#with every loop wiping memories but not subconscious feelings.

[weavingmemories]

the war at tailtean

[lvrhughes]

How You Get The Girl | C. Bedard

1989 TV fics masterlist!

pairing: Connor Bedard x fem!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: none?

Summary: How Connor got the girl (you ever listen to the song? it's basically just that)

not my gif!

“Are you insane? Get in here!” The panic in your tone as Connor stood on your doorstep, shaking from the rain, pale as a ghost, brought a smile to his face. “You’re soaked, what are you doing?”  The words coming out quickly as you ran to grab a towel, sifting through the linen closet in search, quickly wrapping it around his shoulders when you found one. 

“I was too scared to tell you what I want, I want you.” His words stunning you, standing still in front of him while the words washed over you. 

“What?” That was all you managed to get out, looking at him in shock. 

“For six months I’ve been so scared to tell you that I want you.” 

It had been a long six months. 

“Connor-” You started, quickly being cut-off by the boy. 

“No it’s okay if you don’t feel the same but you need to know that I love you.” 

“I love you.” You settled on, watching the calm cover his features compared to the stubble stress that covered before. 

“Really?” His voice filled with uncertainty, as if he thought he couldn’t trust what you’d just admitted. 

“I love you so much Connor.” You grinned, reaching up to latch your arms around his neck, his arms looping around your waist. 

“Can I kiss you?” He kept his voice quiet, leaning enough to almost touch you, barely not. 

Quickly nodding before leaning into him, pressing against him. Letting yourself melt into the kiss, him doing the same while you ran your hands through the damp ends of his hair. 

“Did you run over here?” You asked as he pulled away, almost panting for breath. 

“Maybe.” He grinned, pecking your lips again before picking you up, electing a squeal from your lips. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed as he walked through your house, carrying you bridal style to your room. 

“I’m cold and it’s late, we’re going to bed.” He smiled, pushing your bedroom door open with his foot before placing you on the bed. Digging through your closet for the clothes you’d stolen from him, ending with a pair of his sweats and a canucks t-shirt you had taken the other week. 

He quickly changed, ditching his wet clothes in favor of the warm, dry ones. He crawled in the bed beside you, laying before grabbing you, pulling you tight against him. Smiling at the boy as he did the same, looking down at you where you laid in his arms. 

“I’ve been wishing for this for six months.” He mumbled, kissing your lips once more before reaching over you, flicking off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. 

“You could’ve had me six months ago too.” You answered, curling impossibly closer into him while he sighed. 

“I wish I would’ve but I got you now and I’m not losing you anytime soon.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head, mumbling a goodnight before drifting to sleep. 

Pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks, scatters along your walls, every happy memory filled your space. Fighting to tear all the pictures down, taking them down to immediately put them back up again, tears flooding your eyes as you looked at them. The picture on your nightstand, you and Connor, at the annual fair, his lips pressed to your cheek as you smiled. He’d disappeared now, it felt as if he was hiding, staying away for some unknown reason to you. 

Knocking on your door pulling you from your trance, wiping the nearly dried tears from your cheeks, giving you notice of how long you’d been sitting there. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“I must’ve lost my mind,” He started, his arms covering your body before you could react. “Leaving you without an explanation, God I had to have lost my mind.” He mumbled, kissing the top of your head. 

“What are you doing? Connor, you broke my heart!” You cried, subconsciously leaning into his hold as you sobbed. 

“I’m so sorry baby, one more chance that’s all I need. I broke your heart, I’ll put it back together.” His words are soft, keeping them in a gentle tone to keep comforting you. “It’ll be just like before, promise. I’ll never leave you again. I want you for ever and ever.”

Nodding against his chest, him looking down at you. Looking back up at him, nodding again while the smile grew on his lips. 

“I get another chance?” He asked. 

“One more.” You nodded. 

His movements quick, pressing a kiss to your lips before you could even think, his arms holding your body against his as he kissed you. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” He mumbled against your lips, leading you towards your room. 

He moved back, reaching to open your door, leading you into your room. His eyes scanning the walls, the same as he’d remembered. 

“You kept all the pictures?” His eyes traveled in awe, stopping to admire each picture.

“I couldn’t get rid of them.” Admitting it in a tone barely above a whispered, his eyes snapping back to yours quickly. 

“I love you so much,” His eyes staring at yours, softening his expression with each word. 

“I love you, too.” You smiled, moving towards his arms before he fell onto your bed, laying with your body on top of his. 

“I want you for worse or for better, I would wait for ever and ever,” HIs hands held yours as you stood, on some random pier in Vancouver, his jacket wrapped around your body to protect you from the wet cold he grew up with. “I broke your heart, I put it back together, I want you for ever and ever.” 

Tears flooding your waterline as he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a simple velvet box in one hand. 

“It’s not a proposal,” He clarified, earning a small laugh from you. “Not yet, it’s a promise ring, that I’ll love you for ever and ever.” 

“Connor,” His hand coming up to wipe away the stray tear that fell. “I love it, I love you.” 

He smiled, his hands coming up to place the ring on your finger, pressing a kiss to your hand before letting go. Letting you stare at the ring adorn your hand now before wrapping your arms around his shoulders to kiss him, tangling your hands through his hair while his encircled your waist. 

“This definitely means you’re going to marry me one day now right?” You grinned, whispering the words against his lips. 

“Definitely.” He smiled back, pressing another kiss to your lips.

[scene-iii]

—DINAH YUU INTRO PAGE

[ The (victimspectatorvessel) Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm ]

—THE RAMSHACKLE PREFECT A magicless boy who awoke in Twisted Wonderland during Night Raven College's Orientation Ceremony. Since then, Dinah has been pulled into the student body's schemes with little complaint, only a smile and a nod as he navigates friendships and deadly overblots. Despite his reserved demeanor, he's quite taken with this world's wonders. That is, only when they take place outside of Night Raven College.

[Fair skin that receives light scars over time. Fluffy blonde hair that reaches a little past chin, with his bangs pulled back and tucked snugly underneath a black ribbon. The ribbon's short ends stick up at the top, a bit like rabbit ears. Downturned sky-blue eyes, with a mole under the corner of his right eye. Gold-rimmed glasses with a hairline fracture on the edge of the left lens. His uniform tie is usually tied into a bow.] <ref will added at a later date.>

—CHARACTER BIO

Grade/Class: Freshman/Class A (No. 9) Birthday: September 6 (Virgo) Age: 16 Height: 168 cm Dominant Hand: Right Homeland: ??? [the opposite of the stars is the sea] Club: [blank, worn paper with pen imprints from the previous pages] Best Subject: History of Magic Hobbies: Embroidery Pet Peeves: Missed opportunities Favorite Food: [a clean plate, with a history of countless delicacies] Least Favorite Food: Canned tuna Talent: Picks up on most things with ease / Very intuitive

—REWOUND CLOCK [written under the pretense of twst's unconfirmed "time loop theory"]

Dinah is trapped within a time loop in Twisted Wonderland - one created when the NRC students aren't able to defeat Overblot Grim. As the one closest to Grim, Dinah is sent back to the beginning of his story to try and stop Grim's overblot. The reset doesn't seem to work, and the boy is sent back to wake up in a coffin over and over again.

The issue with this time loop spell is that it isn't perfect—it's something cast in desperation. Instead of sending Dinah back with the knowledge of the previous loop, so that he may prevent Grim from overblotting, Dinah's memory is completely wiped. You'd think, then, that each loop is the exact same song and dance. The first time it loops over (the second time he wakes up), Dinah can't help but think he's been here before; a feeling of familiarity rolling over him in waves.

He is subconsciously aware of the time loop.

As everything starts over and over again, Dinah grows more and more reserved. He's less outspoken, the excitable isekai protagonist in him wearing away like a clockspring after being rewound one time too many. His subconscious recognizes that he's been here before, so it's hard for him to be surprised or worried whenever a dorm leader overblots. He's got a feeling it'll work out, he just needs to follow along.

In comparison to his usual demeanor, Dinah gets really excited whenever the loop strays from the main story. Whether it be a friend's hometown event, a life-threatening Halloween adventure, or just stretching his legs around Sage Island, Dinah brightens up like the North Star. Everyone finds it strange when the prefect, a boy unshaken by horrific monsters of blot and magic, gets flustered over a new environment, local food, and a themed outfit.

Everyone, that is, except for Grim and Ace, who unknowingly smile when they see Dinah grin with his teeth.

—MISC DETAILS

𖦹 Dinah, although primarily inspired by Cinderella, is named after Alice's cat. He keeps Yuu as a last name though. No particular reason—I just wanted to keep the name Yuu in use.

𖦹 His birthday is the same as Cinderella, too. :)

𖦹 The tagline next to his homeland is a joke with a friend, that I may or may not expand on. The idea is that Dinah's Earth is very behind on space travel and has instead focused its efforts on uncovering and traveling the sea.

𖦹 His club and favorite food are left blank because they change with every loop, and they depend on who he grows closest to in that school year.

𖦹 His least favorite food is canned tuna—not to suggest any dislike of Grim! But because he's tired of seeing it loop after loop. He'd never stop buying it for Grim, though.

𖦹 His "intuition" is a result of being in a time loop. Outside of magical resetting, he wouldn't have the faintest idea of what comes next, but he is quick-witted.

𖦹 He has a habit of mimicking the body language of those he's grown close to. It varies in every loop, since he's always persuing new friendships, but Dinah will mimic a student's signature expression in casual conversation. (Ex; Deuce pounding his fists, Jade holding his chin, Rollo covering his mouth and nose, and, once, Crowley holding his arms out.)

last updated 10/25/2024

[vonlipvig]

So is Eric finally fully aware by the 17th playthrough?

Nope! Eric is never actually aware of the meta implications of the game. Unlike Dave--who remembers every successive iteration and is fully aware of his status as a video game character--Eric doesn't retain any memories of the loop, or if he does, only subconsciously, manifesting as vague feelings of déjà vu or strange dreams involving Dave. But because his memory gets wiped like every other character's, he sadly never reaches that acute level of awareness of the medium that dave uncannily has.

This would have added a lot more to the already huge amount of effort the whole team put into the dlc, but I can totally imagine a world where the meta subplot actually ends up affecting the plot. Like, somehow after 17 playthroughs Dave manages to make Eric understand his reality, so by the 18th run you get to act three and you get a pre-roll scene of Eric being the one who's acting all unstable and weird, and then a new ending scene with Eric anxiously interrupting the show going 'DON'T YOU GUYS REALIZE WE'RE ALL JUST CHARACTERS IN A COMPUTER GAME', to which nobody pays him any attention, with a very calm and collected Eamon going 'Buddy, I think you might be having an episode here, let's get you some rest'. Oh, and a very meta version of the Just The Job theme, too, of course.

[hes-writer]

All Too Well

Summary: right person, wrong time

Warning: sweet fluff and angst

Word Count: 4519 words

A/N: listen to ‘All Too Well’ by Taylor Swift first as there are some references throughout the fic. I also added time stamps as this occurs over the course of one year. I’m sorry if it’s confused—I tried my best to make it as coherent as possible ❤️

also, covid doesn’t exist in this au!

‘~~~’ = flashback, ‘—‘ = cut scene

November 2020

Y/N scrambled through the many articles of clothing sprawled in her drawer. The fabrics mingling with each other into a giant mess. It didn’t even include the pile of clothes sitting on the mattress and dripping on the floor.

