneliness.It almost feels like anger, but darker. Loss, maybe. Mistrust. My heart feelslike its fighting to come out of my chest. Just like that, she’d decided toabandon me just like everyone else. Why did I ever think it would be anydifferent?

I flip the table overin a fit of blind rage and all of its contents go flying across the room.Flipper whines at my feet, afraid of what’s happening. I’m afraid too, so I can’toffer her any condolences. I storm into the bathroom and stare at myself,buggy-eyed. What looks back at me is repulsive, naïve, undeserving. I take thehairbrush (Y/N) left on my sink and throw it at myself, smashing the mirrorinto fragments but I can still see this gaunt, pale face through it all. Ipunch the mirror again until it splinters so much I become unrecognizable. Isit my fault? How could I have not learned by this point that good things willnever stay by the side of someone as miserable as me?

When my ears stop ringingI can hear Flipper barking frantically in the other room. I wash my hands ofthe blood and lean on the reddened sink as I chew the inside of my mouth,trying to calm down. It’s alright, I’ve been alone, I can learn to be aloneagain. Maybe loneliness is all that I have. It’s safe, at least, and consistent.I close the bathroom door behind me so Flipper doesn’t cut herself on theglass. She won’t stop crying. Her whole body jumps every time she yelps. The noisejust adds to the chaos in my mind.

“Flipper!” I snatchher up in my arms and realize the door is being knocked on rigorously. I hadn’teven heard it from the bathroom. I pet Flipper a few times and place her backon the ground where she continues to bark. Flashbacks of 5/9 and the chaos thatensued wash over me; the danger, the loss. Dark Army? FBI? Why would theybother knocking?

Suddenly theknocking stops and I realize I’ve been standing in the middle of my apartmentstaring at the door. The doorknob begins to jiggle and I fear that it could beanyone. Slowly my feet slide towards the door. I think about grabbing a knifejust in case.

“Elliot!” The doorswings open and (Y/N) drops her bags to the floor. “I almost didn’t think youwere home! Why didn’t you answer?” My jaw drops open and releases an exhalethat purges whatever feelings of grief I had just conjured. “Wow… what happenedin here? You have a big rager when I was gone?” She points towards the table I knockedover. Despite the mess, her face gleams with excitement to see me and her voiceechoes like a familiar tune over all the madness in my head. I run over to herand wrap her in an embrace so tight, she laughs.

“What are youdoing here?” I can’t ask her soon enough.

“I came home earlyto surprise you! We finished a few days early, and Seattle was a bore anyway.”(Y/N) kisses me and plops onto the bed. I feel like I’m in a dream and I’m notallowed to touch her. Her presence alone, a shining light in a desolate place. Istare at her and wonder how she always manages to catch me when my arms andlegs are hogtied and I’ve tossed myself into a hole. “Well? Come here! I need asnuggle after all that traveling!” She kicks off her sneakers and pulls her shirtover her head, patting the mattress beside her. I shuffle over without saying aword like a catatonic patient in a psych ward.

“I thought… youhad left me.” The words roll out of my mouth like lead balls.

“What in the worldare you talking about? I couldn’t wait to get out of that place. I’m sorry I missedyour calls, I was on the plane. And I wanted it to be a surprise, but I forgotyou hate those.” She laughs and it fills the room with color. I slide into thebed next to her and pull her into my chest. “I bought you some cool things fromSeattle though, wanna see ‘em?”

“No, not rightnow. Let’s just lay here.” I stroke the back of her head and soak in as much ofher as I can. She traces a finger up and down my back and I can feel the stressleaving me, all of it.

My questions areanswered through the silence. She is my angel.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Of Woe and Envy

anonymous said: Could you do a roger imagine based off Queens song Jealousy possibly?

There were a lot of things that someone could say to tick off Roger. An excessively dramatic man at times, Roger seemed as if he was always finding a way to piss himself off about the smallest things that someone would say. One time, he’d even flipped a lid on Brian for remarking that the off-brand of Roger’s favorite crisps were better than the name brand.

You thought this was an amusing trait of his – he was passionate about what he was arguing, and you found that intensity hard to find in other men. It was one of the things that had attracted you to Roger in the first place – he was a fiery personality bundled up in a beautiful, slim but toned frame. He would argue his points, possibly to a fault – Roger never thought he was wrong.

But you never imagined that you’d be the person to find the one thing that could absolutely piss off Roger beyond repair. It wasn’t even that terrible of a question, honestly. And you’d meant nothing ill by it, you supposed, but it really set him off so much that here you were, standing on some unfamiliar street in London with your high heels in your hand, completely and utterly alone.

It had started with you two arguing in the dark backseat of a limo about the most moronic, asinine concept you had ever seen Roger conjure up – and he had written a song about metaphorically fucking cars.

“Could you stop flirting with him for literally one minute?” Roger yelled, throwing up a single index finger that shook violently as he glared at you, the drunken fires of hell raging in his usually good-natured blue eyes.  You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared out the limo’s tinted window, in disbelief that Roger could even accuse you of what he was suggesting. “Don’t fucking ignore me! I asked you a question.”

“You’re fucking mental, Roger, truly. John? You really think I’m trying to get into John’s pants?” you replied angrily, turning back towards him pressing a finger into his chest. “You’re my boyfriend, not Deacy. He is my friend, our friend, nothing more than that. His coat was twisted up, I was helping him.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly why you practically had your hands all over him not even 10 bloody minutes ago!” Roger sneered, pushing your hand away and instead pressing his hand to the top of his head as he sunk back into the plush velvety seat, facing forward instead of looking at you. “I’m going to be fucking sick. My girlfriend trying to wank off one of my best friends in the back of a sleazy club.”

“Fuck you, Roger! I can’t believe you!” you practically spit at him, tears running out of the corner of your eyes as you stared at him incredulously. “Are you happy with yourself, yeah? Making your girlfriend cry in the middle of a club and yelling at your best friend, real macho shit!” You sunk back into the seat as well, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes as you gave up all hope on your makeup not smearing anymore. With a shaky inhale, you dropped your hands and tried to compose yourself. After a moment, you spoke quietly. “I was literally just trying to help Deacy into his jacket-“

“I don’t want to hear about it, I’m sure you have all kinds of excuses,” Roger cut off quickly, waving his hand in your general direction and silencing you. Staring at him in complete distress, your mind blanked for a second before you threw your purse down on the seat between you and leaned forward, picking up the phone that connected to the driver’s part of the limo. “What are you fucking doing? Put that phone down, for fuck’s sake, stop being a cunt.“

“Driver, just go ahead and stop right here. I’m getting out,” you choked out as normally as you could manage, sniffling as you sat the phone back down and grabbing your purse. Throwing it over your shoulder and gathering your jacket, you climbed out onto the sidewalk when the limo pulled over at the first chance it got.

“Oh, you’re the one calling me mental,” Roger remarked scornfully, and you gave him the nastiest stink eye you could manage with your hair and makeup mussed beyond belief. You were a mess, and it was all Roger’s fault, but how could you force a blind man to see?

“Why do you always have to win?”

That was it. That was the simple question that had put the nail in the coffin. Roger turned a violent shade of red as he stared straight through you, his pride blinding any rational thought to be had, and he finally snapped. “Don’t come home, Y/N. Go stay at Deacon’s, for all I care. We’re done.”

With that, the door was slammed, and the limo took off after a few seconds, leaving you behind and out of Roger’s life for the indefinite future. And so you walked to the nearest motel and spent the night in and out of a horrifying sleep, the nightmares almost as bad as the waking moments.

Life went on without him, as much as you didn’t want it to. Upon finding out your new address a week later, Roger had all of your items sent to you, no note, no call. You came to accept the thought that Roger really did hate you for this, for something you didn’t even do, and that numbed you inside. At desperate times, you tried to talk it out with Brian, with Freddie – hell, even with Deacon – but nothing seemed to register. You were dead to Roger Taylor, it seemed. There was no redemption this time, not a single bit.

But things weren’t as they seemed on Roger’s side. In fact, the emptiness of your shared home haunted him day to day. He would come home to a quiet lounge, a quiet kitchen, a quiet bedroom, devoid of life, devoid of you. Although he deeply regretted accusing you, his pride stood between himself and you. He was too proud to admit his faults, too proud to call you and apologize. He’d taken it too far, and now you were both suffering for his mistakes.

What had went wrong? Roger tormented himself with this question, day after day. Things weren’t always so bad – you were happy, he was happy. You two made each other happy, probably excessively so. The shared enthusiasm between you two was contagious, and it honestly tired the boys out quite a bit in the beginning. Where had it all went awry?

- oh, to fall in love was my very first mistake

“I think you both need some water. Possibly some muzzles?” Deacon had suggested, making Roger laugh and sloppily throw his arm around you to pull you closer. Unlocking the door to Freddie’s, who was currently leaning against Brian for dear life, Deacon swung the door open, and the amalgamation of you and Roger stumbled in, laughing the whole way.

“Don’t let the cats out!” Freddie almost shrieked. Even when plastered, his cats were the primary concern, and he sunk to his hands and knees as he started crawling around, looking for his fuzzy friends.

You had all gone out together as usual, everyone but Deacy and Brian getting smashed. However, Freddie had the biggest place, so everyone had fumbled and stumbled back to his. Deacon had gotten tired of the two of you around block 3, when he’d heard what seemed like the 15th ‘I love you’ in minutes.

“Say it again, and I’m calling my wife to decide on a different phrase to express admiration for the rest of our lives,” he’d warned, and of course, that had spurred Roger to use ‘I love you’ in every following slurred sentence that came from him.

Now, Deacy was headed for the kitchen as you and Roger tumbled onto the couch, Roger sprawled out on his back as you rested on top of him, laying between his legs and resting your head on his chest, which was rising and falling heavily. “M’out of breath. Fuck those stairs!” Roger yelled, Brian trying to shush him before he left to try and find where Freddie had crawled off to.

“Yeah, shut it, Roggie!” you whisper-yelled, teasingly poking his side and making him jolt a bit, a giggle escaping his lips. “You’re so cute,” you laughed giddily, closing your eyes and snuggling closer.

“You’re cuter!” he quickly countered, lazily petting your hair as he closed his eyes as well. “IIIII love you.”

“God, there it is again,” Deacon groaned, and you giggled before chosing to ignore his comment.

“I love you too, blondie. In fact, I love you more than you love me!”

“False!” Roger called out loudly, and Brian shushed him again, reappearing in the doorway with one of the cats. “I love you more, and that’s a fact, Jack!”

“Well, I love you the most!” you replied, and that quieted Roger as he realized you’d hit the highest point of love already.

“Um….” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as he wracked his brain for a comeback. “I love you the most-est!”

“Not a word,” Deacon reminded him, walking over with two glasses of water and setting them down on the coffee table before sitting on the chair across the rug.

“You’re not a word, you wanker. Ought to give you a haymaker. Those are fighting words, they are,” Roger grumbled, thinking you were the only one to hear it, but Deacon’s replies were rapid-fire tonight as he caught all of Roger’s mini-rant.

“It’s like you’re arguing with yourself at this point, do I even need to speak?”

Roger made patronizing crying noises, but stopped when he realized you were laughing pretty hard at Deacy’s comment. Although he smiled lovingly at the pure look of joy on your face, he glanced between the two of you warily, innocently wondering.

You noticed him staring at you, unaware of the suspicion nagging at the back of his brain, and smiled wider at the look on his face. His eyelids were drooping low, hooding his alluring blue eyes and making him look somewhere between tired and ready to take you right there. Crawling up so you were at an even playing level with him, you gazed down at him, your eyes just as hooded and bloodshot as your boyfriend’s.

“I really love you,” you murmured, brushing noses with him as you struggled to keep yourself propped up above him. But you didn’t need to anyways, because Roger’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you to him as he turned you both to the side, your back to Deacon as Roger smashed his lips against yours sloppily.

You obliged willingly, moving your lips against his eagerly and his hand went to rest just above your hip, his strong fingers digging firmly into the soft flesh exposed between your shirt’s hem and the waistband of your skirt. He was proving a point to Deacon, who was actually completely oblivious to what Roger was trying to do considering he really wasn’t interested in anyone but his wife. But jealous Roger didn’t see that. All he saw was red, and all he was focused on currently was showcasing that you were his.

“I love you too,” Roger mumbled against your lips as he slowed down the kiss for a moment, and your eyes fluttered open as you pulled away from his lips, smiling widely and giggling at the giddiness his affection gave you. “So much,” Roger added, and you nuzzled his neck fondly as he squeezed your hip, peeking over your shoulder directly at Deacon, who raised an eyebrow. He was baffled as to why Roger was staring directly at him with such a testy look on his face, but he dismissed it quickly as Roger being piss drunk and moved on, making preparations to go home. Roger, however, didn’t move on from that notion.

- how was I to know i was far too much in love to see?

He figured after all that it was pure, unadulterated jealousy that had torn you two apart, ruining the intemperate love shared between you. It was only that much more stinging when Freddie’s next song to record in the studio was aptly named Jealousy, and Roger had refused to record it for a straight week out of pure indignation that he’d even suggest a song like that. What took too long for him to realize was that Freddie had written it long before the breakup between you two, and it wasn’t even about him anyways. When he finally recorded it, it had taken all of the energy out of him. He found himself wasting away his time in the club later, chain-smoking and binge drinking until he could hardly breathe and wishing he would just stop breathing anyways, when the lyrics started running through his head again.

- oh, how strong can you be with matters of the heart? - life is much too short to while away with tears - if only you could see just what you do to me

Sniffling, Roger refused to let himself cry as he stared blankly off into the crowd that was packed into the club, not seeing, barely hearing, and hardly feeling. The only thing he could feel was the smoke of his cigarette as he inhaled, filling his lungs, mildly stinging the lining of his throat, and escaping in one fluid motion as he exhaled. The room was a haze, his vision spinning slowly from the alcohol seeping throughout his whole body, so Roger thought he was dreaming when he saw your face in the crowd, weaving your way through to the bar.

But it was real, and he coughed when he inhaled too quickly, smoke coming out of his mouth in small bursts as he saw you emerge into a sort of clear space not even 20 feet away. You were alone (or so he thought), clutching that same damned purse, and you looked as beautiful as you did weeks ago. God, was it a month? He couldn’t tell. Time had been pointless to him since you’d left.

His heart shriveled up as he watched you wait patiently to take an open spot, pulling your hair back over your shoulder and sighing. You had no idea he was here at this moment, having come here with some girlfriends and some of your mutual friends that had been in Deep Purple. There was a blissful ignorance to the way you carried yourself.

However, the bliss was short-lived as you spotted Brian, who approached almost timidly. By extension, if he was showing his face here, that meant Roger was close by, and that thought loomed over your head as much as Brian did as you put a smile on, giving him a warm hug.

“I’m sorry, I had to say hello,” he said as you pulled out of the hug, and you nodded as you patted his arm quickly before dropping both of your hands to your side. “How are you? Here, let’s get you a drink back here. You’ll be waiting forever if you don’t.” He rested a gentle hand on your upper back and led you back farther into the VIP section, carefully skirting around the table where Roger was seated on his way to the bar in the back.

Roger’s stare never wavered, his eyes following you until you had completely disappeared out of his line of sight. When you finally disappeared, it was like a heavy weight began pressing down on his shoulders, and his eyes began to water as he looked down at the table, tracing his fingers along the grain in the wood but not truly paying attention. The cigarette burned out slowly between his fingers as he did so, his mind replaying that night over and over again until it made him sick.

He'd been looking for you for what seemed like ages once you’d disappeared from the bar, and when he’d finally found you, you were near the back exit, standing behind Deacon and laughing with your head thrown back. Deacon was laughing as well, and in a passing glance, your hand appeared to be up the back of his coat, dangerously friendly. Deacon was reaching back, trying to assist in your attempt to untangle his coat from itself.

Roger was never one to sit back and think about his actions, so before he knew what he was doing, he was on you two like stink on shit. “Are you joking?!”

You were still laughing, which means you hadn’t heard him, and you tugged the back of Deacon’s jacket down to where it should be before patting his back and turning to Roger, blissfully unaware of the rage boiling inside of him. “Oh, hey, babe, I was just sending John off! I was about to come find you so you could say goodbye.”

“Sending him off? That’s rich, looks like you were elbow deep in each other’s arseholes!” Roger fumed, a look of mild confusion passing over Deacon’s face as you laughed nervously, reaching out for Roger’s arm. He retracted it quickly, staring at you like you were an alien, and you quickly realized that he wasn’t joking. Roger was dead serious right now.

“Oh, come off it, Rog, you can’t be saying this right now, can you?” you asked, Deacon looking between the two of you uncomfortably as he attempted to make his exit before this blew up. But Roger caught his arm, glaring at him with a vicious scowl on his face.

“Keep your hands off my girlfriend, what’s wrong with you?” Roger almost growled, and John shrugged off his hand as he struggled with what to say that wouldn’t piss Roger off more.

“I wasn’t touching her, and she wasn’t touching me. I’ll be going now.” With that, John glanced back at you and gave a nod before leaving, ignoring Roger’s screams after him. You tried to step in front of him and block him as he slowly advanced after John, but he was quick to brush you off, an enraged look in his eyes.

“Get off me, you fucking cheater!” It felt like he’d slapped you across the face with that word, cheater, and your jaw went slack as you gave Roger a look of pure humiliation, tears silently falling down your cheeks. He rolled his eyes, unmoved by your sadness for the most part, and encircled your upper arm with his hand as he led you out of the club and into the waiting limo. You were so shocked by what happened that you hadn’t registered your anger at moment until the limo pulled away from the curb, and that’s where your real fight started.

The words – they were cycling in Roger’s head again.

- jealousy, when will you let go? - got a hold of my possessive mind - turned me into a jealous kind

He had to apologize. Sober Roger would never do this, but drunk Roger was ready to beg for forgiveness on his hands and knees, his pride already gone down the drain with the liquor long ago. After all, it had been drunk Roger both times that had acted rashly. That damned night, he’d let his jealousy get the best of him, but he needed to reconcile with you now. Possessive by nature, the thought that you were here alone, or even worse – with someone else – was haunting him.

Slowly rising to his feet, Roger ashed his cigarette in the ashtray and took a step away from the table, immediately wavering in balance and causing Peter to reach out and steady him. “You alright, mate? Sit down,” he chuckled, fully aware of how much Roger had thrown back in the last few hours.

“Y/N,” was all Roger could mumble out as he shoved Peter’s hand off of him. That was familiar, an ache setting into Roger’s heart as he replayed the moment he’d directly called you a cheater in his mind. Wincing, Roger shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing the room to stop spinning before he made a stumbling attempt at a beeline to the bar in the back, where he knew you’d be.

Brian was leaning down to listen to something you were saying when he saw Roger’s bumbling self making his way straight at the two of you, and the sore look on Brian’s face was enough to confirm exactly what you’d suspected. Turning to the right, you locked eyes with Roger just as Brian stepped between the two of you to practically catch Roger, pressing a steadying but restricting arm against Roger’s chest. The blonde was basically clutching onto the taller man’s shirt at this point, his equilibrium completely fucked as he gave you the sweetest smile he could manage. But it was off-putting at best – he was all askew, hair messed up, eyes bloodshot, and he positively reeked of cigarette smoke.

“Let’s get you back to the table, Rog,” Brian muttered, trying to turn him around, but he was not to be deterred.

“Y/N, I love you,” he declared loudly, and all you could do was give him a sad, pitying look as he desperately held on to Brian for support but simultaneously fought his attempts to drag him off. “M’sorry, I love you! I need-”

No words were coming to mind as you watched Brian drag him out of earshot, sitting him down in the first chair he could find. Roger’s eyes were locked on you, and you couldn’t bear to look at the sad sight any longer, turning back towards the bar with a heavy heart. But you didn’t have time to sit and think about giving him a chance to explain himself, for two familiar faces greeted you. One of your girlfriends and the bassist from Deep Purple, Roger Glover, coincidentally, were at the bar now. Your girlfriend waved before she started to order, Glover rambling off his order to her before strolling over to you, having witnessed the mini-ordeal that had just taken place.

“What was all that about?” he asked, ducking down a bit to speak directly into your ear over the music of the club. You sighed, shaking your head as you turned to face Glover, who was glancing over at Roger sprawling out in his chair, hardly in control of his limbs. “Is that Roger Taylor? He looks like shit.”

“Yeah,” you confirmed bitterly, pursing your lips as you looked at Roger as well. “Long story. But that’s all history now. Let’s do some shots.”

Glover chuckled at the abrupt subject change, choosing not to acknowledge it, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder in a friendly manner as you both turned away from Roger, heading back to meet the girlfriend at the bar.

Roger had went so limp and emotionless all of a sudden, Brian had to look, and what he saw made him hold back a chuckle with a grimace. Roger Glover with his arm around you had probably just killed this Roger, but he had to laugh once – a two-Roger conundrum was certainly not how he saw this night panning out. “That’s fucking funny, not gonna lie. Sorry mate,” Brian admitted, looking down at Roger, who was staring at his empty left hand and pressing his lips together.

“Hilarious,” he deadpanned, closing his eyes as he let his head fall back against the chair, Freddie’s voice ringing louder in his head than ever before during the night. It was deafening, and blocked out everything else. He could hear nothing but his taunting words, the words more personal than ever.

- but now it matters not if I should live or die - ‘cause I’m only left with my own jealousy

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[built-from-nothing]

Young and Menace Part 5

Hold Me Tight (or don’t)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 3,977

Warnings: Canon violence, kidnapping, language, death (no main characters), suicide, description of wounds, self-loathing thoughts, angst 

Young and Menace Masterlist

The way you swung your hips and touched your body made Dean long for you, a yearning animalistic in nature yet softened by adoration. Watching you dance on that stage was torture, the desire to run his hands across your body, to feel every line and crevice was overpowering. A playful grin tugs at his mouth, an odd feeling fluttering through his chest as he discovers something new about you. You can sing, and well too, but nothing about this ability feels basic to Dean. He holds a part of you now, a part that only comes out in seedy bars late at night after multiple drinks. A part that he’ll never forget. 