That was the thing with Y/N. She had a habit of keeping things she didn’t need. She wasn’t a hoarder—although, Y/N did keep more things in favour of their sentimental value. It was her thing.

The fact that she could cradle a t-shirt in her palms and tell someone exactly what happened on a day that moulded the story of that specific shirt was her skill. Y/N liked to think that you could tell a lot about a person on what kind of clothes they wore—whether they were seeking affection or isolating, but not lonely.

In fact, her clothes didn’t just hold meaning for herself—it catered pieces of places she went to wearing the outfit. The things she thought of while adorning it, the emotions that she felt as it covered or—barely—shielded her skin. It was especially important to her to remember the people she spent it with.

Like that oversized, knee-length coat hung near the back of her closet. Y/N barely wore it now but seeing it beneath the splayed doors of the wardrobe, she could see flashes in her head about the last time she had worn it.

The way the pea coat flowed behind her as she twirled in a gentle circle, twisting the fabric slightly and catching tiny drops of littered snow. Y/N could picture the bulbous hat she wore on her head. A tiny pompom weighing every which way with the direction of her head. Her hands were in warm mittens that rendered her fingerless. The snow boots on her feet were crunching with every step of the crisp white snow beneath her feet.

It was truly a winter wonderland when the white weather sprinkled down on her—on them.

Y/N could just about feel the same large grin replicating her face when she snapped out her memory. The ghost of the hung overcoat literally hunted her as it rested in the shadows of her closet.

Y/N blinked twice, slouching her shoulders as she stayed frozen on her knees. The carpet wasn’t doing much to protect her taut skin, but she was in search of something and intended to find it. Except, she couldn’t find it anywhere.

She was sure that there was absolutely no way that she could lose it. It was a loud patterned scarf that frayed at the edges. It was, quite possibly, the ugliest design Y/N had laid her eyes upon. Though, a certain someone had reassured her that she looked beautiful regardless. Besides, the air was way too chilly to think about fashion choices that day.

~~~

December 2019

“Why don’t you pose for me, love?” Harry suggested, holding his phone tightly in one hand. That same hand was pulled free of the warm confines of his leather gloves as he insisted on capturing a few photos of his girl.

“You got it, mister,” Y/N replied, bending down to ball a glob of snow in her mitten-covered hand. She could just barely feel the iciness radiating off the protective layer. “Mind if I add some props?”

She lifted her hand, a raised brow quirking up her knit beanie.

Harry chuckles, “Go right ahead,”

He tilted his phone, ignoring the way his fingers lost feeling at the fingertips in favour of watching the woman of his dreams throw the patch of snow in the air. He captured the picture, admiring the way her back looked. Y/N really was beautiful from all angles. It was kind of counterintuitive, really, since it was snowing after all. But Harry was way too enamoured to question the questionable actions of his lover.

Besides, the gleaming smile on her face was enough to wipe his mind clean of anything other than her.

“Great! Why don’t you turn around?”

The woman looked over her shoulder was a subtle roll of her eyes, “No way,”

“C’mon, love. ‘S not even tha’ ugly,” Harry urged, commenting about the scarf wrapped around her neck.

She scoffed, “The fact that you have to reassure me is proof that it is ugly,”

Y/N played with the thin ends of the fabric, smiling to herself as she heard Harry groan loudly behind her. They were staying at Gemma’s house for the holidays and Y/N had purchased the first scarf she had seen at the store. She had nearly forgotten it if it weren’t for Harry calling her the night before to ensure that she would be warm during their stay. Not only was it cold, but the chilliness was just a tad too crisp to leave the cozy home without some sort of neck protection.

So, here she was dressed all cute from head-to-toe except her shoulders. It was a bit stupid to care so much about an ugly scarf design but Y/N guessed it had something to do with wanting everything to be perfect.

“I don’t think it’s ugly,” Harry quipped, sounding much closer than he had before. “‘Think it’s really nice. Especially the cutie who’s wearing it. Mind if I borrow it some time?”

Y/N couldn’t help the appearance of her love-struck eyes, smiling again when she felt his bundled arms snaked around her waist. Harry was warm, as usual, and he was sturdy as a rock both literally and metaphorically. Standing still in the snow gave her a bit of a shiver but having Harry’s body close was a breath of relief.

He cradled her between his arms, resting his own scarf-covered chin on her shoulder. Y/N knew that he must’ve been bending at the knees to reach that height. She clutched his naked hand between her mittens, directing it to a pocket in the confines of her coat to keep warm.

“Are you talking about me or the scarf?”

“How about both? Make it a two-for-one deal, yeah?” Harry’s voice was a bit hazy.

He felt as though he was captivated in a trance, watching the snowflakes rest gently on the slope of Y/N’s lashes. Her eyes glancing at their joined, mittened and gloved, hands.

She sighed, “Why not?”

Harry gave a silent cheer, leaning little ways into peck her cold cheek with his lips.

“Alright, now why don’t ya’ twirl for me, Y/N?” He instructed, taking cautious steps back in the snow.

“Like this?”

Harry nodded, thumbing the red button on his phone to press ‘record’. He watched as Y/N gracefully spun in a circle. Her pea coat flailed just at knee-level. Her boots squelched the starch white snow.

She did a full 360 before fully facing him with a bright grin. Harry couldn’t be sure how much his heart could take. He switched the setting to capture a photo.

“Exactly like that,”

He wanted to remember this.

~~~

Upon realization that Y/N would not get hold of that specific scarf—at least not for a while—because it was at Gemma’s home miles away from her, Y/N forced herself to clean up the mess she had made. Maybe it was the sudden strike of sensitivity coursing through her but Y/N felt much more emotional than she did before.

Perhaps it was the match-strike ignition of burning memories that flickered through her brain because once she started; she couldn’t stop.

It started with the frosty memory of twirling in the deep snow. Then, it was the flashback of driving from the grocery store to pick up ingredients before heading back to Gemma’s.

Y/N couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt playing that particular memory back because it was one of the moments that cemented a deep-rooted emotion in her.

The feeling of being beautiful—captivating, charming and alluring that Harry failed to notice the red traffic light switching to a reflective green. (‘Oi! Eyes on the road’)

She could still see the blush on his pale skin, realizing that he had been caught staring. And, by the way, the car behind them honked when Harry failed to move through the intersection. (‘Sorry, got distracted’).

And Y/N didn’t want to say anything but she could feel his tiny glances over her when Harry thought that she wasn’t paying attention.

———

November 2020

It has been nearly a year now.

Only a few more weeks until the dreaded date looped around to a full year passing. This time, Harry wasn’t around to celebrate the festivities with her and that ugly scarf was an article that Y/N had desperately missed. Ironically.

It would be just under a year when Harry had taken Y/N to his childhood home—now Gemma’s house as Anne had moved to a smaller place. It was where he excitedly showed her his room—the posters on his walls. The comics he used to read and the CD’s he used to listen to piled on his desk.

~~~

December 2019

“Quite an improvement,” Y/N commented, sitting on the edge of his twin-sized bed. She was referring to his King-sized bed from when she had slept over a couple of times.

“I’d say,” Harry agreed. The wood creaked under his weight as he sat beside her.

They both stared at the wall in front of them, feeling a sense of intimacy as Harry shared the remnants of his life to her.

The day continued when Anne had called the both of them down for hot cocoa, paired with a striped red, green and white candy cane dipped in the mug.

This was the part that hurt Y/N the most. It was almost too painful to remember—to reminisce because it was proof that the couple were so close to making a future together.

It didn’t happen, though.

Despite Anne and Gemma’s stories about a once upon a time, dorky Harry in his glasses (‘He still is’)—his family couldn’t stop referencing Y/N as his future.

“Hope your kids don’t take after his naked habit”

“Maybe your garden will have wild roses”

“Reckon you guys will get a small home?”

It made Y/N’s cheeks heat up. His family already thought of her as part of their family. And one sneaky look at Harry ensured her that Anne and Gemma weren’t the only ones thinking of their future because Harry caught her gaze long enough to give her the answer she was subconsciously searching for.

And when salutations had to be said, Harry and Y/N said goodbye to Gemma and Anne as they were to return to their respective London homes.

It was also the day that Harry had asked Y/N to move in with him.

——

It was exciting, to say the least. Moving in with your significant other was a big step in any relationship. The fact that Harry was a world-renowned superstar almost disappeared from Y/N’s mind because even though his home was a million times larger than her tiny flat—it immediately felt like home.

Harry wasn’t one to dwell too much on changes. In fact, he often referred to it as a sign that things were moving forward. There was no use being stuck in the same place when the universe had so much to offer. So, he was quite glad when Y/N made herself comfortable in his—their—home.

She managed to make the large place feel cozy. The decorations and tiny trinkets she had placed all over the house were really just pieces of her heart sprinkled in a home in which they’d build a life together. He would look at a pastel-coloured tea kettle and question when he had gotten the appliance before realizing that it was Y/N’s. Harry would use the tea kettle to boil water instead of using his Keurig.

___

Their schedules wouldn’t always line up. But Harry and Y/N were too loved-up to care how little time they spent with each other. There was no use in complaining when they could use that time to appreciate each other—for sticking around. For being the same when things moved too fast. For being the rock that both of them needed when times get rough.

Harry’s late studio sessions ran through the early morning when Y/N would be cooped up in their shared bedroom. Fast asleep and hugging his scented pillow. Sometimes he would find her bundled with a blanket on the living room couch. The soft glow of the television highlighting Y/N’s beautiful features. One look at her was enough to release Harry of the tension he felt on his joints and shoulders.

Y/N’s night shifts were the same too. She would return to a quiet house because Harry had fallen asleep. Despite his attempts to stay awake, he was not a night owl at all. Not only to stay up past ten in the evening unless he was out to do work. She had reassured him countless times that she would be okay on the drive home and that he should sleep when his body grew tired.

Harry tried to stay awake. He really did. And Y/N could tell because as soon as she crawls to her side of the bed, Harry’s right arm immediately pats the cold sheets for her as if sensing that she was nearby. He would mumble a quiet murmur of her name, “Y/N? Tha’ you?”

He would receive no verbal response, nor would Harry be able to see his love in the dark of the night even because Y/N hadn’t bothered to switch her bedside lamp on. Y/N was aware of Harry’s sensitivity to light, especially if he was in the dark for a long period of time. Despite that, Harry would hum in satisfaction when Y/N’s body would etch perfectly against his in a silent greeting that yes it is her.

They would fall fast asleep cuddled into one another.

If they managed to stay awake or if sleep failed to come, Y/N and Harry would trudge down the stairs for a midnight snack, squealing loudly as one playfully chased the other down the staircase.

Sometimes it was Y/N walking in on Harry munching on a few biscuits (‘Not such a health nut anymore, huh?’). Sometimes it was Harry catching Y/N making a fruit salad—an array of fruits and vegetables laying on the counter (‘I take credit for this’, he would say.)

But it would always end the same.

With both of them dancing goofily with each other. The refrigerator light was the only source of illumination because neither would be bothered to turn on an actual light. Not when the fridge served as a light source and a container of a variety of edible choices.

One night would end with Y/N slow dancing in Harry’s arms. His hands-on her waist, grazing her skin when her pyjamas too lifted. Their bodies would rest against each other like a stacked jigsaw. Harry’s chin on her head, hers on his broad shoulder. A pair of their hands clasped tightly on one another while the other found purchase with their bodies.

Harry would hum a light tune or sing softly so that they can find their rhythm. They would sway across the kitchen—slowly—crying out in pain and laughter when one would bump their hip on the marble counter. Y/N would listen to his heartbeat thrumming beneath his chest and even though she could only see a bit of him—it was enough.

One night would end with Y/N and Harry goofily flailing their limbs every which way. Boisterous laughter filling the room as Harry practically wheezed at Y/N’s admittance of performing a mean Dougie.

And with the fridge light catching the bits of it, Harry would slap his palm on the counter to catch himself before his knees gave out below him (‘There’s jus’ no way you’re that good’). She proved him wrong.

Neither of them knew when it would be the last time these moments occurred. Until they stopped completely.

——

It was the small changes that brought them closer together. And what would inevitably drive them apart.

It was the fact that even though the couple didn’t see each other much, they still cherished the time they had together because that was enough.

The relationship was built off of mutual trust, respect and honesty. Time was essential but Harry and Y/N didn’t necessarily need a lot of it. They just needed the reassurance of ‘always’. That no matter what happens, however far away they were from each other physically, however, the time they spent apart—that Harry would always come back to her and Y/N would always run home to him.

——

It was late-August when they broke up.

Leading up to it, Y/N had been promoted at her workplace and Harry was no longer spending late nights at the studio. He was sleeping in the studio instead of coming home.

Y/N was understanding. He was on a time-crunch since his second album was due to be released at the end of that year. She wanted to be as supportive as she had always been—if not, more. Harry didn’t need more pressure from her—his partner—who was supposed to be his solid ground in a cracking centre.

It was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

It was fine that they were spending less time than they normally would—not that it was a lot in the first place.

He was still trying. She was still trying. Messages, video calls—hell, even emails were there. The rare times when their schedule would actually coincide were spent peacefully sleeping on the bed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Then, Y/N got promoted. More responsibilities. Training her colleagues. Interviewing assistants. Typing detailed emails. Double-checking spreadsheets.

At the same time that Harry was being pulled left and right to make decision after decision. Finalizing next year’s tour dates. Promos. TV shows. Modelling campaigns. Photoshoots. Interviews.

And like any other, answering later turned into a message left on ‘read’. A missed call manifested into an unopened voicemail. A desperate-measures email was only one of the many in each others’ inbox.

Harry wanted Y/N to come with him on tour the following year but it was a stretch waiting to be snapped.

She couldn’t.

Y/N was starting to build her life, building her career and she wasn’t going to give that up for him just yet. He could go on tour and she could visit when time allows. They knew that. Harry would buy her a ticket and she would be off to see him—when she can.