Dean runs a hand through his hair, sighing as you strut off to the Impala, his eyes glued to your figure. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way. That right now you shouldn’t be in the back of baby, slowly stripping away every piece of clothing until nothing but a pair of panties remains as you eagerly await his arrival. But god, did it feel good. Oh so fucking good. Dean shoots the remainder of his drink, fully inhibiting his better judgment, and saunters out of the bar to the Impala.

He approaches the vehicle and lifts the door handle, the bolt catching with a clunk as the door remains locked. Leaning against the car, he raps on the window, your cheeky game furthering his excitement. Dean knocks on the window again more forcefully whilst tugging the handle. He sighs exasperatedly, and peers through the glass to find the cab empty. Confused as to where you could have gone, he scans the parking lot, an unnerving feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. As big of a tease as you may be, you would not have left Dean without leaving at least something behind. 

He turns back around prepared to break into the car when the reflection of the lot light glints off of something peeking out from underneath the door. He reaches down clutching the object stolen from his back pocket not minutes before, and his heart sinks as realization hits. You were taken. 

Dean runs to the driver’s side fumbling for his phone, and turns the ignition, the automobile roaring to life. He dials your number, speeding down the highway, only to get your voicemail. Cursing, he tries again. No answer. He pushes the pedal closer to the floor and calls Sam, hoping to find you there safe with him.

“Sam. Is (Y/n) there?” he asks, a note of urgency in his voice now.

“No, I thought she was with you. Dean, what’s wrong?” Sam asks, picking up on his brother’s tone.

“Son of a bitch,” he yells as he bangs his hands against the wheel. “W- we were,” he runs a hand down his face, the prospect of you two together in the backseat long forgotten. “I was supposed to meet her at the car, but when I got there she was gone.”

“How far are you from Bobby’s?”

“Five, ten minutes. Sammy, if she’s-” Dean swallows his words, the thought of something horrible happening to you too much to bear.

“She’s tough, Dean. She can hold her own until we find her.” 

Dean abruptly says goodbye, Sam’s empty reassurances eating at his nerves. He punches your number into his phone over and over the entire ride back to Bob, your voicemail message calming his raging mind. 

- - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - -

Dean screeches to halt outside Bobby’s and storms inside, pacing around the small room. How could he have let something happen? He was responsible for you and he failed, and for that, he could never forgive himself. Bobby marches up to Dean and shoves against his chest, wrenching Dean from a downward spiral.

“What the hell happened?” Bobby fumes shoving Dean once again. “Why weren’t you with her? It’s your fault she went out in the first place, and you were too busy chasin’ tail to watch her,” Bobby spits, eyes blazing like torches.

“You think I don’t know that,” Dean shouts. “She was kidnapped on my watch because I couldn’t-” he squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth trying to collect himself. “I couldn’t get it together fast enough to stop it,” he says, voice barely above a whisper trembling. 

Bobby stares deep into Dean’s eyes realizing the extent of the boy’s pain, the level of self-hatred. Bobby’s face softens as he places a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

They walk to the table, open books and papers strewn across it, and go over what they know about the case. Hours pass as they scrounge for leads on your whereabouts. Bobby’s nose is buried inside a book on lycanthropy characteristics when something clicks. 

“This is the first kidnapping that didn’t coincide with the lunar cycle. Maybe it isn’t werewolves,” Bobby says pulling his head from the book, and eyes the boys with hope.

“Not necessarily,�� Sam chimes still typing away on his laptop. “Before we stopped the Apocalypse werewolves started turning on half moons.” All sign of hope instantly washes from Bobby’s face and he slowly goes back to scanning the book.

Dean runs a hand down his face and glances at his phone for the hundredth time this evening praying to see a response from you. Heart heavy with disappointment, he picks it up and calls you one last time, the dial tone seeming to last a lifetime. He patiently waits to hear your sweet voice tell him to leave a message at the tone, but it never comes.

“Hello?” answers a gruff male voice. Dean springs up from his chair, and races to Sam to trace the call.

“Where is she?” Dean hisses his ominous tone rumbling like thunder. “If you so much as lay a finger on her I swear to god I’ll-”

“Excuse me?” the man continues unaffected by Dean’s words. “I believe you have the wrong number. Don’t call again.” Sam urgently motions for Dean to prolong the call as he works to ping your phone’s GPS.

“Wait,” Dean yells, racking his brain for things to say.

“Yes?” the man answers gravelly. For the first time in his life, Dean stands frozen unable to think of anything but you. He opens his mouth desperately trying to keep your alleged captor on the line, but ultimately can not.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Please don’t hurt her. Please-” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he makes a last-ditch plea. The line remains silent, the click of the call ending resonating through Dean like a crack of lightning, the finality of the sound driving a stake through his chest.

“Fuck,” he screams, throwing the phone against the wall smashing it to pieces. His chest heaves as he suddenly struggles to breathe, and grips his heart as he looks to Sammy, praying he bought enough time for them to find you. Dean’s back immediately straightens at the look of pity and understanding on Sam and Bobby’s faces. He wipes all emotion from his features, his face hardening as he curses himself for showing weakness in front of Sammy.

“I got it, Dean,” Sam soothes. “We got a lead.” 

Dean nods grabbing his jacket from the couch and marches out to Baby while Sam and Bobby gather what items they need. With fifty plus years of experience between them, each hunter knows the odds of finding you alive and in time are bleak, yet they race to follow the only lead they have. For family stops at nothing to save one another, and that’s what you were to these men. Family.

- - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - -

They follow the GPS to a small farmhouse approximately an hour away from the nearest gas station out in the boondocks. Dean pulls up in front of the battered, four-room house, Bobby parking near one of the many barns, and scramble to come up with a plan. Seeing it best to split up, Sam leaves to canvas the barns looking for anything suspicious, while Bobby and Dean walk the porch steps to the front door.

The netting on the screen door billows from the frame in the soft breeze, slashes and tears riddling the sparse material. Dean persistently knocks on the wood siding receiving no response each time. Not willing to give up so easily, Dean flings open the crotchety screen door and shifts to grip the handgun in his waistband ready to shoot the lock off when an older man in greasy overalls answers the door. Dean quickly straightens and glowers at the man, no drop of mercy left in his being as he stares at your possible kidnapper. 

“We’re looking for my niece,” Bobby chimes in, noticing Dean’s hostility. “She went out a few hours ago, but hasn’t come back.”

“Haven’t seen anyone,” the man responds sharply, edging the door closed. Dean slams his arm against the door before it can close, splintering the old wood.

“Think harder,” he snarls, staring the man down. Three adolescent boys ranging in age emerge from around the inside corner of the house and approach the door.

“Is there a problem here, Pops?” asks the eldest boy as he places a hand on his father’s shoulder. The standoff between Dean and the man continues, neither force willing to relinquish power.

“We were telling your father here about my missing niece. Mind if we ask you, boys, a couple questions?” Bobby asks warily.

“We’re right in the middle of something so-” the eldest continues shifting his glare from Dean to Bobby.

“Only take a minute,” Dean says pursing his lips. The farmers begin to protest, insisting they get back to their task at hand when the crack of a gunshot sounds in the distance, silencing them. Dean sprints towards the sound, his heart racing as Bobby and the man follow close behind.

- - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - Meanwhile  - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - -

Sam searches the property checking for any signs of a struggle, the first building was nothing but a simple tractor shed filled with hay. He approaches the last barn and heaves the door open causing the contents hanging on the inside to clang together. Making sure the owners are still distracted by Dean, he peers inside. Blades, hooks, and knives of all sizes line the walls of the dingy shed, a single metal table sitting in the center as a small stream of blood drips off the side. A shiver runs down Sam’s spine, his stomach churning at the sight in front of him. He doesn’t remember seeing any animal pens on the drive in.

Not finding any sign of you inside the slaughterhouse, he starts the trek back to the Impala when out of the corner of his eye, he spots channels in the dirt resembling dragged feet. Intrigued, he follows the tracks to a root cellar, ivy trailing across the entrance, and pulls on the handles the doors not budging. He softly bangs against the door listening for a sign of life, his heart faltering as silence ensues. His slumps his shoulders and turns to walk back to the Impala.

“Help,” whispers a small voice. Sam spins around, his heart in his throat, and runs to doors. Not willing to take any chances, he shoots the lock off the door, the crack of the firing pin reverberating through the silent night. Sam sprints down the stairs rummaging through his pockets for his flashlight and shines the light around the room.

You lay strapped to an autopsy table, lacerations covering your body as the chill of the metal table faintly numbs the pain. You writhe against the straps and cry out in fear of the torture continuing as a figure approaches. Your muscles instantly relax at the sight of Sam for your rescue party has finally arrived. 

He cuts the straps and examines your wounds. Deep gashes litter your abdomen and legs leaving your clothes in shreds. What little fabric remains clings to your blood-drenched body. Sam wraps your shivering frame in his jacket and pulls you close as you begin to weep.

You cry into Sam’s chest for several moments before regaining composure. You explain that your kidnappers are human and have been abducting women to make their ‘mother’. The father farmer would torture the abductees into submission until they agreed to stay and take up the role of mother. All those prior who made it through the abuse were ultimately shot running from the premise.

Sam tightens his grip around you, horrified that someone could be so twisted and cruel, and angry you were put through such terrible acts. You try to stand, wishing to get the hell out of here, but stumble from the loss of blood and grip the table for support. Dean and Bobby rumble down the cellar steps followed by your aggressor.

Dean is paralyzed at the sight of you, his worst fears coming to fruition. Because of him you were cut, bruised, and broken. There is nothing more in this world that he wanted than to wrap you in his arms and never let go, to shield you from pain and suffering. But his rage gets the better of him and he grabs Pops by the straps of his overalls and hurls him across the room, throwing punch after punch at the old man.

“Stop!” yell the farmer’s boys as they appear at the bottom of the stairwell, guns pointed. “Drop Pops and leave mother, and we’ll,” the eldest one speaks up, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “We’ll kill you fast.”

Dean stops beating Pops, his overalls still gripped firmly in his hands, and slowly looks over to the boys, his jaw clenched. The boy cocks the shotgun, and Dean looks to Bobby before dropping Pops and backing away. The kids lower their weapons and Sam and Bobby instantly jump them fighting for control of the guns.

You struggle to walk to the fight wanting to help but fall to your knees upon standing. Dean rushes to your side and helps you up, sitting you back onto the table blocking you from leaving. You brush him off and shuffle forwards holding onto the table for support when a shot is fired. You both freeze, your eyes widening at the sight in front of you. The tussle separates as the eldest boy slumps to the ground, his stomach red.

You all frantically look to each other, searching for who fired the shot. All eyes fall to Pops propped in the corner, his face distorted and bloody from all of Dean’s slugs. Small tufts of smoke drift from the chamber of his pistol as his face slackens at realizing what he had done. Watching the boys cradle their brother, Pops scowls and puts the gun to his head pulling the trigger.