~~~~

June 2020

“I can’t go. You know that,” Y/N sighed, rubbing a palm over her face.

Harry leaned his shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom. “I knew that. ‘Was worth a try though,”

They shared a comforting smile with each other. A hint of reassurance when uneasiness prevailed. There was something about the shift from spring to summer that simmered in their chests.

“Promise you’ll come to visit?”

“Of course,”

~~~

London may be Harry and Y/N’s home but LA was calling for him. Hence, why he spent the summer on the other side of the world. On another continent, across the pond, as some people might say.

It’s just a few months. He’ll be back before you know it, Y/N thought.

Harry will be home for the holidays and they would drive up north to spend it with Anne and Gemma as they did the previous year. The year when Y/N had met them for the first time and despite that, attained their approval to build a future with Harry.

Just a few months and then Harry will be back with her. The same Harry who will gently loop an ugly scarf around her neck. Teasing her about its hideousness before reassuring her that it was ‘as stunning as the woman wearing it’. . .or something. Harry always complimented her.

Yet, Harry never came home a few weeks shy before their scheduled road trip as they had planned. And Y/N did not visit him like she had promised to do.

Though, none of them blamed the other because they were too busy with their own lives to keep up with each other. What once was a loving and caring relationship was not a liability pushed to the back burner.

One might say that Harry and Y/N’s love was a case of wrong timing. They were perfect for each other—but just not now.

Because Y/N had a lot of things going for her and expanding her career. Harry was becoming more and more popular and successful by the minute. It wasn’t like they meant to ignore each other or be oblivious that they were still very much in a relationship with each other. Both Harry and Y/N just had a lot on their plate to even think twice about a relationship.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault—really. Even though their phone call says otherwise.

——-

August 2020

“Y-you what? Y/N, love,” Harry spoke through the phone.

Y/N’s breath hitched at the sound of the beloved nickname. It had been a while since she had heard it.

“I want to break up,” She repeated.

“Why?”

The woman picked at her fingernails, distracting herself from going back to the spreadsheet in front of her. She was in the middle of a break up yet her body urged to continue working.

“What do you mean why?” Y/N sighed exasperatedly. “It’s been months since we’ve seen each other, Harry. You said you’ll be home before Christmas so we can see Anne and Gemma but—,”

“We don’t have to see them! Y’can fly out here and spend it with me,”

“You know, I can’t,”

Upon letting those slip past her lips, Y/N was starting to question if Harry had disconnected because of the eeriness over the phone.

And as he said that night months ago with the alteration of Y/N’s word, “‘Know y’cant. You promised, though.”

Harry’s voice cracked and Y/N wondered if he was gnawing on his lip like he usually would when tears overflowed the ducts of his eyes. In the distance, Y/N heard a door close shut and she wondered if he had been working—the same as her—before she had decided to call and he had decided to answer.

A knife pierced into Y/N’s chest, guilt seeping in her veins as she recalled the words she had uttered to him. A promise that she would visit if he gave her the ticket. But that was then and this is now.

She wasn’t the head of her department then. Y/N had a lot more responsibilities now and she couldn’t just up and leave whenever she wanted to.

“And you promised to come back. Did you?”

He didn’t.

“Look, can we talk about this later? ‘M in the middle of recording and—“

“When are you not?” Y/N cut him off absentmindedly, splitting her attention on the Excel sheet in front of her.

“Excuse me?” Harry quipped, faintly hearing the clacks of a keyboard. “I know I work a lot but y’do too. Barely even respond to my texts anymo’”

“Says the one who doesn’t answer my calls,” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes.

And there it was again. The defeat of silence that proved no matter how much they retaliated against one another—neither of them would win because both of them were at fault.

“I was busy,”

“I am, too,”

“Y/N—“

“What?”

“I-I don’t want to lose you. . .”

The ache in Y/N’s chest grew tenfold. Her fingers momentarily paused over the keys of her laptop board. There was nothing to lose. Not when they’ve already thrown it away.

“I don’t want to either, H. But don’t you think breaking up is better than waiting for something that will never happen?”

“What won’t?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N pushed her chair back, staring at the view of the city from her office.

“Us. Our future. It won’t happen because you’re busy and I’m busy. There’s no right time for us to start, Harry.”

“Who says there has to be a right time, huh?”

“Says, everybody! How are we supposed to build our relationship further when there is no relationship to work on?”

The waves of emotion came crashing down. For months, Y/N had suppressed the feeling of loneliness inside of her. She missed Harry so badly that it hurt her to admit so she went with the temporary bliss of balling it up until it became too much.

“We just need time, Y/N. We don’t need to do it at the right time. Y’know that,” Harry whispered, wishing so badly that this conversation didn’t take place over the phone where he was currently locked in a bathroom stall.

He continued, “You were there, weren’t you? Barely saw you but y’were there. You know how I feel about you and I know you feel about me. We jus’ need time,”

Time.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N  would slow dance in the kitchen at god-knows-hour of the morning.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N blissfully spent their time in the cold, watching her throw the bundle of snow in the air as if it was in slow-motion.

Because time is when Harry would look at Y/N and swear that it has stopped because nothing else mattered except her.

“You know it, you know it,” Harry gulped, breath hitching over the phone. Was he crying?

“All too well,” Y/N responded underneath her breath. She knew that he was right—that all they needed was a chance to reconnect and rekindle the flame put out by distance.

She hated how familiar every memory was to her. She hated how easily she was brought back to the moment it all happened with just the breath of his whisper.

There was no denying the emotion she felt wearing his hoodie and red and black plaid pyjamas at three in the morning. The affection she received wearing those pieces of clothing from the man who owned them. Her sock feet glided against the cold floor. Everything came flashing back to Y/N and it hurt because there was no way she could grant his wish.

“You’re asking for too much, Harry. I-I can’t give you that. You can’t give me—us—that,”

“W-what are you saying, love?” He whimpered, clutching the device in his hand as a last resort to hold onto something that was drifting away.

He knew that she was right. Y/N couldn’t give him that and he certainly couldn’t either.

“We can’t be together. At least, not now. We’re not the same anymore. We want the same things but we’re headed on different paths,”

“But we’ll meet again, won’t we?” Harry’s hoarse voice exemplified that he was—indeed—been crying. And Y/N’s wet cheeks were proof that she was as well.

“Always,”

_____

[sequinsmile-x]

Riptide

A love story told from two perspectives. One after it is has ended, and the other just as it begins.

Chapter 2: The Middle 

Words: 5k

Rating: Mature. Major Character Death.

You can either read over on a03 or below the cut.

I would love to know what you think.

November 2025

Six weeks after Aaron dies it’s the anniversary of Haley’s death. The date had been burned in her brain long before they were together, the memory of hearing Haley begging Aaron to teach Jack about love was something she was sure she would never forget.

Emily’s still laying in bed when she realises what Aaron no longer being around meant. That he wouldn’t be there to leave flowers at her grave like he did every year with his son. Emily wasn’t even sure if Jack was in town or if he was back at college, his responses to her attempts to reach out short and sharp.

It’s the easiest she’s gotten out of bed in weeks. Determined to do this one thing for the man she loves and the woman he had loved before her. She dresses quickly and throws her hair up in a bun. She goes to a nearby florist and buys the most expensive flowers she can, feeling as if flowers from the grocery store just wouldn’t have been enough.

When she gets to Haley’s grave she falters, wondering for a moment if she has somehow overstepped. She swallows against the feeling and places the flowers down on Haley’s bare grave and she sits down, the damp grass pressing into her knees through her thin yoga pants.

“Hi Haley.” She says, looking at the flowers she had just put down. “I used to do this for him when he was in witsec. I didn’t even know back then that it was what he did when he was around, it just felt right.” She shakes her head at herself. “I think he’d want me to carry on now.”

She remembers what he’d told her once, that in another life, one where they had sorted themselves out sooner and Haley had lived, he thought the two of them would have been friends. Bonding over his annoying habits, how frustrating he was to live with at times. Emily liked to think that was true.

“I don’t really know what I’m hoping for.” Emily admits as she looks at Haley’s headstone. “That he’s with you wherever you are, or that he’s somewhere waiting for me.” She wipes at her cheek with the heel of her hand, getting rid of tears she didn’t think would ever stop. ______________________

He joins her on the balcony, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pulling her back into his embrace. Emily leans against his back and smiles as he presses a kiss to the side of her head.

“Aren’t you glad I convinced you to do this?” He murmurs against her skin. He tangles their left hands together, their wedding rings hitting each other with the motion.

She tilts her head to look at him, and is unable to stop herself from kissing him, placing a hand on his cheek to keep him in place. She pulls back so their noses touch. “I’ll admit a honeymoon wasn’t the worst idea in the world.”

He kisses her again, smiling too widely against her lips for it to be more than a brush against her. “Where are you taking me first, tour guide?” ______________________

When she first wakes up she can still feel his touch on her skin, and the ghost of his lips against hers. It feels so real she half expects to turn over and find him laying next to her.

Then reality starts to kick in, the harsh truth seeping in through the lightness that her dream had created. The heaviness of her loss taking its place back in her chest. Tears blur her vision as she checks the time on the alarm clock on her nightstand.

2.30am

Emily sighs as she gets out of bed, knowing she wouldn’t sleep again that night. She grabs a box out of the nightstand as she leaves their bedroom and walks downstairs.

She sits in the living room, curled up in a blanket Aaron had bought her because she always complained how cold she was, and she opens the box. She takes their wedding rings back out and holds them in her hand, hoping she can find some of him in a ring he never wore.

______________________

She buys a long chain and loops it through his wedding ring. When she places it around her neck she feels the tiniest bit of relief when the cold metal settles between her breasts.

She slips her own wedding ring onto her finger, settling it against her engagement ring. She stares at them together for a moment and decides to leave it on.

She had already felt married to him anyway.

______________________

Emily goes back to work after Christmas. She doesn’t tell the team about her return, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. The way the bullpen practically grinds to a halt when she steps out of the elevator tells her that she had failed.

She makes it to her office without being stopped, and as she steps into the room she realises her hopes of getting away from him for a few hours, from feeling anything other than sadness wasn’t going to work. It had once been his office too. As she sits down at her desk she remembers the first time they met, how rude he was to her. She used to tease him for it, poke fun at him for how much he hadn’t wanted her around those first few months.

Emily remembers when he first left, entrusting the BAU to her. It was the first time she had walked into his office, her office, when she felt the true pressure of what he had left her. The BAU was precious to him. She had walked over to his desk and picked up his nameplate, tracing her fingers over his name and job title.

She had put it in the top drawer of her desk. At first it felt wrong to get rid of it. Some part of her sure he’d be back eventually. But then they stopped Scratch. His death the end of the danger that Jack was in, and he still didn’t come back.

After that she kept it as a memory, a talisman of sorts of the man she had more complicated feelings for than she would ever have admitted. A piece of him that she had left.