Feeling light headed from all your movement, you begin to sway back and forth, toying with falling to the ground. Done with arguing about your condition, Dean picks you up bridal style and carries you off to the Impala. You wiggle against him in protest which only makes him tighten his hold. You give in and relax into him as you watch Sam crouch next to the boys, placing a hand on their backs in solace as you leave the cellar.

You sit in the backseat still wrapped in Dean’s embrace and wait for Sam and Bobby to clean up. Adrenaline slowly begins to exit your system making your eyelids droop. Dean brushes a strand of hair from your face staring intently into your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. You snuggle into him feeling at home in his arms as the lull of the Impala carries you to sleep. Dean’s fingers play with your hair as he looks down at you, grateful to have you back. He watches you sleep and tries to memorize every line, freckle, and feature on you, knowing that this will be the last time he holds you.

He will not let his desires and impulses be your downfall. He let them get the best of him before, and look where it got you: kidnapped, beaten, and barely holding onto life. You stir and hum in pain at his tightened grip, the extent of your injuries kicking in again as the last traces of adrenaline leave your system.

A single tear falls from his grief-stricken face as he softly places a kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

You arrive back at Bobby’s still asleep, so Dean carries you inside and lays you in bed. Dean clasps your hand with his as Bobby cleans and stitches your wounds, faint whimpers escaping your lips as you sleep.

 A day passes and you’re still passed out like a light, the healing process taking longer than expected. Both Sam and Bobby visit you throughout the day to talk and spend time with you, while Dean still remains planted in the armchair beside your bed, never leaving your side. That night when everyone’s asleep, Dean crawls into bed with you and pulls you close, relishing the feeling of being with you one last time.

“Why don’t you go get some food?” Bobby asks Dean, slipping past the door to change your bandages the next morning, knowing the sight of your wounds will only make things worse for Dean. Too afraid to leave you alone, Dean hasn’t left to eat or sleep since returning to Bobby’s. 

“No, it’s fine,” he replies curtly and runs a hand down his sunken face. Knowing better than to argue, Bobby hums in acknowledgment and begins to change your bandages. He removes the gauze revealing a seeping gash and wipes the pus away to apply ointment and replace the bandage. He continues the process for every wound until your worst one remains.

“It’s good she found you boys,” Bobby says eyes focused on your cut. “I’m sure it’s been hard since her mother died.” Bobby cleans the laceration below your belly button, the sting from the ointment rustling you awake. You slowly open your eyes, happy to see Dean and Bobby.

“What?” Dean snaps, “Bobby, I’m pretty sure she would have mentioned if her mom was dead.”

“Cause you just love to talk about feelings.” Bobby rolls his eyes and places a fresh bandage on before standing up. “She died last year on a hunt. Was given a hunter’s burial and everything.”

“What?” you whimper, tears streaming down your face as you try to process the information. Their heads snap to you at the sudden sound of your voice. Dean grits his teeth and remains leaning against the wall, not wanting to come any closer. Bobby sends Dean a look of disappointment and moves to hold your hand, comforting you.

“Nobody told me, Bobby. I-” you hold back a sob before continuing, “I didn’t know.” You look from Bobby to Dean and lock eyes with the green-eyed hunter.

Oh, how you longed for him to comfort you and tell you everything would be alright. For him to wrap you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. Your eyes giving you away, his mask falters for a moment displaying the same desire.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Bobby says, clearing his throat before exiting the room. Dean’s face hardens at the sound of Bobby’s voice and his cold-set mask returns.

“Dean,” you breathe, knowing your emotions will soon boil over. He maintains eye contact for a moment longer before following Bobby out.

“Fucking poison,” he mumbles shutting the door behind him, the slam like a final knife to the heart leaving you feeling lost, broken, and irreparably damaged. Not only did you manage to get kidnapped and find out your mom has been dead for the past year, you lost Dean in the process.

Wallowing in self-pity and hatred, you stay in bed for another day, thoughts of uselessness and loneliness weighing you down. Sam and Bobby come in at different times throughout the day with food to talk and change your bandages, but you can’t bring yourself to eat. You don’t deserve their kindness.

No matter how many times you ask, Dean never visits. His refusal to see you hurting every time regardless of its expectancy. Sam claims he's busy working cases, but you can see through him. You know Dean is out there getting plastered and hooking up with random chicks. It was only a matter of time before he realized you weren’t worth the effort.

Your wounds almost completely healed, you finally get the courage to leave your room, and walk out to the living room to find Dean slumped on the couch, an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. He looks like shit, his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks sunken deep within his face.

“Bobby and Sam here?” you ask, pulling him from his haze. He sits up and runs a hand down his face.

“No.”

You sit down beside him and take a deep breath staring at the worn hardwood floor. “So this is it. I’m the only family I have left.” You choke out a laugh as your throat tightens, tears threatening to spill. “All alone, with nowhere to go.” You place your fingers on the bridge of your nose attempting to hide the tears falling from your eyes. “I didn't even get to say goodbye.”

“Hey,” Dean barks, “look at me.” You continue to stare at the floor, embarrassed by your breakdown. He grabs your chin and tilts your head to look at him.

“Family don’t end with blood. Family’s there for the good, bad, all of it. They got your back, even when it hurts. That’s family, so never say you’re all alone. Because you’re not.” Dean cups your cheek and wipes away stray tears with his thumb.

“Then why wouldn’t you see me?” you ask, your voice shaky, and place your hand on his.

“Don’t do this,” he breathes. “(Y/n) I’m poison and I won’t let you throw your life away for me.”

“I don’t care! I want to be with you, Dean I- I love you.” Your eyes search his desperate to hear those three little words in return. He smiles bittersweetly and your heart leaps to your throat in anticipation of his response. He pulls his hand away and squeezes his eyes shut, his cold mask returning.

“Well, I don’t love you,” he spits and turns away to hide the pain in his eyes. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach and you curl your lip to keep from sobbing. You walk to the door and pause to glance at him one last time, hoping he’ll speak up and fight for you.

He buries his face in his hands and sighs heavily.

“Goodbye, Dean.” You walk through the scrap yard and hotwire the first car you find. You sit in park for a few minutes, letting out all your anger and dejection, silently praying for Dean to storm out of the house and wrap you in his arms. Once the tears subside and still no sign of Dean, you put the car in drive and speed down the highway, putting as much distance between you as possible.

Part 6 Coming Soon

Like it? Let me know!

[hellocontingencies]

The Monument of a Memory

Warnings: Cheating, Angst, Little Steam but nothing graphic.

Summary: Like glass shattering into a million pieces, unable to pick up all the pieces. Like a broken relationship, it’s beyond repair. All that’s left is the monument of a memory. Tied with the song ‘Various Storms & Saints’ by Florence + The Machine

A/N: So inspired by all the Angst.

The monument of a memory You tear it down in your head

In the years of being married to Bucky, he never forgot a date or anniversary, the winning streak stopped a few months ago. The spontaneity slowed down, the surprised flowers stopped, only the dried ones in the vase from weeks ago never being replaced. The morning kisses turned into dry, kiss-less ‘Good Mornings’.

The endless hugs turned into cold side hugs. The deep conversations turned into brief small talk

I’m in the throes of it Somewhere in the belly of the beast But you took your toll on me

Missions once few, he now requested more and more. The endless excuses of not wanting to worry about you and it clouding his ability to focus on field, causing him to switch teammates with the new recruit, Neena, high level mercenary. Disapproving, unable to understand why, in the six years of being partners, why now the sudden change, you never once failed in protecting him with your skills. Why now? 

“Y/N, I’ve explained my reason a hundred times. I’m not going to explain it again” walking away from you, duffel bag in hand, his aggravation growing more and more. Leaning against the door-frame watching him pack for his week long mission, brows furrowed “Bucky, six years, six years I’ve covered you back, I still don’t get it? Half of those years we were together I just-”

He slams the drawer, shocked goose bumps rapidly spread through your body. “Enough Y/N”.

Sighing running his hands over his face sitting on the bed, holding his head in his hands, “My last few hours with you I don’t want to leave with another argument. Please Y/N, ju-just let’s not.” He looks up with pleading eyes, arms out stretched for you to walk into. The arms you always felt secure in, now feeling unsure. But you reluctantly walk into his arms, pushing aside the alarming feeling. Holding onto you he kisses your collarbone, cupping your face to level with his, he kisses you passionately. Passion that you haven’t felt in months, he leans back onto the bed taking you with him.

So I gave myself over willingly Oh, you got a hold on me

It had been so long since he last worshiped your body. The sensation that once coursed through your body when you ran your hands through his hair. The now foreign, intensity of his cool hand, you forgot how much you craved the feeling. 

I don’t know how I don’t just stand outside and scream I am teaching myself how to be free

Just give in Y/N, nothings changed, this is Bucky, your Bucky. The one you opened up to, the one you vowed to love forever and he vowed to you.

He made you say his name over and over again. But yours never rang once from his lips. Somethings changed. The alarms going off in your head that you kept at bay, now ringing even louder.

Your back to him, you lay still. He dresses telling you he’ll be back in a week or so. Replaying the moment of being engulfed in his body. It wasn’t the same, the Bucky that loved every inch of your body held you close, worshiped you, not wanting to let go. But in that moment, he wanted to let go. He’s let you go, and he let you go a long time ago.

The monument of a memory You tear it down in your head

During the week you go through your regular routine. The regular routine that finally opened your eyes, realizing you’ve been living with a stranger for months. He hasn’t looked at you the same, he hasn’t touched you the same, he barely talks to you. You kept worshiping him like some monument, the monument that’s slowly crumbled.

Don’t make the mountain your enemy Get out, get up there instead You saw the stars out in front of you Too tempting not to touch But even though it shocked you Something’s electric in your blood

“It’s all in your head” you mutter to yourself. Trying to put all your focus and worries on the piling paper work. “You can fix this, we’ll fix this, we always do.” you try to reassure yourself but doubt rising in the pit of your stomach.

And people just untie themselves Uncurling lifelines If you could just forgive yourself

The day of your wedding anniversary has arrived, also the day Bucky returns from his mission. A romantic meal for the two of you will be best. By the time you shop around for his gift. A gift that you hope will piece everything together. Will this bring everything back together?

But you had to have him, and so you did

“James Buchanan you are in for the best Anniversary dinner ever. I got your fav-”  Looking around, being welcomed by silence and darkness. “Bucky?” You turn on the kitchen lights, putting the groceries on the counter, he’s still not home.

Finishing up dinner you wash up and put on your favorite fitted black dress with the dropped emerald earrings Bucky got you on your last anniversary. You put on the last finishing touch of your red matte lipstick and make your way downstairs and pour yourself a glass of red wine. Sitting at the table to wait for Bucky to arrive you check the time.

Two hours turn into four, no sign of Bucky. You’ve sent ten messages, and left  voicemail’s. No text, or call from him. You call again, someone picks, someone that’s not Bucky “Whoever this is, stop blowing up Bucky’s phone. He’s a little busy right now, doing me.” 

The phone slides out of your hand, colliding with the floor.

Bucky frantically rushes out the bathroom in only his jeans “Did you answer my phone?! Neena who was it?”

Neena pulls the sheets up, brows furrowing “Your wife, if she didn’t know then, she knows now. No need to hide anymore.”

“No..no no no, Jesus Christ Neena!!” Bucky scrambles to grab his shirt and shoes, darting to the door.

Dialing your number frantically “Pick up Y/N, pick up.”

Answering with your voice trembling “Happy anniversary, Buck.” You raise the empty wine bottle in the air, cheering to nothing but the air. The tears now streams, the perfect make-up now down your cheeks.

“Y/N! Please, doll, just listen to me okay? Don’t- just, Jesus Christ I didn’t want it to happen like this.” You hang up. 

Taking off the emerald earrings, you place them on top of Bucky’s last gift, along with your wedding ring. You walk up to the bedroom, a place that once held such intimately fond memories.

 Pulling out your bag you pack as much of your belongs you can. Closing the last drawer, you look up seeing a candid moment of Bucky in shock seeing you in your wedding dress for the first time.

The emotions hit you like a freight train. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Inside you’re self-destructing, unable to process the picture perfect life that just crumbled before you in mere seconds. The signs, the doubt, your once protected heart you handed to the man that you gave everything to, that you let in. The man that was your monument, that could fall but be rebuilt, now the monument of your memory. With a blood curdling scream, you smash the picture on the floor. Full of rage, you break every picture frame, every memory.

Composing yourself, grabbing your bag you rush down the steps. Writing your final words you place it on top of the table. Running out the door not sure were to go, but you can’t stay here.

I know you’re bleeding, but you’ll be okay.

Your heart is there, it’s in your hands

I know it seems like forever I know it seems like an age But one day this will be over I swear it’s not so far away

Bucky bursts through the door, running up the stairs “Y/N! Y/N, please.” Seeing the disarray of the room, he panics. “God, no.. no.” He calls your phone the ringing of it echos from downstairs. Rushing down to the living room he see’s your phone on top of the set table for two,a note placed on top

Picking up the note, his tears stain the paper causing the ink on the paper to run.

‘You stopped loving me a long time ago Bucky.

No longer your’s,

Y/N’

Your voicemail plays through his phone “Hey you’ve reached Y/N Barnes, sorry I missed your call. I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Goodbye!”

Sobs course through his body “I’m so sorry, come back to me Y/N…please..”

Conclusion.

[lavendermenaceart]

Broken Pieces||Chapter 7||

Tag list:  @stilinskis-banshee , @captainreid , @ultrarebelheart , @cynbx

General TW for this chapter: Omitted threats of violence, stalking.

Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5|| Chapter 6||

Voices woke you. You could tell they were trying to be hush but whatever they were talking about was agitating as their voices rose. As you rubbed your eyes and tip-toed to the door of your room, trying to get an understanding of the conversation.

“I’m sorry I just don’t think it’s healthy for you to be here, and to continue being with her. I mean we didn’t even know you were still together for-”

“Emily, I’m sorry but you don’t really know what you’re talking about, do you?” The venom in Spencer’s voice made even you recoil.

Emily scoffed and you could imagine the offended look on her face. You felt like you were going to vomit. You were doing your best to support and take care of Spencer and somehow that wasn’t enough to show your devotion?

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Spencer.” Her voice lowered, taking a sympathetic tone.

“Emily, I really think you need to leave.” You couldn’t stop yourself as you stepped out of your room, into view.

Spencer nodded, taking hold of the door, ready to close it. “I appreciate your concern, but Y/N and I are fine. We are more than fine, we are great and I don’t know where I would be right now if it weren’t for them.” With that, he shut the door in her face.

You looked at each other for a moment before you met him with an embrace. You couldn’t even fathom leaving him now, of all times. You couldn’t imagine what Emily was thinking. Of course, she saw the accident. She didn’t see you taking care of Spencer, She didn’t see the kisses you shared or the way you found yourself looking at him in your idle time.

“I love you so much.” You mumbled into his neck, giving sweet little pecks in the curve of it.

He hummed softly, leaning into your kisses. “I love you, too. Forget about that, okay? We’re fine. You are, uhm, absolutely the best thing in my life right now.”

You felt yourself smile, looking up to see his eyes darting around as a blush bloomed across his cheeks.

“Like-wise.” You giggled, kissing his nose playfully, earning a smile from Spencer.

The next few days were easy going, for the most part. Your days were spent finding new distractions, new coping mechanisms. You both spent time on the floor of the living room, books splayed all around your bodies as you took turns reading to each other. You usually picked fiction and technical books on ecology or zoology. Spencer liked to read poetry and biographies to you. Nights were spent holding each-other and even making love a few times.

You had brought up the idea of Spencer just talking to you, venting, telling you why he felt the need to use and what started it all, but he brushed the suggestion off. It was frustrating and things came to a head as you were preparing dinner one night. He had been moody all day, refusing to take part in the usual readings you both did and going so far as to tell you to read to yourself when you tried reading his favorite poem back to him.

You watched him sulking on the couch as you tried to figure something out. You don’t really know why but you found yourself staring at a glass plate that sat drying on the counter. You were waiting for the water to boil on the stove so you could make pasta so you thought you had some time to kill.

“Here goes nothing…” You muttered to yourself, lifting the plate before smashing it on the ground. You picked up a mug when Spencer rushed to take it from you.

“Y/n, what the hell are you doing?” He cried out, gingerly putting the mug back on the counter. He carefully started to lift the glass pieces off the ground.

You growled, taking another glass plate and smashing it on the ground, safely away from where Spencer was crouched.

“Oh my god, what is…?” He stood, looking into your eyes.

“You’ve been sulking all fucking day, Spencer.” You balled your fist at your side, leaning towards him. “It’s frustrating!! You won’t even try to talk to me!”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “I just- I don’t want to, okay?”

“You’re going to have to for this relationship to work, Spencer! How can I help if I know nothing about your situation? You basically spent months ignoring my existence and I don’t deserve to know why?” You were surprised to find your rage actually building. This was originally supposed to fake, something to pry words from Spencer. It felt good. The pressure that had been placed on your shoulders to be perfectly empathetic only to Spencer’s emotions and not your own lifting slightly.

“I was kidnapped and he shot me up with Dilaudid to keep me complicit, okay!? Is that what you wanted?” His voice rose, his eyes full of a new fire as he looked into yours.

You recoiled, looking down at your feet before furrowing your brows and glaring back at his face. “Yes! That’s such an important fucking thing and you didn’t even think to tell me?! You know how worried I am every time you leave for a case. I deserved to know that! I could have helped you...I wouldn’t have had to be in the hospital before if you had just told me.”

It was Spencer’s turn to recoil, his face softening. You had expected him to continue yelling but instead, he just wrapped his arms around you. You were so stunned you couldn’t manage to return the gesture.

“I know...and...and you did deserve to know. I was just so ashamed...I was so scared you would leave me so I tried to leave first...but I couldn’t bring myself to. I thought it would be better if I just stopped talking to you so you could make the decision yourself.” He pressed a kiss into your hair. “The last thing I expected was for you to stay. I’ll work to make it up to you, even if it means talking about my feelings.” He sighed softly.

You were still in a sort of state of shock. You’d become used to caring for him and you didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear these words. You wanted him to tell you that you deserved better, that he truly cared. You didn’t need him to make up for it, you just needed him to love you like he used to.

You slowly wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling into his chest. “So, what’s bothering you today?”

You felt his shoulder lift and fall in a shrug. “I just...I’m craving and it’s frustrating. It’s been fine for the past few days, the distractions and everything working. Today I guess I just...wanted to...wallow.” He looked away, shame in his features.

You understood. Some days you let your depression and anxiety rule you so much you wouldn’t leave the bed. You knew what you needed to do to get better but just refused to do it. You nodded, reaching up to play with a lock of his hair.

“I know how that can be...There will be days like that, but know I will be there by your side to push you through them, okay?”

He studied your face before smiling lovingly down at you. The way he looked in that moment made butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach. You had to remember to breathe as he pressed his lips to yours. As he pressed your body against the counter behind you, you heard the sizzling of water hitting the hot stove as it boiled over.

You both blushed, chuckling while righting yourselves. “Oh, yeah. Dinner…” You mumbled, carrying on the preparations.

You chatted idly while eating, and you even chose to snap a picture of the pasta aglio e olio and posting it to your private Instagram. You had a business Instagram for your art strictly, and a private insta for friends and family. Of course, you took the picture when Spencer wasn’t looking. He would probably judge you for doing it.

That night you made love before drifting off into a peaceful sleep. You had plans with Penelope yesterday and while you were sleeping, Emily sent a text to apologize for her actions. Everything felt like it was going to be okay for the first time in a while. You were ignorant to think that. While you slept peacefully, seemingly safely in Spencer’s arms, something you should have feared was underway.

It had been a month since the night you broke the glass on the kitchen floor. A month after Emily apologized, which turned into a close friendship. Spencer had gone back to work and was without incident. He talked about his feelings more and made sure to tell you when he was craving. It was roughest after he had to go back to living in his apartment. Things were now looking up, though. He hadn’t mentioned craving in 5 days and had stayed the night since the team had a few days off(Hopefully.)

“Oh, You got mail. I put it on the kitchen table.” Spencer let you know, sitting down amongst the piles of books on your living room floor.

“Thanks, babe.” You loved getting mail, usually from an elderly person hoping to commission you or an artistic fan who felt like a letter would grab your attention.

As your eyes scanned the writing and the other contents of the letter, you felt ice cold fear wrap it’s snake-like body around your heart and slink up your spine. The words were sick and violent, pictures of you included in the envelope. You stood frozen, unsure what to do in this moment. Spencer was going through a huge transition in his life and he seemed to be doing so well. Did the team need something like this? Surely this was just a harmless troll.

Spencer was absorbed in a book but after a few moments of peeking back forth between you and the pages, he decided to speak up “Love, are you okay?”

You jumped slightly but nodded your head, turning towards him. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just someone asking for a commission. Elderly people like to send letters rather than email usually.” You shrugged, stuffing the pictures and letter back in the envelope. You scurried back to your room, stuffing the envelope into your the top drawer of your dresser. You checked your phone, finally deciding to check your email.

You felt your stomach lurch and your hands start to shake with anxiety when you saw at least 15 emails, all violent and disgusting like the letter. All sent from different emails, which you blocked. From what you read they all seemed to be written by the same person. Within a few seconds, you crashed into your bathroom, hunching over the toilet to wretch the contents of your stomach up.

Spencer was by your side in a moment, but you were far gone from your body. You felt detached, trying to calm yourself. They couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening to you of all people.

After you felt more within your body you waved Spencer off, following him into the living room where he ordered pizza and grabbed his favorite poetry book to read to you. You laid your head in his lap, watching his Adam's apple bob and the expressions he made while he read.

This was how it was supposed to be, and no one was going to ruin it. You were safe. It’s just a troll. You were safe. Were safe. Were.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “The Bucket List”

Two months after breaking up with The Joker, you found out the bad news. You didn’t have a choice but to ask for his help and J didn’t even show up for the meeting. Of course he didn’t care, but now that he heard why you wanted to see him so badly, it might be too late for any amendments.