It took on new meaning when they got together. When she knew how it felt to be loved by him, to be taken apart by him. How his skin felt pressed against hers. She’d look at the nameplate when she was at work and missed him, feeling ridiculous for feeling that way when it had only been a few hours since she had last seen him.

When they got engaged, she got an idea. An ongoing joke between them, that his love of the BAU was so great he was marrying into it, that she could turn into a keepsake for him. A small wedding present she knew would have made him laugh.

Emily pulls the drawer open and looks at it, picking it up and looks at its new engraving. She runs her thumb over the words and feels the now familiar tug of pain in her chest.

Aaron Hotchner Husband of the BAU Unit Chief

There’s a knock at her door and she puts it back, wanting to keep this one thing just for her.

“Come in.”

JJ opens the door, a smile on her face that seemed forced. “Em, we didn’t know you were coming back today.”

Emily clears her throat and tries to smile at her friend, “I couldn’t stay home forever.” She sees the case file in JJ’s hand.

“Em.”

“Do we have a case?” She asks, desperation in her tone. She just wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else.

JJ steps into the office and eyes her cautiously. “Yeah, a serial killer in Kansas.” She hands over the file and Emily reaches for it with her left hand. She doesn’t miss how JJ’s eyes land on her hand, the slight crease in her brow when she realises Emily is wearing two rings. She quickly retracts her hand, reaches for the file with her right instead.

She clears her throat and hopes JJ doesn't hear how her voice wavers. “You can brief me on the jet. Wheels up in 30.” ______________________

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Emily puts the spatula down, sighing as she turns to see him, eyes narrowing at the smug look on his face as he leans against their kitchen counter. “You could help you know.”

He closes the gap between them, places his hands on her hips and he kisses her. “Well then how will you ever learn to cook?”

“That’s what I have you for.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, places his hand under her shirt, his skin burning into hers. “Is that all I’m good for?”

She leans forward and kisses him, biting his lower lip slightly. “One of many things.” ______________________

She wakes up on the couch, unsure when she’d even fallen asleep. Emily closes her eyes in frustration, tears leaking out as soon as she opens them again. She can still feel his hand on her skin, the width of it scorched onto her back. “Damn it.” __________________

She dreams of the car crash they’d got into on their first anniversary. A car running straight into the back of them as he told her a terrible joke whilst they waited for traffic lights to change. He’d hit his head on the steering wheel and become unconscious as the car spun.

The fear she felt when he wouldn’t wake up still sat in her belly sometimes. The thought she’d lost him just as she’d got him overriding her every thought until he had woken up in the hospital several hours later, immediately concerned for her.

Emily still dreamt about it up until the day he died. Her nightmares telling her he had gone, that she was stuck in a car with his body and unable to move herself. Aaron would always soothe her awake, able to tell what had scared her just by the look on her face.

She has the dream again, but this time when she wakes she is alone.

______________________

“Don’t smile at me like that.” She whispers, running her thumb over his lower lip, marvelling in how warm it was.

His smile widens, his dimples coming out for her to trace her fingers over. “Why not?”

Her hand falls away from his face and she sighs, the sound catching in her throat. “Because this isn’t real.

______________________

When she wakes up she is angry. Tears already on her cheeks. And she misses the days when she could forget he was gone when she was dreaming. Moments when her subconscious would let her think he was still here, still beside her like he should be. ______________________

One night, around seven months in, Emily is desperate. Too many dreams about him lingering in her head, traces of him at every turn that she loves and hates in equal measure. Nothing smells like him anymore, and she realises in a harrowing moment she doesn’t even remember what he smelt like. She sprays their bed in his cologne and it’s not quite right. Whatever scent he had, something uniquely Aaron, missing.

A letter inviting her to the court date, to hear details about how he died yet again, tips her over the edge. She goes out, wanting to feel anything other than the all consuming grief that had become her normal.

A man across the bar she finds herself in keeps looking at her, throwing her looks in the dim lights. She drinks just enough to convince herself it's a good idea, that it would help.

If the fact she is wearing a wedding and engagement ring bothers him he doesn’t show it, doesn’t comment on it as she pulls him into the alley behind the bar.

The man kisses her. She moves her head, not wanting his lips pressed against hers. He presses his lips against her neck and she feels a stone drop in her stomach. His fingers trace her arm and they are too soft and she wrenches herself away from him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” She walks away, ignores how he shouts that she should just go home to her husband after her, and she hails a cab. She cries the entire way home.

For the first time, for only a moment, she hates Aaron. Hates him for loving her so much, so well, that she can’t forget how it felt even for a second. ______________________

“You’re sad.”

She closes her eyes as he settles behind her in bed, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Of course I’m sad.”

Aaron kisses the top of her head and she sighs, settling into his embrace. “You can’t be sad forever, love.”

She brings his hand up to her lips, presses them against him. Feeling his skin and the metal of his ring against her. “I don’t know how to be happy without you.” ______________________

August 2021

Emily is nervous the first time they have dinner with Jack after they get together, and Aaron finds it very endearing. She comes to his apartment and he can immediately tell she is on edge. Signs he hadn’t seen when Doyle came on the scene all those years ago. Little changes in her demeanour he had gone over in his head again and again when she was in Paris, a fake grave for her too close to where he lived that made his lungs fill with regret.

When she came back, nervous and on edge, he had purposely looked out for them. He’d seen her need to leave them before she even had, and he’d let her go, despite everything in him wanting to beg her to stay.

Aaron lets her into his apartment, explaining Jack was just on his way home from after school soccer practise, and she walks into his kitchen, helping herself to a glass of wine like she lived there. It takes all of his self control to not ask her to move in, knowing they’d only been together two months, as he watches her sit at the dining table. He sighs and sits next to her, taking a sip of the wine she passes to him, and he smiles as he realises she had poured it intending for them to share.

“Sweetheart.” He places a hand on her bouncing knee, soothing the joint with his thumb running back and forth over it. “Jack’s known you almost his entire life.” He says, not missing the way she rolls her eyes when he knows that is wrong with her without anything being said.

“I know.” She says, teeth immediately going for the cuticle on her thumb before he grabs her hand, subtly surveying the damage she had already done. “I know I’m being ridiculous. But…this is different.” She grabs his hand off her knee and links their fingers. “We’re together now. I love you. I’m not just a friend or someone you work with.”

He can sense the spiral, the self doubt seeping into her pores. “Emily.” He gently cups her face and makes her look at him. “Jack loves you. When I told him we were together, do you know what he said?” He smiles as she shakes her head at him. “He said ‘about time.’”

She laughs at that, a beautiful sound that makes his heart sing. “He didn’t.”

“He did.” He promises, kissing her firmly. “Well, he actually said ‘about fucking time’ but I told him off for cursing.”

Emily laughs again, her nerves finally seeming to uncurl and she kisses him this time, her love for him clear as she wraps her hand around the back of his neck.

Dinner goes well, and Emily becomes a pretty permanent feature in the Hotchner’s apartment after that. ______________________

The way they easily fall into their relationship surprises him. Aaron had always pictured their relationship, when he’d allowed a little bit of dangerous hope to seep in, to be fiery. Both of them too used to being alone, to being self reliant to give enough of themselves to make something work between them. But it’s not like that.

They communicate. They love each other openly. And every time she touches him, which she does almost constantly, he feels like something in him clicks into place for the first time in his life. A piece of the puzzle he didn’t realise had been missing. ______________________

Aaron wakes with his head on her chest, curled around her in a way that made it hard to determine where she ended and he began. Emily was running her hand through his hair, her short nails scratching against his scalp.

“Morning.” She says gently, her thumb skating over his temple.

Aaron doesn’t move from her chest, but tilts his head so he can look up at her. She smiles at him, adoration all over her face despite how tired she looked. “It’s unlike you to be up first.”

She hums. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He does lift his head at that, and he moves his hand from where it had been resting at her waist to cup her cheek. “Did you sleep at all?” He sighs when her answer is a shake of her head, sitting up and changing their positions so she’s resting against his chest. “You should have woken me up, baby.”

“You need your sleep too.” She grumbles, but he can feel the smile she presses into his bare chest as she protests.

“What kept you up?” He asks, his finger tracing the scar at the top of her left breast, as if he already knew the answer.

Emily rests her chin on his chest so she can look up at him, hand skirting over one of his scars. “It feels stupid, because its been so long now.” She smiles sadly. “But sometimes I feel like I’m still in that warehouse in Boston. Like part of me never left.”

“That isn’t stupid, Emily.” Aaron says firmly, catching her hand in his own. He wonders how many people had told her since Ian Doyle had torn through their lives that she needed to move on, to leave it behind her. “If anyone understands how it feels to be haunted by their past like that it’s me.”

Emily smiles at him and pushes down at his chest so she can reach up and kiss him before she lays back down. They don’t say anything else, and she certainly doesn’t get any sleep, but they spend hours just laying together that morning.

Aaron thinks, not for the first time, that they understand each other better than anyone else ever could.

______________________

He knew he’d been moody for a few days, the anniversary of Haley’s death looming over him. Aaron is shorter with her than usual, and he even ignores a couple of calls from her when she tries to check in when she’s away on a case.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, it was quite the opposite. She knew him well enough to pull his emotions out of him until he felt raw, and this was something he didn’t want to put on her. To make her comfort him as he grieved another woman. Emily takes to texting him instead, simply asking for a response to let her know he’s ok. He replies, just a one word text, and she leaves him alone after that.

It's very late in the evening the day before the anniversary when she lets herself into his apartment. The key he had given her only a few weeks into their relationship scraping in the door was his first sign that she was coming over. She has her go-bag slung over her shoulder, an indicator that she had only just landed and hadn’t even been home.

“Hi.” She says, a soft smile on her face that he isn’t sure he deserves.

He clears his throat, just seeing her making all the emotions he’d been suppressing climb up his chest, threatening to spill out. “Hey, Em. Look I’m-”

“I know what tomorrow is.” She interrupts, placing her bag down by the door. “You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Aaron sighs, and he rubs his hands over his eyes. Of course she remembered. She’d been on the line when Haley died, heard her final words at the same time he had. “Emily.”

She moves so she’s stood in front of him, somehow having taken her shoes off without him noticing so their true height difference is noticeable. He looks down at her and she's looking at him so kindly, her eyes full of so much love and understanding for him that he almost loses it there and then.

“Is Jack in bed?” She asks as she grabs Aaron’s hand, smiling as he nods in answer. “Let’s go to bed, love.”

She leads him to his bedroom and gets ready in silence. Getting pyjamas, that used to be his, out of the drawers that now have more of her clothes in than his, and changing quickly in front of him, encouraging him to do the same.

Emily gets into bed and sits with her back against the headboard, patiently waiting for him to join her. He does, he sits next to her and pulls the covers over them both, the chilly November air feeling sharper now he is in bed. She drags him down to her, makes him rest against her as she puts her arms around him, and that’s what makes the dam break.

Aaron rests his head on her shoulder and presses his face into her neck, trying to hide his tears from her even though he knows she’ll be able to feel them against her skin.

Emily holds him tighter to her, she cups the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair, and she kisses his forehead. “You’re ok, honey.” She whispers against his skin, her nose pressed against his temple. “You’re ok.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologises, looking up at her. The look of annoyance at his apology on her face almost makes him laugh despite the circumstances.

“You don’t have to apologise, Aaron. You loved her, you still do.” She says, pushing some hair off of his forehead. “Grief doesn’t just go away after a certain amount of time.”

She shifts them so they are laying down, and she curls around his back. Presses her body into him so he can feel all of her. She rubs her hand in gentle circles on his chest until he falls asleep.

When he wakes in the morning he’s curled around her, taking comfort from her kindness and her warmth. Her fingers gently skipping over his temple tells him she is already awake.

“Good morning.” She says quietly, as if she is worried she’ll disturb him.

“Morning.”

“What are you going to do today?” She asks gently, running her hand through his hair.

“What I usually do.” He says, grabbing one of her hands and linking their fingers together. “Take Jack to her grave and put flowers there. I try to think of a memory I have of her that I haven’t told him yet, give him something new about her.”

“That’s sweet.” She smiles at him, nothing but adoration for him on her face. “What did you do when you were gone?”

“There was a nice park near where we lived that she would have liked. We took flowers there. It was nice.” He reaches out and tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “Jessica told me that someone always put flowers on Haley’s grave whilst we were gone, but she never figured out who.”

“Oh.” She replies, suddenly looking unsure about something. She bites her lip before she looks at him. “That...that was me.”

He sits up suddenly, dislodging her from him. She sits up too, looking more unsure than ever, as if she was worried she had overstepped.

“Really?” He asks and she nods. “Why?”

Emily shrugs. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

He closes the gap between them and kisses her gently, before resting his head against hers. “I love you.”

She smiles at him. “I love you too.” ______________________

They are laughing together when it happens. Sat at a junction in his car on the way to their first anniversary dinner when the car behind them doesn’t stop. The car spins, and the sound of Emily’s scream echoes around his head.

All he remembers is a sharp pain in his head, Emily trying to talk to him, and then nothing. ______________________

He wakes up to the sound of her shouting at someone. His head hurt, more than he ever remembered it hurting.

“I’m not going anywhere until he wakes up.” She says her tone a challenge to whoever she is speaking to.

Aaron opens his eyes and the room comes into focus slowly. He’s in a hospital bed, and he suddenly remembers the car accident.

“Em?”

She turns to look at him, her face softening as she looks at him. She has a bandage on her forehead, and one on her wrist. There's a small cut on her cheek that has been cleaned.

“Oh thank God.” She says, walking over from where she was standing at the end of his bed to sit on the edge of it and she grasps his hand in hers. “How are you feeling?”

His eyes flick to the nurse who was still at the end of his bed, and eyebrow raised at the pair of them before she shakes her head and walks out the room. He refocuses on his girlfriend. “My head hurts.” He lifts a hand to run a thumb over the cut on her cheek. “Are you ok?”

She scoffs. “I’m fine, they’ve already discharged me.” Emily takes a deep breath and her chin trembles. “You took the worst of it.”

“I’m ok, sweetheart.”

“Aaron. You wouldn’t wake up.” She says, her fingernails digging into his hand as she holds it tighter. “I…I was so worried.”

“Em-”

“You can’t do that to me again.” She smiles at him but it’s shaky, a tremor to her bottom lip that she doesn’t try to hide from him. “I’m too old to start over.” She jokes, lifting their joint hands to her lips to press a kiss into his skin. “And I quite like having you around. So please, no more dramatics ok? I think we’ve both been through enough.”

Aaron considers trying to reason with her. To remind her it had been a car accident, one that was completely the fault of the other driver. He couldn’t have stopped it. But she looks so upset, so wrecked by whatever had transpired between their car being hit and him waking up in hospital, that he simply nods.

“Okay, love.” He can’t help but smile back when she smiles brilliantly at him. “I’ll do my best.” He kisses her, but the movement strains his chest making him groan. “We may have to take a raincheck on our anniversary plans.” ______________________

It’s another month before they can actually celebrate their anniversary. Jack is with Jessica for the night, having made a crass comment about giving Aaron and Emily space that made both of them blush and the teenager laugh.

He makes her dinner, her favourite pasta accompanied by a wine she likes. They share a glass despite not needing to, sitting pressed together on his couch. That's when he asks her to move in with him.

He’s ready for a fight over it. Arguments in his head are already planned where he tells her she spends most of the time at his place anyway, that he can’t remember the last time they spent apart when she wasn’t away on a case. That when she says the word ‘home’ it never means her own apartment anymore.

Emily agrees immediately, smiling widely at him as she climbs into his lap. Kissing him as she asks him what took so long to ask her.

They barely make it to the bedroom, him pressing her against the wall, not wanting to wait another second until he’s inside of her. Her laugh turns into a moan, and any quip she had about him being too old to fuck her that way dies on her lips as he does exactly that.

He carries her to the bed afterwards, holding her close to his chest, his hands running up and down her spine. He hopes she sleeps. The car crash they had been in had featured in most of her dreams recently, her waking up and thinking he was dead. It always took him time to calm her down, to remind him that he was right there.

“Aaron?” She murmurs, half asleep against him.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Let’s find somewhere new.” She turns her head to press a kiss into his chest. “I’ve always wanted a house. A small garden where I can fail at growing vegetables.”

He laughs against the top of her head before pressing a kiss there. “Whatever you want, Em. Let’s find somewhere to call home.”

She’s mostly asleep. The way her words fall unbidden from her but slurred together give her away. “You are my home.”

[milfgritty]

are you mine? | v. dunn

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ genre: angst ❀ ⇢ word count: 1.2k

“are you mine?” you had asked him once. the answer? he was, is, and probably will be for a long time. he just wished he had told you that when you asked him.

⇢ posted: 08.09.20 . | . masterlist

Memories flashed behind his eyelids like a movie, continuous, and never ending as he laid still in bed. They taunted him, made him yearn somehow even more for the past that had slipped through his fingers. The past with you.

“Are you mine?” you had whispered against his lips, breathing shakily. Nervous.

Over and over, your words on a loop. The heartbreak clear in your eyes that you tried to hide—that he hated himself for not noticing it at that moment, not until it was too late—when he laughed.

“Why would I be?”

It was instantaneous, the response leaving him before he could properly think. At the time, he didn’t think anything of it. You weren’t dating, you weren’t together.

You were…friends. You weren’t each other’s.

He watched you pull back, couldn’t stop the confusion that filled him when he saw the hurt that flashed lightning quick across your face. “Oh,” you mumbled softly, quietly, and yet it still managed to pierce him.

He was going to go crazy if he didn’t somehow manage to forget about you soon. Flopping onto his other side, the hotel room bed squeaked loudly under him. In his hand was his phone, open to the same picture that had been taunting him for days on end.

You—beautiful, happy—leaning into the side of some guy that he’s never seen you with before. He realized it didn’t mean much, given the months that had passed since you last saw each other. And sure, there were other people in the picture, but he just couldn’t focus on anything other than you. From the way your clothes clung to you, to the hair that always managed to fall into your face, and to your smile, so wide and bright and exactly like how you used to smile up at him.

He couldn’t help the way his heart clenched at the sight, no matter how many times he tortured himself with it. He knew he didn’t deserve to feel the pain or wish that he was the one you were so close to. He was the one that made it clear that he wasn’t yours all those months ago.

Why would I be?

But there were times, times that were happening far more often, like now, that made him ache for something else. Because he missed you. He missed them.

Except there wasn’t a them, never had been and never will be. He made sure of it, intentionally or not.

He reached out for you, trying to keep a grip on your waist that was proving futile as you moved farther and farther away. “Why would there be?” he tried, “You’re not mine, I’m not yours. That’s just how this is, isn’t it?”

A catch of breath, a single pained gasp, almost too quiet for him to make out. “You’re right.”

He could see the thinly veiled agony in the way you held yourself, the way you were retreating from him both physically and mentally. He just didn’t understand. Why? Why this, why now?

He understood now, and he hated that it took you leaving to get here. Hated that he had to lose you in order to realize just how much he was losing by keeping the two of you in some half-assed limbo, not together, but not apart. Yours, but not.

He knew wishes weren’t real, that no matter how hard he wanted to go back to that night and say something, anything, differently it wouldn’t matter. But it didn’t stop him from the overwhelming desire to have you be his, just his, for just one more night. To be here, with him. To let him make everything right again. If it was ever even right at all.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked, at a loss for words. Why was this happening, why were you pulling away?

The sad laughter that shook your body suffocated him, made him involuntarily gulp for air.

“So much, Vince,” your voice shook as you answered him. The smile adorning your lips—the ones that were on his what feels like an eternity ago but were in all actuality barely a handful of minutes—was nowhere near the one that he had, at some point, come to treasure. It was instead the smile you would give him when you thought he wasn’t looking, the one he saw when he would give you his jacket or bring you coffee. The one he saw when he would subconsciously kiss the side of your head.

He only recently realized that it was the smile you gave him when you knew your time together was ultimately limited, but still worth every second.

Presently, it was the same smile that he had when he would stumble upon pictures of the two of you together, happy, and so blissfully ignorant of what lay ahead. The only difference between them was the tinge of bitterness behind his, the knowledge that he had ultimately ruined everything for both of you.

He shook his head, bringing his hands up to press the palms into his eyes. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

He missed the way your eyes lingered on him, drinking in everything you could. He missed your half step toward him before you stopped yourself. He missed the hasty way you wiped away a falling tear, refusing to let this moment be any more painful.

“It means that this lasted far longer than it should’ve,” you told him, still smiling at him and fuck, why did this hurt?

“That doesn’t make any damn sense.” His hands moved upward to grab at his hair. He yanked at the strands, the physical pain providing a momentary distraction from the emotional pain.

You let loose a light breath of laughter, lifting your shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “It doesn’t have to. Whatever this was wasn’t going to last and deep down we both knew it.”

You were right, of course. But in the end, he took everything for granted. He didn’t know what he wanted, and he used you for what he needed without stopping to think why it was you, always you.

“What are you saying?” he asked, refusing to wrap his head around this. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

His eyes followed you as you made your way back to where he stood. He didn’t move as you stretched yourself up to press a kiss to his cheek. His eyes only closed when you made contact. He held the air inside his lungs as you lingered, unable to breathe.