Part 2: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161379886591/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list-part-2

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161645099431/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list-part-3

“I’m out of here…” you announce, lifting your bag and taking a few steps towards the door. The Joker doesn’t reply, he just watches you in silence, leaning on the back wall of the master bedroom.

“That’s all you want?” he speaks up in a bitter tone when you are almost out of the quarters.

“Yes, that’s all…” you whisper and don’t turn around, continuing your walk. After a few moments, J wants to add something but gives up when he hears the elevator. He knows you’re already gone.

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

Things went from worse to worst until both couldn’t take it anymore. You were aware he’d never leave the penthouse so you decided to break it off sooner rather than later. You were actually surprised he didn’t try to stop you when you told him about your decision: after all, he doesn’t like people to leave until he says so. You were determined to continue with the plan even he would have attempt to disagree. But he didn’t. Probably happy to get rid of you in such a timely manner. The Joker must have really hated you if he didn’t bother with any kind of reaction.

Oh, well, serves you right for thinking you meant something to him. Lesson learned.

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

The first time he got a sign from you was after about 2 months. You called and he didn’t answer. It came through as “unknown number” because you weren’t in his contacts anymore, but he had the digits memorized. After about one hour, he received a text message: “Could you please meet me tonight around 10pm at the corner of Spencer’s and North Avenue? It’s really important. Please…I really need to talk to you.”

J deleted the message, upset you bothered him. For some reason though, he decided to go and see what the hell you wanted. He waited in the shadows behind the apartment building, watching you nervously pacing under the street light. You held a few papers in your hand and seemed distressed.

The Joker regretted coming so he stayed hidden, but didn’t leave. You waited for an hour and it began to rain. He could see you were soaked to the bone, still waiting on the almost deserted sidewalk. He was drenched also and didn’t move. You started to cry when you realized he won’t show up, holding up those papers to your chest. After another half an hour passed, you signaled a cab and one saw you right away. J decided to come out, thinking that if you notice him, he’ll talk to you. If not, oh well…

Of course you got into the taxi and didn’t see him approach. He had the perfect excuse for his indifference and you swore never to get a hold of him again. You bawled all the way back to your house, mad at yourself for being such an idiot. Yet, not too many choices at the time. You erased his phone number from your cell and as soon as you got home you smashed the phone to pieces, crying your eyes out since The Joker didn’t want to at least meet you when you really needed his help for once.

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

After 7 months, J is in a meeting, planning a heist and some transactions on the black market with his old business partner when the conversation steered towards your absence at the negotiation table. Everyone knew you were gone, but Jasper still ran his mouth.

“That’s too bad about what happened to Y/N, hm? How old is she, 35 ? I hope she makes it… Hard to tell with this kind of stuff…”

Your ex is not excited to hear your name. He would love to blow Jasper’s brains, but he’s still needed.

“Don’t push it,” J growls, annoyed, clenching his jaw.  The guy lifts his hands up in surrender, not having any desire to irritate the Clown Prince of Crime.

“No disrespect, sir, I was just talking without thinking.”

J keeps on marking locations on the map, absent minded.

“So…what happened to her?” he utters, not lifting his eyes from the important project.

“You don’t know?!” Jasper replies, intrigued.

“No,” J simply answers, sniffling.

“Do you really care to find out?” “No… But tell me anyway!”

*** He debated for a week if he should call you or not. When he finally dialed your digits, the flat message made him roll his eyes: “This number has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

It took J about 3 more weeks to find your whereabouts. You can easily make yourself disappear under fake identities. Thankfully, The Joker has several ways of using his numerous resources when necessary.

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

Oh, no! you think when you hear the doorbell. You slowly get up from the couch, dizzy from the monthly IV medication dripping in your veins, one of the treatments you do at home. You grab the IV pole, rolling it towards the door. You bought this house outside the city, not wanting to be bothered. No neighbors around. And you didn’t order any food or supplies to be delivered like you usually do.

“Coming!” you announce, holding on to the wall with your free hand. “Who is it?” you inquire before opening the door.

“Pizza delivery,” the muffled voice answers.

“I didn’t order any pizza,” and you crack the door open. “Shit!” you gasp when you see J standing there and you shut the entrance immediately, locking it.

“Really?!” you hear him and you back out, alarmed. Surprisingly, no knocking or pounding.  And it clicks: the sliding glass door on the back porch is opened! You force yourself to walk as fast as you can, difficult since you are hooked to your IV.

“Dammit,” you mumble when you get to the living room and see he already got inside.

“I wasn’t aiming for this reaction,” J frowns, taking a few steps towards you.

“What…what are you doing here?!” you demand to find out since you’re not pleased about his presence. You really don’t need whatever the hell this is right now.

“What’s wrong with you?” he cuts to the chase, not in the mood for chitchatting. Those piercing eyes urge for an explanation.

“Nothing,” you grumble and squeeze the pole harder.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he points towards your IV. You sigh, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“It’s only…only something to slow down the process…”

“What process?” The Joker barks, biting on his cheek.

“The process of me dying too fast,” you serenely admit. He keeps on staring at you, kind of stupefied at how you look: skinny, pale, dark circles under your eyes and he can notice it all since you have no make-up on. Your hair is dark blonde now, still long yet visibly thinned out.

“Nonsense, you’re too young,” he drops on the chair closer to him, crossing his legs.“Who helps you?” he begins another tirade of questions.

“Nobody; I leave alone, away from everyone. I don’t want to be seen like this and I can take care of myself,” you swallow the bitter taste on your tongue, nauseated. All the drugs you take have such awesome side effects. “Is this an interrogation? Because I don’t want to talk nor see anybody. So if you would just leave…” and you nod towards the sliding door he sneaked through.

“Nonsense,” he cuts you off, bouncing his leg on top of the other, impatient. He reaches for the papers scattered on the table in front of him, reading the names of the numerous vials with tablets, capsules and lozenges, aggravated. “Do you have a list of all the stuff you take?”

“Wh-what?! Could you just…just leave please?!” and you gag, almost vomiting, rushing to snatch a container from the kitchen counter with anti-nausea medication. You swallow one tablet with a few sips of water and go sit down on the couch, exhausted. J watches your every move without any comment.

“If you don’t leave I’ll call the cops,” you close your eyes, feeling the room spinning.

“Please do, I would love to tell them who you really are,” he scoffs, rattling some of your pills, amazed on how huge they are. Crap, the police threat didn’t work.

“Go home to your girlfriend and leave me alone,” you encourage him, hoping he’ll get lost.

“Go home to your girlfriend,” he imitates you, giving you a mean glare. “Do I look like a fool in a leash to you?! Don’t insult me! Plus, I hate her!” he snarls, finding what he came for in the documents pile: an inventory of all the things you take for your condition.

“You hate everybody, “ you whisper, biting your dry lips.

“A skill I take a lot of pride in,” he cracks his neck and finally gets up.

“Why are you here?” you tilt your head to the side, fighting to keep your raging sickness under control. “ Where…where were you when I needed you so badly, hm? I asked for a meeting and you didn’t even bother to come…I was scared and seeked your help. How stupid of me…,” you sadly smile and even if you don’t seem to cry, J notices tears rolling down your face. “Of course you are too busy to be bothered with someone so insignificant as your ex that wanted to tell you she found out she’s dying…” you wipe your tears, not breaking eye contact. Him adding to your misery doesn’t aid.

“Shut up, you’re not dying!!! And don’t talk to me like this again!” he growls at you before slamming the sliding door behind him.  

“I AM DYING!!” you yell, taking deep breaths to cool down.  

My God, what in the world was that?!!! Do you have to move now?! You are in no mood to do so, but probably you’ll have to pull yourself together and vanish once more. How did he find you?

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

You didn’t hear anything from him in a while and you are relieved: probably forgot about his little project involving you and lost interest like he usually does when he gets bored. It’s better this way; you don’t need to be stressed out about more problems, you don’t need your life turned upside down more than it already is.

You are coming back from your weekly check up at the clinic and you notice a black car in your driveway. You groan when you see Frost coming out of the vehicle, waiting for you. No choice but to park next to him and meet him.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Frost,” you cautiously greet. “Is J here?”

“No, but boss wanted me to give you this,” and Jonny hands over a sealed box.

“What is this?” you check, curious to hear about it. What is he up to?!

“Mister J says the directions are inside: take one of the red pills three times a day and the blue one just once daily. He also said to stop taking the three meds he crossed over on your med list. All in the box,” Frost blurs out, getting ready to flee. He sure is uncomfortable; knowing you, you’ll certainly decline.

“I don’t want anything from him!” you raise your voice.

He was afraid this will happen.

You place the box on the hood, heading towards the porch.

“I can’t tell him that! Please take it!”

“I don’t know what the hell those pills are and I don’t need his help. Just tell him I said that!”

“He’s not gonna like it…” Frost grumbles.

“So? I want to be left alone!!”

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

You are getting ready to go to sleep when you hear a loud bang: your front door is being opened and slammed. Must be J…and you are correct.

“Y/N?! Y/N! Where are you?” The Joker shouts, looking around for you.

“Ummm…here,” you get on your knees in bed, covering yourself with the comforter and bracing for the worst.

He storms in your bedroom, holding the box he sent earlier.

“I understand you refuse to take this?” his low voice echoes in the whole house.

“Yes, I don’t want it. Please leave!”

“Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past 3 weeks since I last saw you? Hmmm? Do you?!” he starts unwrapping the seal around the box, tossing it by you. “I broke into 3 research facilities, about 5 hospitals, kidnapped doctors and blackmailed others in exchange for information and treatments. Showed your med list to all of them and they came up with some new options for your disease!” J is so mad he’s slamming all the vials around, taking a red tablet out of one. “Take this!!” he shoves it in your face and you hesitantly move your head backwards.

“It’s a new experimental drug!!“ he roughly grabs your jaw.” I’ll get rid of the stuff you don’t have to take anymore.”

You sniffle, intrigued by his behavior and escape his grasp.

“Why are you tormenting me? Are you that bored? Why don’t you go back to Gotham?” You wipe your forehead, already tired from all this crap. “Do you feel…guilty?” you touch his hand, moving it away. He brings his face very close to yours, panting with indignation:

“I’m fucking buying you more time!! So take this goddamned pill or I’ll force you! I mean it!!”

You sigh, weighting in the options.

“Fine…I’ll take it…Are you happy now?” you reach for the bottle of water on the night stand and swallow the given medication.

“Ecstatic!” J grinds his teeth, vexed. “They told me you should expect nasty side effects, but it will get better.”  

You shrink under the cover.

“Well, I took it, so…you don’t have to be here anymore.”

“Are you kicking me out?” he goes on the other side of the bed, starting to pile up pillows.

“Please go back to Gotham,” you beg, uneasy at the thought of him spending the night.

He stretches, fed up with the conversation, wanting to relax after another long day.

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

One hour later you started feeling the aftermath of your new drug. You are used with being sick and yet it doesn’t make it easier. You shiver like a leaf, moaning in pain, adding 2 painkillers when the aching becomes unbearable. You try to get comfortable but it’s useless.