“I’m saying this is for the best,” you smiled, eyes glistening as they peered up into his. “Take care of yourself, Vince, for me.”

Watching you leave that day, a part of him refused to admit that you were right. He was angry for weeks. At you, at himself, at everyone.

It took him a while, but he came to terms with it. It hurt like hell, but it was for the best. He wasn’t ready for anything serious, wasn’t ready for you.

Wasn’t good enough for you.

“Are you mine?”

And yet, every single day he wished he had said yes when you asked him if he was yours.

[crimsonbubble]

Pairing: Nerd!Hongjoong x Cheerleader!Reader

Genre: Smut (with a touch of angst [only at the beginning])

Warnings: bullying, mentions of self harm and vague mentions of death, degradation, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, slight exhibitionism, overstimulation, doggystyle

PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHILE READING!!

"Look at that, the nerd thinks he's tough. You say that you've never failed anything. But how come you're still breathing right now, huh? Did your attempt at leaving, fail?"

The words suck in, like a knife in warm butter. Tears slowly pricked his eyes, as his breathing sped up bit by bit.

He turns on his heel and walks away, trying to hold it together until he got to the bathroom. The sounds of their laughter blurs, like the tears do to his eyes.

He reaches out and pushes the door open. He rushes to the closest stall, and the tears fall. His cries are muffled as he leans against he stall door.

Within minutes, the bell rings and he hurriedly wipes his tears. He walks out of the stall and peers in the mirror, grimacing at his appearance.

His eyes are puffy and bloodshot and his nose is tinted pink and runny. He runs the water and scoops water into his hands. He splashes his face with the cold water a few times and he dabs his face with his hoodie sleeves.

He lets out a shaky breath and reluctantly grabs his bag and walks to class. The walk is short as his class is diagonal from the washrooms.

He hurried in and takes his seat. He runs his hands over his thighs, letting out a short breath.

Hongjoong's first class flies by the tick of the clock. He hastily put away his things into his bag, slung it over his shoulder and scurried out to his next class.

'Maybe if I can get there quick enough, they won't stop me today.'

Or so he thought. He yelps when someone grabs onto his hood, pulling him back. He lets out a choked breath and turns around.

"Huh, so you are the guy my boyfriend's been messing with."

You say as you flick his forehead, laughing at his pained expression.

"God, what do you want from me?"

He asked already tired of your actions. Abruptly, a harsh punch is then, sending Hongjoong to the ground. Everyone that was gathered around gasped in utter shock when your boyfriend launched a punch at him.

"What the fuck- Babe, we agreed no aggressive hits!"

You push at his chest. Said boy, grumbles and walks off, his little friend group following after him.

He looks at you, in fear of what may come next. You look down at him, and let out a sigh, covering your face with a hand.

"Listen, I'm sorry about that. I don't know why he hit you, even after we agreed about no aggression. I apologize on his behalf, but for now, just get to class okay?"

Your voice is slightly shaky and agitated. You give Hongjoong one last glance before dispersing the crowd and walking back to find your so called boyfriend.

Hongjoong gets up, and walks to his class, wondering why your voice sounded so breathy; scared almost. The thought of you stayed in the back on his mind, as he worked. His hands scribble notes on his paper as he looks at his phone, wishing that it was lunch already.

The lunch bell rings, as he's deep in thought, staring at his notebook. He jumps slightly and packs up his supplies, brushing the thought of the incident from earlier to the corner of his mind.

"Hey, Hongjoong wait."

Your voice stops him in his tracks. He turns around and his eyes give away that he's scared.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. But my boyfriend will, so come with me."

You take his hand and pull him towards the female change rooms. His eyes widen as he tries to get your grip to loosen.

"Just come with me ok? I cancelled practise, so no one is there. The other guys aren't allowed in here, because of the incident from last year."

His face burns as he recalls the memory. A member of the football team was caught having sex with a cheerleader from the rivaling school. So they implemented an ID unit. Only a person of that gender can get into the change room.

But students have found a way to chest the system. Just hold the door open, and let the other in. It's simple enough that no one, other than the students have figured it out.

Your grip loosens on his wrist as you catch your breath from the run.

"Look, Hongjoong. I'm so so sorry for every he's put you through. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Then why did you?"

He says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks at you with a saddened expression.

"He... forced me too. He forced me to bully, tease, make fun of everyone he does. I never wanted to."

Your expression mirrored Hongjoong's when you turn away from him before continuing.

"If you don't trust me, I get it. I just wanted to warn you before it got worse."

He looks at your shaking figure. His eyes trail over the faint bruises on your legs and arms. But he doesn't dwell on them too hard. You're a cheerleader after all, you're bound to get hurt one way or another, right?

"What can I do to change your mind?"

His voice is hushed as he takes a tentative step towards her. She turns around. She looks at him in confusion.

"To change your mind about me? What do I have to do, to get you to like me as a person?"

Her expression softens and she strides to hug him. She loops her arms around is neck, laying her head against his chest. He hesitantly, wraps his arms around your trembling figure.

"I already do like you as a person. You've never down anything to me, for me to hate you. In fact, I don't really love him."

The last statement that leaves your lips, sends a warning signal to his brain. He stutters out a response.

"You don't... love him? Then why are you still with him?"

She laughs sarcastically.

"Because everytime I try and talk to him, he either changes the subject or ignores me. Besides I already know he's cheating on my with one of the other cheer girls."

Your tone is sharp as you pull back and look into Hongjoong's eyes. His eyes look into yours, taking quick glances at your soft looking lips. His nerves make him freeze on the spot, but you notice his fluttering eyes and decide to make your move.

His lips mold with yours. He tastes sweet, like berries and honey. His hands grip your waist, thumb caressing the exposed skin.

"Hongjoong please, I need you to fuck me."

He freezes, then smirks, kissing down your neck. His lips cause goosebumps to rise against your skin. Your moans are light and airy as you tangle your hands in his hair.

His tongue traces over your collarbones, teeth playfully nipping at your skin.

"H-hongjoong- bench."

His eyes flicker to the left, hands gripping your thighs. He quickly strides over to the bench, laying your down. His eyes peer into yours, as his fingers grip onto your crop top. You feverishly nod and tug your skirt up, revealing your soaked panties.

"Fuck baby, so wet all for me."

His fingers trail over your slit, rubbing circles into your clit. Your moans are broken as your back arched off the bench. He hurriedly pulls your panties down you legs, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping cunt.

Hongjoong's mouth leaves kisses along your inner thighs, before his tongue delves into your hole. You cry out and shake, when Hongjoong's fingers work your clit.

He pulls away, and kisses up your body, a quick hand coming to unhook your bra. His free hand pinches and rolls one of your nipples, while his warm mouth suckled on the other. Your lips are red and swollen from how hard your biting them. Your whines are sweet as Hongjoong kisses you, drinking in your sounds.

"Such a dirty whore for me, huh? Look at how wet you are, precious."

His words of filth, send shockwaves throughout your body. He chuckles when your cunt clenches around nothing.

"Are you that needy from me, baby? Clenching around nothing."

A beautiful shade of red, settles on your cheeks. Crying out with Hongjoong's fingers push into your slutty hole.

His fingers drag deliciously against your walls, sending you into a moaning frenzy. But you're too caught up in the feeling of his fingers, to realize when he tugged his jeans down, revealing his hard length.

"Think you can handle my cock?"

You're eyes flutter open and widen in shock at you gawk at his size. You moan out subconsciously, clenching down onto his fingers, while staring at his leaking tip.

"Fuck, please Hongjoong. Want your cock, please fuck me."

Your needy cries send a shiver down Hongjoong's spine. He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, holding eye contact with you.

Your cheeks feel incredibly hot as you see the way his tongue traces over his fingers.

In a flash, he has you on your stomach, ass in the air.

"Look at you precious. I've barely done anything and you're already a mess for me. Such a needy little whore."

You whine and wiggle your hips, enticing him to push my cock into you.

His hands grip your hips, pushing his cock into you. He bottoms out in a single thrust, barely giving you any time to adjust to his length.

"What would your little boyfriend say about this, baby? What would he think about girlfriend being a little whore for the nerd he's supposed to be bullying?"

"F-fuck, Hongjoong there!"

Your cries are loud as Hongjoong's hips slam into yours. Your hands claw at the bench as you push back against his cock.

"Such a little whore. So good for me."

Hongjoong's hand finds its way into your hair, pulling you up against his chest. His hips ram into yours in a brutal pace.

His leaking tip brushes against your g-spot with each angled thrust. You're finding it increasingly harder to keep your sounds at bay.

His cock is hitting places that you never knew existed. Your own drool spills past your lips and down your chin.

"Aww, am I fucking you so good that I have you drooling? God baby, you're such a pretty mess."

His pace quickens and you feel your own orgasm bubble up. Hongjoong slips a hand down your body and has his fingers circle your clit. Your body writhes and shakes against him, too sore and tried to warn him. Your sopping cunt, clenches down onto him. His breathing is laboured as he fucks into you, helping you ride about your high while chasing his. His fingers, continue their ministrations as you shake and whine against him. Your back arches, pushing your chest into the humid air of the change room.

"Come on darling, I know you can give me another one. Let it out. Come on my cock again."

Hongjoong's voice is raspy as he fucks into you Impossibly quick. His other hand gropes your breast, pinching your nipple. Your hips grind back against Hongjoong's. Your moans freely falling from your parted lips.

Your body would've curled in on itself, if Hongjoong wasn't gripping it. Your pussy clenches onto his cock, your orgasm hitting you like a truck.

You scream in pleasure, gripping Hongjoong's wrist to ground yourself. His hips stutter and his groans get more frequent.

"Fuck, if you keep clenching like that, I'm gonna cum."

With your teasing brat nature, you clench down onto him again, moaning when he fills you with his cum.

His hips slow down before coming a complete stop. His breathing is harsh against your ear, moaning lightly when he pulls out.

Both of you lay there panting and basking in your release. You were the first one to speak up.

"Don't worry about getting back to class, just stay here with me and rest for a bit."

"But what about-"

"Don't worry, the doors are locked, no one can get in. And besides, this allows us to really talk."

Hongjoong looks at you in surprise before smiling sweetly.

"How about this? We'll stay here, until after the final bell. Then I'll take you to my favorite café and we can talk over a drink and a pastry? But I have to have a quick chat with someone before we can go. Is that alright?"

"Sounds good, I'll be waiting."

[lennonknowsmysins]

safety.

beatle: john

summary: you and john have been in a relationship since you started working for the band a few months ago. six months ago, you were raped by your former boss. on one fateful night, you have to tell john the truth. 

tw: THIS FIC CONTAINS DISCUSSION OF RAPE, panic attack-ish

an: this fic is more intense than any of the others that i’ve written but it’s important to me for personal reasons that i won’t go into. writing this has been comforting to me and i hope that reading it will be so for you all. 

It was the feeling of his hands. 

Running down your back, gripping your hips, forcing your legs apart. Leaving bruises in his wake. Pushing your shoulders onto the bed as he climbed on top of you and pinned your wrists down. He was touching you, hurting you- 

"Stop! Please, no!"

His hands were gone. The weight on top of you was gone. 