“Are you cold?” J asks, moving closer to you. “You…need… anything?” he struggles to offer, not really knowing how to react to the situation. You nod a faint yes, reaching your hands for him:

“Y-you…” the weak response comes, making him scoot over without hesitation. A strange warmness washes all over him, making his heart beat faster and it’s not a pleasant emotion. You curl up in a ball against his body while he covers you with his blanket too.

“J…” you whimper when his arms go around you, “ O-one of these days they’ll find me dead in here. C-can you take my things? I would hate for s-strangers to come in here, stealing what doesn’t belong to them. You know how much I care a-about my things… Y-yes?”

The Joker believes you’re delirious; he was warned about this common side effect of what you’re taking. Maybe you are…

“No, I won’t!” he emphasizes his refusal, inflexible in his decision.

“W-why not?” you lick your dried lips, getting even more upset.

“I only provide my services to people I like. You’re not on the list,” he makes sure to remind you.

“N-nobody’s on the list,” you crack an awkward smile, squinting your eyes when the muscle spasms hit again.

“Exactly,” J acknowledges, wondering how the hell you manage on your own when you are so ill. He caresses your hair and he notices so many strands left around his fingers.

“Jesus, Y/N!“ escapes his mouth before he can stop the words.

“I k-know I should shave my h-head and I just keep on p-postponing,” you tremble, praying you can rest for a little bit. So many sleepless nights, twisted thoughts and therapies took their toll on you.

After about 2 hours you finally fall asleep and he dozes off also, worn out and fighting with himself about what should happen next. J is not sure how long he’s been out, but when he wakes up it’s still dark and you are in his arms. It seems you didn’t move at all and he notices you’re not breathing.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, wake up!” he softly slaps your shoulder and there is no reaction. “Hey! Wake up I said!” he gets up on his elbow, terrified for once. “Open your eyes! Wake up!!!!” he shakes you, feeling he’s starting to sweat from the anxiety.

“Mmmm,” he hears your mumble and you cuddle more to his chest, keeping your hands under his pillow. “What is it?” you whisper, yawning.

He puts his head back on the cushions , truthfully admitting:

“Shit, I thought you died…”

“Not yet…” you calm him down, not wishing to wake up yet. “Go back to sleep, I’m fine…My blood pressure gets really low sometimes, I’m still here…” you kiss the skin in front of your lips, not realizing what you’re doing. You fall back into your dreamless daze while The Joker is unable to do anything else but repeat in his mind the simple sentence you used to let him know you’re still alive: “Not yet.”

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

You don’t go to the clinic anymore. A lot of your old meds are not needed according to the new care plan in place for you. New stuff is being added and some doctors are even brought to your house so they can assess you. Tests after tests, trial and error of all the drugs that The King of Gotham is able to smuggle and steal for you. You have such bad days you seriously consider giving up, which was the main idea before he showed up at your home that day.

You have no clue why he’s putting so much effort into it and he gets mad when you fight him, refusing to take your meds.

“Nothing is really working, they make me feel worse!” you sob, having a really bad day while being hooked to your new IV.

“Tough it out, Pumpkin, could be worse,” he grouchily snarls, moving some of your books around.

“You can’t buy me life, it’s too late,” you wail on your couch, depressed and ailing in every single fiber of your body.

“I’m not buying you life, Y/N, I’m buying you time!” J aims towards all the vials, bottles and containers containing the remedies you actually need.

“What does your girlfriend has to say about this? I bet she detests me since you spend so much time here,” you want to mention, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“I told you I hate her so I don’t care about what she thinks!” he barks and shoves the books around when a piece of paper folded in two flies out from one of them and lands on the floor. He picks it up and opens it, reading your note:

Bucket list

-go to Japan

- a family

- see J one last time - no, no, no!!

-meeting my knight in shining armor (he huffs)

-kidnap Commissar Gordon again (he smirks)

-see J one last time – no!!!!!!!!!!

-find out Batsy’s identity (he grins)

-steal more diamonds

-see J one last time - NOOOOO!!!!!!

“What are you doing?!” you jump off the couch when you see the paper in his hand.

“A bucket list Doll ?! Really?” he laughs because he has no better idea of how to get rid of this awful feeling in his heart.

“That’s private, give it back!” you barely drag your feet to go to him and yank the list out of his hand, placing in a drawer. “This is very personal stuff, you have no right to…”

“I do what I want!” he interrupts, giving you a high and mighty gaze. So typical.  

“You can’t just…”

“Tell someone that cares,” he turns his back on you, returning to his task and you sit there with your mouth open, outraged. You forgot to cry. “When are you going to shave your head? The new IV med will really make you lose more hair, that’s what they told me,” The Joker chatters, turning his attention towards you again. “Want me to do it for you? I’ve seen you have the electric hair clipper in the bathroom. Don’t be a chicken and do it!” he distracts you from your tirade.

“I’m not sure if…” you try to negotiate, but I guess he has a new assignment on the horizon. You are conscious you’ve been delaying this forever; your hair is so thin and limp it’s gross.

“Nahhh, I think we should go on with it! No better time than the present!” and he takes your hand, guiding you towards the bathroom while you steadily roll the IV pole with you. “Sit!” he pushes your shoulders down on the chair and brings over the tool, turning it on. You nervously gulp, watching chunks of your locks piling up on the marble flooring.

“Done!” he announces and you touch your bald head, getting up so you can see yourself in the mirror. It looks terrible and you start weeping.

“Ahhh, it’s not that bad kid. You’re still fairly pretty. To be honest, you’re uglier than before but I can still look at you,” J cheerfully concludes.

You elbow him through tears, appalled at your reflection.

“You suck at making people feel better, you know that?”

“Another skill I take great pride in,” he winks, grinding his silver teeth and you cry harder.

“My hair…it’s …just…gone,” you stammer, saddened beyond control, stroking your shaved skin.

He sighs, softly pushing you away from the mirror, still holding the trimmer.

“You know, Princess, I’m starting to get sick of my green hair, I had it for a while,” he passes his fingers through it, turning his head left and right.

“Huh?” you whimper, sniffling.

Before you can react, he turns on the trimmer again, starting to shave his head. You stop bawling, shocked, watching his green locks falling to the ground.

“What are you doing, J?!”

“Isn’t it obvious? Getting rid of something I’m bored with. There, done! Com’ere!” he urges you to return in front of the mirror with him. “I think we look pretty good, won’t you say?” he puckers his lips and you start crying so hard it makes him cringe. “Would you stop it??!! I didn’t do it for you, I’m too selfish. I was really tired of my toxic green hair, got it?”

You nod a yes and hug him, squeezing him in your arms as hard as you can since your IV line doesn’t permit a wide range of motion.

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

Later that evening

“Are you ready?” he peeks in the bedroom to see you dressed up. “Told you some make-up will do the job, you’re much prettier now. Still not up to my standards, but…”

You walk towards him in your floral summer dress, sulking.

“Horrible person…” you mutter, elbowing him. “Where are we going?”

“I need your help with something and since you didn’t get out of the house in forever, I have plans for today.” “Where are we going?” you insist, stepping outside and observe the silver car on the driveway, probably dropped off by his men because he didn’t have it there this morning.

The Joker gets dresses with his silver jacket, taking a deep breath before laying it down for you:

“The silver jacket is the most I can do for the shiny armor, ok? Plus the car,” and cracks his fingers, a bit uneasy.

You seem puzzled.

“Your stupid bucket list, Doll: the knight in shining armor thing. I’m not wearing a dumb armor, this is the most I’m willing to do.”

You stare at him, speechless, on the verge of crying as he can see your lips quivering.

“Uhhh, give me a break!”  J growls, giving you a nudge towards the car.

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

“What are we doing at Jasper’s hideout?” you step out of the car, wondering what he has in mind.

“Some business to attend to and I need your help, OK?”

“OK,” you agree, hesitant.

When you both walk in with the new bald looks, everybody at the meeting instantly stops talking and glances, astonished.

“Wha’? “ J guides you to your seats, “You didn’t see two beautiful people before?!” and the tone in his voice makes them all aware they shouldn’t make it so obvious they’re perplexed at the change.

They all start talking in the same time, apologizing and attempting to fix their mistake.

“Shut the hell up!” he addresses the crowd, irked. “Wrong spot, Y/N!” he signals you to get up from your chair and you do as asked, confused. “Here!” he pulls you in his lap and you place your hand around his neck, smiling. “We are negotiating with this fine…gentlemen; I’m too exhausted for this, you do it.”

Wow, they didn’t see you in more than a year and now you show up here with Mister J, back to what you used to do. What’s going on? they all ask themselves, knowing they won’t get an answer.

The Joker rests his head on your shoulder, listening to the sound of your voice resonating in his ears.

He might not be able to buy life for the girl he hates so much, but he can buy her time. As much as he can.

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[captainvictoryboat]

Behind The Scenes 3 (9/???)

Author’s note: Omg! After this scene you all finally reach Fukuoka! That is the city I wanted you all to get too! I just wanna say that this scene in particular was very hard for me to write so I’m sorry if isn’t as intense as I make it out to be. It hurt too much as I wrote it and I toned it down alot becuase idk, for me it was too much. The POVs change alot in this scene so I hope it doesn’t get too confusing. Sorry for any grammatical errors.

Genre: Drama

Word Count: 2816

City: Osaka, Japan

Summary: Almost everyone is wondering why Y/n had been acting so weird

WARNINGS: Physical abuse, sexual assault, implication of un-consensual sex.

Other parts: HERE

This is my GIF. I made it based off of this scenario series.

It was the last of the three days in Osaka. Still, you were completely ignoring Jhope and now he finally realized what you were doing. No matter how much he pestered you, you only stayed silent. You got to the point that when Suga would try to talk to you, you would, at most, only give him small responses and then distract yourself with one of the maknaes. So far he hadn’t met Aiko yet, but you were still hurt by what he was going to do.

When it came to the maknaes, you still didn’t tell any of them why you were acting the way you were. You just didn’t feel like talking about it. In the back of your mind, you were still processing it all and you didn’t feel like talking. How could they expect you to express yourself if you yourself didn’t know what you were feeling?

-

It was after the concert and you sat on the edge of your bed, still in your day clothes waiting for Jungkook to get out of the shower. You flipped through the channels on your TV as Jimin was on the other side of the room still grabbing a clean shirt now that he finished his shower. V, well you didn’t know exactly where he was, but chance were he was off in the hyung room.

You heard Jimin’s footsteps walkover to you and soon felt his weight next to you. He whipped his hair and sent cold water droplets to hit you in the face.

“Jimin!” you laughed. “That was fucking cold!”

“Ha! Finally, I got something out of you! You’ve been quiet all day today.”

“I’m just tired.” You mumbled as you continued to flip through the channels

Jimin pulled the remote out of your hand. “Tired my ass! You’re not the one performing almost every night! I know there is something wrong. You’ve been so down lately and you haven’t even acknowledged Hobi! I thought he was you best friend?”

You looked at him, debating whether or not you trusted him enough to tell him what you were feeling.