With a whimper, you scampered off the bed, searching for a way out of the room. The soft flutter of a curtain caught the corner of your eye, alerting you of the balcony. You made a beeline for it, racing out the door only to stop in your tracks when you were met with the metal railing. You were enclosed, trapped, no way out. Frantically, you skittered around the balcony, desperate for a way out.

Then his voice came. 

Not the voice that had tormented you for the past six months but the ones that had been a source of comfort for the past four. You'd heard it first on the radio, then when he'd hired you and now as he coaxed you off the balcony. 

"(yn)" He called, his voice gentle. 

You looked up from your cornered position. 

John. You were in Paris with John Lennon. You trusted him, he wouldn't hurt you. 

Shakily, you got to your feet, unsure of when you had sat down. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Your memory steadily came back. John had invited you to come to Paris with him. He was here for a television interview tomorrow. There had been a social event thrown by the network hosting the interview and you and John had attended. It was the first time since the attack that you had allowed yourself to drink alcohol. Only one glass of champagne and only under the protect of John's arm lazily draped across your shoulders. Then the both of you had retreated back to your hotel room.

You had thought that you'd be fine with having sex again. For God's sake, you were in Paris with John fucking Lennon, you should be fine with having sex. But as soon as you felt his hand on your bare skin, moving up to unclasp your bra, you had been thrown back into your terror. 

Now John was stepping towards you slowly, trying to inch you away from the ledge. He stretched his arms out, unsure of what to do, just desperate for you to step away from the railing. Hesitantly, you took a step towards him. 

"That's it, birdie. It's okay, let's just go inside. It's cold out here, you must be freezing."

It was cold. You were shivering in just your bra and underwear. John's arms were warm and safe. You rushed into his hold, melting into him as he pulled you to his chest.

"John," You sobbed, letting him cradle you. You were vaguely aware of your knees buckling from under you but John was quick to catch you, carrying you back inside. He placed you on the bed as though he thought you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. 

He murmured every comfort he could think of as he rummaged for his tee shirt, pulling it over you. Fingers, calloused from years of mastering the guitar, began to card through your hair. The feeling was nice, it almost made you sleepy. However, you forced your eyes to stay open, to stay trained John so that you knew that it was John touching you. His warm, brown eyes were filled with worry as he took you in, shaking like a leaf beneath him, your eyes filled with tears. 

"'m sorry." You croaked, scratching at your knees. 

John shook his head, thumb stroking your cheek, "'s alright, love, you don't need to apologize to me."

"No, no, I do. I thought I could do this but...but..." You trailed off, your words catching in your throat. 

It was silent for a moment. Then John spoke, his voice steady but uneven. 

"(yn), did something happen?"

Six months. It had been six months of pain, of trying to forget what happened. Six months and no one had asked you that. 

You were tempted to say no. You didn't want to burden John with this. He was the most popular rock star in the world, he had his music, reputation, band to worry about. This was your beast to take on. But you'd been holding it in for so long, hoping to just forget about it. It had been so lonely, keeping it secret - keeping your hurt secret. And now John was asking you about it. From the meltdown you had just had, maybe you owed him an explanation. So you nodded. 

"I was raped."

It was barely a whisper but John had understood. His stomach did a massive flip as his heart took a dive. Subconsciously, he could have seen it coming, not even just from your freak out. There had been smaller signs; sometimes you would flinch when someone touched you, rest a hand on your back or you'd stiffen when being hugged. Whenever unfamiliar male guests showed up at the studio, you were plastered to his side or nowhere in sight. You didn't like to be physically close to men, even the other lads. It had taken John a solid month to be able to hold your hand. You never wanted to stay out late, preferring to just make dinner yourself. The way you'd gripped onto him at George's birthday party when Paul had gotten completely wasted and mistaken you for Jane. To John, it had been funny but when he thought about it, you had been terrified. Close to tears even. 

At first, he'd just assumed that you were a little shy and overwhelmed. You were just adjusting to living in London, working for the Beatles. It was an intense world to be in, especially when you were working closely with four boys who had no sense of boundaries. 

Now he wondered how he could have been so blind. 

How could he have just dismissed those signs, your little ticks and tremors? John Lennon wasn't normally one to admit when he was wrong but right now, sitting in front of you, watching as you made yourself as small as possible, he had no excuse for his ignorance. 

When John stayed silent, you continued with a deep breath, 

"I-It was six months ago. Just before I started working for you guys. I was interning for him, waiting for him to offer me a real job. He invited me to the opening of his friend's restaurant and I thought that maybe he was planning on finally officially hiring me, so, like an idiot, I went. Got all dressed up and everything." You let out a humor less snort, shaking your head as you looked down at your hands, playing with the hem of your shirt, 

"There was bottomless champagne. Made me feel fancy and I drank a lot. I think he made sure of that. Then when I was too drunk to make my way home by myself, he took me back to his apartment and... he raped me."

You shivered thinking back on that night, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. Despite the fact that John's shirt practically went down to your knees, you felt as though you were naked and on display in front of John. You couldn't look at him, you couldn't meet those sad brown eyes. They'd be full of pity, horror, disgust, questioning why you hadn't told him. You were asking yourself that. It was out of you now, no longer sitting at the bottom of your belly and filling you with constant dread. 

"Who was it. Who did this to you."

John wasn't giving you a question, he was giving you an order.

"Donny Groves. I haven't seen him since I ran out of his apartment."

He tried to make his fist clenching conspicuous, not wanting to frighten you anymore. He'd heard that name, Groves was growing more prominent as a producer. On top of being a rapist, of course.

"(yn), I'm so sorry." He murmured, not sure of what else to say. 

You shrugged your shoulders, sniffling, "It's not your fault. You've helped a lot, actually. You make me feel safe."

"You are safe. You're safe with me. He'll never- no one, will ever hurt you again." His voice broke, tears threatening to well up in his eyes. His touch was light as a feather as he placed his hands on your shoulders, "And if that bastard so much as looks in your direction again, I'll beat him, I swear I'll-"

You cut him off with a kiss.

"Thank you for listening to me. I'm sorry for ruining your night." You said softly, placing your hands on his face. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, leaning his forehead against your's, his rage dissipating.

"You didn't ruin anything, love, it's alright."

“Except that I did,” You groaned, leaning back against the headboard and dropping your head in your hands, “I knew that you’d want to have sex tonight and I thought I could do this - I wanted to do this, I’ve been working up towards it - but I-I-I don’t know, I ruined it.”

John blinked, watching you retreat back into yourself for a moment. He crawled over to you and settled beside you on the bed, close enough for your shoulders to touch. He reached over and took your hand in his, looping his fingers around your’s. 

“There’s more to relationships - to our relationship - than sex. It’s okay if you aren’t comfortable with having sex yet, we don’t have to do that yet.” He reassured you gently, “I feel better being able to help you than making you feel uncomfortable. Alright?”

You locked eyes with him, allowing the feeling of warmth to wash over you when his soft brown eyes met your’s. His expression was meaningful and you could tell that he wasn’t giving you moot. 

“Alright. It honestly just feels a little better finally telling someone.” You whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder and closing your eyes. John hummed, sending a buzz through your body. 

“Anytime you need to talk about anything. I know I’m a bit of a dud but I’m all ears. And I’ll say it again, no one is going to lay a finger on you so long as I can help it.”

For the first time since you were attacked, you were able to relax. John was safe, he was your safety and your comfort. You could trust him not to hurt you or let anyone else hurt you, even when the two of you were constantly in the spotlight. 

“I love you, John.”

It was going to be a long and difficult road to recovering from what happened, if you ever did actually recover. You had been badly hurt and scarred. But so long as you had John by your side, then you would be okay. 

“I love you too, (yn). More than anything.”

It will be okay. 

[dudeandduchess]

Demon!Kyōjurō [x F!S/O] Saying Goodbye to His Daughter: Change (Angst, SFW Scenario)

Summary: Basically, Kyō got turned into a demon during the Infinite Train Mission and had been MIA for a few months. Part 2 of “Going Away”. Read Part 1 here.

***

Warnings: Angst, Sad Kyō, Implications of Character Death

For the longest time, ever since he had gained consciousness, Kyōjurō had felt a vast emptiness inside him that he couldn’t fill; nor could he bury so deep inside into his conscious to forget about it. No matter how hard he tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that kept urging him to look for whatever he was missing, he had no idea where to even start searching.

And so, that was how he found himself wandering aimlessly; going with the feeling in his gut, and leaving everything to chance— after all, he had an eternity to look for whatever it was.

He only fed when absolutely necessary, as he still couldn’t get over the guilt he felt at preying on such innocent people. They hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve the fate he had bestowed upon them, but it was necessary to retain his strength.

Because the more that he dwelled on that heavy feeling that weighed him down, the more that it sapped his strength away from him. It also didn’t help at all that all that he had to guide him were two measly coins, that he had found tightly clasped in his right hand when he woke up.

Those coins were the only things that tied him to whoever he was before he woke up in that shabby, run-down hut. And he would be damned if he kept on turning a blind eye to the fact that the person he was at that moment... really wasn’t who he was meant to be.

With those thoughts firmly embedded in his mind, Kyōjurō hitched his black haori higher up on his shoulders, then brushed off the dark red and black yukata that he had woken up in, and resumed his trek to where... he didn’t know.

At that point, he was solely relying on his feet to get him where he needed to be.

But the more that he walked, the more familiar some sights seemed to him; as if he had been there before— numerous times, in fact.

And the closer that he got to a small village called Komazawa, the heavier that his heart became. With every building that passed, the more that he couldn’t deny how familiar all of it felt to him.

Even in the darkness of the night, he could still see everything clearly; he automatically knew whose houses were whose, as well as the history of those houses, but what struck him the most were of his foggy memories.

Blurry visions of him walking the very same roads, with his hand clasping a much smaller and daintier hand than his. He could also remember the feeling of happiness that coursed through him in those moments; the sheer joy that enveloped him during those times were incomparable to anything else he’d ever felt.

It was almost tantamount to the sadness and longing that hit him— especially when he smelled such a faintly familiar scent.

Sunshine and sunflowers.

The overwhelming smell hit him square in the chest and, before he knew it, his feet had already brought him towards a house that he knew lived in his memories.

And, without really thinking about it, he had already walked through the open gates— like it was the most natural thing in the world; as if he actually belonged there.

His eyes took in the impeccable state that the house was in; the sunflowers that lined the wall to his right, and the hydrangea bushes that framed the walkway on his left. In the back of his mind, he saw himself hard at work with those plants— wiping the sweat off his brow, before looking up and seeing a face that made his chest tighten, and his heart leap in joy.

And when she smiled right at him, it felt like a punch to the gut— as it had knocked the breath out of him, what with how even more beautiful it made her.