Jungkook stepped out of the bathroom, giving you an excuse to avoid the conversation. “It’s my turn to shower now!” you said grabbing your towel and shuffling to the bathroom.

Just as you collected your sleeping clothes from your bag, there was a knock at the door.  Jungkook, being closest to the door, went to open it.

On the other side stood Hiro. He looked a bit tense as he looked up at Jungkook, but still took a step into the room. At the sight of him you held your breath and cautiously walked backwards towards Jimin.

“What do you want?” Jungkook asked. He stepped right in front of Hiro to be the barrier between him and you and Jimin.

Hiro straightened his posture and held his chest out when he noticed Jungkook had already done so. “Namjoon needs to talk to you.” Hiro said with a tone of authority.

“Why didn’t he just text me then?”

“He did! You never went over, so he sent me.”

Jungkook squinted his eyes at him. “Why didn’t Tae just come get me?”

“Namjoon is talking to him too.”

Jungkook remained in front of Hiro as he made up his mind. “…Fine… I’ll go.” He stepped out to the hallway and had taken a few steps down the hall before he realized that Hiro didn’t follow him. “Aren’t you coming?”

Hiro stayed by the door. “No.” He smiled closing the door in Jungkook’s face

You could hear Jungkook knocking frantically on the door to get back in. “Open the fucking door!”

“Just go Jungkook! You don’t want Namjoon getting mad, do you?” He said loud enough for Jungkook to hear him through the door. He stayed by the door until he was sure Jungkook had left.

You gripped on to Jimin’s arm when Hiro turned around and looked at the two of you. He slowly made his way his way to the front of your bed and he leaned against the dresser with his creepy smirk. “It’s been a long few weeks and I’m so~ stressed.” He said almost playfully. “Which one of you wants to be my fuck buddy tonight?” He asked getting straight to the point.

Neither of you answered. You kept your head down and Jimin stared at the door, silently begging for Jungkook or V to return.

“Please, please, hold back the enthusiasm.” Hiro said sarcastically. He stepped closer and crouched in front of the two of you.

Still, neither of you spoke a word. You peeked up and Hiro had the most disgustingly lustful look on his face. You were frozen in fear. A lump formed in your throat and you held your breath again.

You could feel Hiro lightly place his hand on your thigh as he smiled at you. “How about you, y/n?” His hand slowly moved his hand up your thigh and under your skirt. “We never got to finish what we started.” The second you felt his thumb trying to somewhere where it shouldn’t, you screamed and instinctively pushed his hand off you.

Immediately, his other hand slapped you so hard across the face you were almost knocked off the bed.

Seeing you get hit struck a nerve within him again and finally Jimin could feel his senses return to him. “Leave her the fuck alone!” He was finally able to shout, punching Hiro in the face.

Hiro fell back, but quickly got up and pounced on Jimin. “You little fuck!” He pinned Jimin’s fists down in the bed and was in the process of trying to pin his legs down, but Jimin kept kicking at him.

You jumped off the bed and ran over to the large glass vase sitting on the table on the other side of the large hotel room. You grabbed it and smashed it on Hiro’s back. The flimsy glass broke and shards drizzled all over the bed and the floor. You cut your legs and feet as you tried to climb on the bed and push him off Jimin.

“You bitch!” He jumped off Jimin and slammed you against the wall, using his body to hold you back. One hand was squeezing your face as he forced a kiss on you. His other hand was groping you all over. “I don’t care how much money Yoongi gives me. If I don’t get what I from Jimin, I’ll gladly take it from you.” you could feel his hand move back up your legs, trying to force his fingers inside you.

No matter how hard you tried, he was too strong and you weren’t able to get him off you for more than half a second.

Jimin jumped up from the bed and grabbed Hiro by the waistband of his pants and pried him off you. Hiro whipped around in a rage, swinging his hand towards Jimin, but Jimin blocked it. Jimin quickly grabbed onto Hiro so he couldn’t go back to you. “Don’t deal with her!” Jimin spat. He pulled Hiro into a kiss, taking a few steps back making Hiro follow him. Jimin pulled away, no longer able to stand Hiro’s lips anymore. “I’m yours remember?” he asked softly.

A disgusting smile broke out on Hiro’s face and he placed his hands on Jimin, forcing him into another kiss.

Jimin pulled away, but before Hiro could get upset again, Jimin began whispering in his ear. You couldn’t hear what he was telling him, but you could see Jimin slowly push his hand into Hiro’s pants.

“Let’s go then!” Hiro grinned as he dragged Jimin out of the room.

“Jimin?” was all you were able to get out as he was about to leave the room.

Jimin didn’t say anything to you, he just looked back at you with watery eyes.

JHOPE POV

Jungkook, V and Jin were huddled around Rap monster at the table on the other side of the room.

Suga lay next to him, juggling between working on his laptop and adding to the hotel bill by drinking all the alcohol in the mini fridge. Not to mention that he was just rambling on and on about some nonsense over Aiko again.

Jhope hadn’t taken a single pill that evening, it hurt his body to do so, but he wanted a clear mind as he thought of reasons why y/n could be so mad at him. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t figure out why y/n could be acting the way she was.

It was bad enough that he was trying to deal with the guilt of Meihui, he practically spent the last night sobbing in the bathroom and stuffing pill after pill into his mouth, but now y/n was giving him the silent treatment for some unknown reason. He felt like such a bad friend and even more a bad person in general.

Jungkook quickly walking past the TV and out the room was what get him out of his train of thought. He looked over to Suga, who was still mumbling about something, “Do you know why y/n is mad at me?” He whispered. “She hasn’t talked to me in days!”

“Bro! Did you even hear what I was talking about?”

“I’m talking about y/n here!”

“… She has been acting weird, even with me… We should have asked Jungkook when he was leaving dammit!”

“Did I do something wrong? I can’t think of f could have done to piss her off… Is this how she felt when we didn’t talk to her that one time?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What do I do?” he asked himself.

“Those fuckers better not have done anything to her.” Suga said under his breath as he glared at V.

“But she’s not giving them the cold shoulder, just me!”

“…Ok… How about this? In a bit you go to their room and ask her what’s up.”

Jhope scoffed at him. “She still isn’t gonna talk to me. I know it.”

“True.” Suga said looking down at his phone. “I’ll go then. Give me some time to figure out these lyrics and plan something with Aiko and then I’ll go try to talk to her.”

“Thanks”

BACK TO Y/N

You were alone and crying in the room. You replayed the incident in your head again and again, wishing that you said something for Hiro to take you instead.

There was a sudden loud knock at the door and you hid behind the bed.

”Y/n!” you heard the muffled voice through the door. “It’s me Jungkook!” there were more knocks “I don’t have my room key! Open up!”

You frantically made your way to the door and let him in.

“Y/n what’s wrong?” he asked, even though he knew what probably happened. His eyes scanned you up and down and he panicked when he saw your blood. “What the fuck!” He quickly guided you to the bed but freaked out more when he saw the damage. “Huh? Y/n, what happened?”. He placed you on the other bed and ran to the bathroom to get you a towel.

You were a sobbing mess and your words didn’t come out clearly when he asked you to tell him exactly what happened.

“Y/n calm down first. I can’t understand you.” he said softly. He tried to clean you cuts, but you moved away from him when he tried to touch your legs.

It took you a while, but you were finally able to get the words out and told him everything. For a long time Jungkook didn’t say anything, he just looked pissed.

The door opened and V stepped in with a smile on his face. That smile quickly faded when he walked in and found you and the room a complete mess. “What happened in here?”

“Hiro.” Jungkook growled

V scanned the room. “Where is Jimin?”

“Hiro.” Jungkook repeated.

Guilt filled V and he carefully made his way over to you. “Y/n are you okay?” he asked softly, remembering to give you your space.

You shook your head.

“Is there anything you need? I can get it for you! Anything, just tell me!”

You shook your head again.

He looked around the room nervously, thinking of a way to make things a bit better. “Why don’t I clean the room?”

You nodded.

Jungkook stayed by you as V went around cleaning the whole room.

Afterwards, you all sat quietly, waiting for Jimin to come back. Eventually, there was a knock on the door and V ran to check who it was

He opened the door and Jimin slowly made his way inside. Jimin’s face was completely blank, he barely even blinked his eyes.

V was about to sympathetically pat him on the back, but at the last minute remembered that Jimin didn’t like to be touched.

You quickly rap up and stood in front of Jimin. He looked down at you, still with nothing but that blank expression.

Even though he didn’t like it, you couldn’t keep yourself from hugging him. “Thank you.” you whispered as you held onto him.

Surprisingly his arms wrapped tightly around you. “I hate him.” he first whispered. “I hate him. I hate him! I hate him!” he cried louder and louder as he gripped onto your sweater.

You slowly moved him over to the bed.

Jimin’s legs gave out and he landed on the edge of the bed, almost rolling onto the floor. You barely caught him and pushed him towards the middle of the bed. Then you made your way to the other side of the bed and moved next to him.

“Y/n I hate him! I fucking hate him!” His cried with more and more intense.

You pulled him into another hug and he squeezed his face between your neck and the pillow.

You couldn’t help but cry with him. You only had a taste of what the manager was like and you couldn’t imagine what Jimin was going through. You still wished you had taken his place instead.

V and Jungkook sat at the small table. V was guilty to say the least and Jungkook looked more upset than before. Both keeping an eye on the two of you, but after a while they both felt hurt just hearing your cried. Every so often they would try to get closer, but you just told them to go back to where they were.

Yet again there was a knock at the door and both Jungkook and V went to see who it was.

Jimin’s eyes shot up at you. “Don’t tell me that’s him again!” he trembled.

You pulled the blanket over the two of you. “No its not! We are fine.” You tried to sound convincing, but you were scared too.

SUGA POV

After finishing up part of a song and finalizing plans with Aiko, Suga decided to go talk to y/n.  With Rap monster in the shower, now was the best time to go and talk to her.

He turned over to tell Jhope he was going to the next room, but he was out like a light. He got up from the bed and fixed his beanie in the mirror.

“Where are you going?” Jin asked from the table.

“I’m just gonna talk to the guys.” he lied as he slipped his key card into his pocket.

He knocked on the door and waited for someone to open up and was soon greeted by the two tall maknaes practically blocking the doorway, they both looked down at him with somber expressions.

“What do you want?” Jungkook whispered.

“I need to talk to y/n.” Suga said in his normal voice.

“It’s not a good time right now.” V whispered.

Suga could hear a faint crying in the background and instinctively pushed his way in. “Is that y/n? What did you guys do to her?!?” He dodged their arms and followed the crying.

He found y/n in the bed with puffy eyes. Based on the bush of hair next to her, she was hugging Jimin. “Y/n, what’s wrong? What happened?”

The figure next to her curled up into a tight ball and let out a whimper. “Suga get out! Guys get him out of here!” she said loudly.

He felt someone pull the back of his shirt and Jungkook appeared in front of him, pushing him out the door. He tried to get them off, but with the both of them working together, it was practically impossible. “Suga? Did she just call me Suga? What happened? Tell me what happened?”

“Dude we told you it wasn’t a good time right now.” Jungkook said.

They successfully got him out of the room and slammed the door in his face.