He frowned in confusion, because the memory was much more vivid than all of the other ones that had played before it. What threw him even further through a loop was the fact that it had come unbidden. He had made no effort to get the memory from the recesses of his mind; it had just showed itself.

As if merely being in that strange yet familiar house had unlocked a huge part of his subconscious.

Kyōjurō had been so deep in his own memories, trying to make sense of the things that his mind was showing him, when the quiet sound of small, sandal-clad feet hitting the stone walkway sounded behind him.

“Tou-chan?” The little girl whispered— completely in disbelief— as she rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists; as if doing so would help reassure her that the man in front of her really was the real deal, and not a figment of her imagination.

And without any hesitations, Ran had launched herself at her father— the very same person whom she had always, secretly been waiting for.

After all, it was the reason why she always volunteered to be the one to close the gates at night; so she could check if he had just been late at coming home— even though everyone told her that he never would.

She, out of everyone in their home, still believed that her father was going to make good on his promise to return home.

And he did. Just not in the same state that he had left in; but that wasn’t important to her.

“You said five sleeps!” The little girl practically screeched, as she hugged her father’s waist— making an effort to keep charging at him to knock him down to the ground; like she used to do to him when she was mad. “It wasn’t five sleeps!”

However, Kyōjurō didn’t budge from where he was; not even pretending to be fazed as he tried to make sense of all the things that were coming at him in his subconscious. It was making his head hurt, but the more that he looked at the fiery-haired girl clinging to him, the more that he remembered.

And the more that he realized that the thing he had been missing hadn’t been a thing at all; it had been his family all along.

With a shaky, clawed hand, he carefully cupped the back of his daughter’s head— right before kneeling down in front of her to hold her in his arms.

He held her so tightly to make up for all the moments he had missed; the nights when he was supposed to tuck her into bed, the mornings where he was supposed to send her to school, and those odd days when he had planned on taking her to her ballroom lessons— if only to learn more about what his daughter liked.

Before long, he found himself crying silently, pressing chaste kisses to the side of Ran’s head as often as he could; because with every kiss, the pain he felt in his chest lessened by the tiniest amount.

And, even though it was supposed to be the other way around, Ran kept on patting Kyōjurō’s back as best as she could with her small hands.

“I’m so sorry, Ran. I’m so sorry,” He whispered over and over, while the young girl held him tighter— like how he would comfort her when she cried to him about something.

“It’s okay, tou-chan. You were only late by a lot of sleeps,” Ran answered as chirpily as she could, before pulling away from her father and moving to squeeze his face between her pudgy hands. “You made kaa-chan cry a lot, so you should say sorry to her.”

In the most ungraceful manner ever, Ran wiped her father’s tears away; blatantly running her hands over the tear tracks that marred his cheeks, and erasing the physical evidence of his sadness. The action made Kyōjurō smile slightly, as he was happy that his little girl was growing up to be such a soft and caring person.

“You even have a tattoo now. Kaa-chan’s gonna get mad,” The little girl said, by way of acknowledging the dark crimson flame marks that framed the left side of his face.

Despite her warning though, Ran still had a warm smile on her face; one that had Kyōjurō’s chest tightening painfully, as he lifted a hand up and touched his daughter’s cheek— being very careful not to cut her with his claws.

The very same claws that he used to hurt others.

He’d never felt so filthy in his life; but, just as he was about to pull his hand away, Ran gripped his hand tightly in both of hers— all while staring wide-eyed at his orange-tipped claws.

“Tou-chan,” She breathed out, eyes never flickering away from his extremely sharp claws. “I want to paint your nails. Kaa-chan just got me blue polish ten sleeps ago, and it’s so pretty. Your nails will look so pretty. Please, tou-chan?”

How she had the lung capacity to say all of that in one breath, he would never know— but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he was proud that his daughter got his lung capacity.

A lopsided smile made its way onto Kyōjurō’s lips, as he cupped his daughter’s right cheek— savoring the feel of her warm skin, because he knew... it was the last time that he was ever going to see her.

With the return of his memories also came the realization that he had become what he had sworn his life to eradicate. He had turned into the very monsters that he promised to protect the weak from; and that weighed heavily on his conscience.

As much as he wanted to pick up where his life had left off with his family— he knew that that wasn’t possible; not with how much pain and suffering he had already caused others. Not to mention the fact that he had broken his oath by merely lifting a hand to a human.

There was only one way to atone for his sins, and living happily with his family wasn’t it.

Of course he longed to hold all of his children, and even kiss his wife— to have her be the first thing he saw in the morning, and the last thing he saw at night once more, but that was nothing more than a pipe dream at that point.

It hurt him so much to subject Ran to losing him twice, but what was done had already been done— he couldn’t change the past anymore. He just hoped that, when she got older, she would find it in herself to forgive him for hurting her so much.

With those hopes floating around in his mind, he pulled his right hand away from her and reached into his pocket to pull out the coins that he had held on to as he took the last of his mortal breath; the very coins that she had given him so he could buy a bento all those months ago.

Gently, he took one of her hands and laid the worn out change in her tiny palm. “I brought you back your change.”

He could feel tears starting to pool in his eyes once more, but he held them back for his daughter’s sake. For her, he needed to be strong; even if he felt like his heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces in his chest.

“Save it for a rainy day, okay? And if you buy anything with it, remember to share it with your brothers, and your Kaa-chan too.” Kyōjurō barely held in the urge to start sobbing, because the confused expression on his little girl’s face was enough to make him feel like his already-broken heart was getting pulled out of his chest— what with how painful it felt at that moment.

“Always remember to eat well, and to never skip any meals,” He took a shaky intake of breath at that, and held it in as he desperately pushed back the urge to start sobbing profusely. “If you have any problems, you can always tell your Kaa-chan about it. You’re a big girl now, so you can do big girl things; especially at school. Always remember that tou-chan believes in you, okay? Even if everyone says otherwise, I know that you will always grow up to be the perfect little lady; because you’re my baby girl.”

Silence blanketed over the father-daughter duo as, slowly, Kyōjurō got up to his feet and gingerly led his daughter over towards the sunflowers that stood proudly right by the gates.

With well-practiced motions— as if her were merely picking them to surprise his wife before she woke up— he picked three of the biggest sunflowers among the selection. And, wordlessly, he untied the tie that held his hair back, and used that to twine all three stems together in a makeshift bouquet.

“Your Kaa-chan’s favorite flowers are sunflowers, okay? During her birthday, or whenever you want to make her smile, always give her sunflowers— and always, always remind her that she, and all of you, will always be the best things that have ever happened to me.”

[thisbrokenmask]

Moving On

Title: Moving On

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Established relationship, fluff

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1.7k

Song inspiration: Moving On

A/N: Another one of my submissions for ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event, and this one is especially poignant for me as I got the keys to my new apartment today! It’s also my first time living entirely on my own - no fellow students, no partner - so I’m very excited to be taking on this next adventure! 

Also, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit soft for Yoongi :) 

“Is this the last one?” You turn to see Taehyung pointing to the box at his feet and nod in confirmation, watching as he immediately bends down to lift it. He doesn’t mention your lack of sarcastic comment that the last box sat in the middle of the room is clearly the last one, and you try not to frown at how effortlessly he lifts it and turns to take it out of your apartment. You remember how you’d had to slide it across the floor once you’d filled it not even a week ago, but you aren’t about to question your significantly stronger friends when they’re helping you and your boyfriend move. 

Once Taehyung’s footsteps disappear down the hallway towards the elevator of your soon-to-be ex-apartment building, you turn to look around the now-empty room that was formerly your lounge. The TV is no longer on the wall, the wide expanse of blue somehow looking smaller without a flatscreen in the middle of it, and all of your photo frames are securely packed away, their hooks removed from the walls and the holes filled in and painted over. 

Your footsteps echo on the bare wooden floors as you turn to wander towards the kitchen, the rugs you’d used to cushion the floor already rolled up and waiting inside the truck outside. The ghosts of tummy-aching laughter and birthday songs ring in your ears as you try to remember all of the celebrations and movie nights that have happened here over the years. You subconsciously step to the side to avoid the end table that’s no longer there, a short chuckle passing your lips as you realise how deeply this action has seeped into your muscle memory. It’s understandable, given how you’ve lived here for just over three years, but you still can’t help but laugh at yourself. 

The white kitchen cupboards gleam in the sunlight that seeps in through the window above the sink, all of them meticulously wiped clean and emptied. A soft smile graces your face as you remember all the dinners you both cooked here, the glasses of wine you giggled over, even the few times you made love on the floor when the bedroom was just too far away from the front door after a date night. 

“Ready to go?” A pair of arms wraps around your waist and a chin settles on your shoulder as Yoongi whispers in your ear, his deep voice the most sinful ASMR you’ve ever heard. The warmth of his chest against your back helps to soothe the nerves that have been creeping up your spine for the last few days. While you’re glad to be out of the small, cramped apartment that you could barely afford by scraping your earnings together three years ago, you’ve never been good with saying goodbyes, even to places. 

You remember the first night you spent here, the two of you sat on the floor with a few take out containers between you. Boxes sat on the counters above you and took up the floor in the next room, and a mattress was waiting on the floor in the bedroom for when you eventually collapsed into bed together, frameless until later on in the week. Your belongings were threadbare at best, a lot of secondhand pieces making up the most of your possessions, but it was finally your own space. The two of you, together.  

“I think so,” your whispered reply is shaky as you place your hands over his where they rest on your stomach, his hum of amusement rumbling against your shoulders. 

“Don’t tell me now you want to stay?” he teases, turning his hands over to lace his fingers with yours. 

“Definitely not,” you laugh, squeezing his hands in return. “I’m glad to be leaving, really. We’ve outgrown this place and I’m ready to move on.” You nod to yourself, feeling your confidence rise with each word, knowing that you mean them all wholeheartedly. You’ve definitely outgrown this apartment, both of you now making much more money than you’d ever dreamed of three years ago thanks to Yoongi’s growing success in freelance music producing and your own writing career taking off just over a year ago. 

But it’s not just the money. The two of you have gone from strength to strength as a couple, weathering the storms of being broke, missing out on dream jobs, stress-fuelled arguments and late nights spent deciding whether to pay the bills on time or eat more than packet ramen for the foreseeable future. You’re ready to keep moving forward through life with him, already knowing that you’ll stay by his side for as long as he’ll have you. 

The man who lives full time in your heart starts to sway slightly, his hold on you guiding your hips to follow his from side to side. “Yeah?” His nose nuzzles into the spot just below your ear, your breath catching in your throat as he places a gentle kiss to your pulse point. You nod weakly, your confidence slipping at his question. “Then why do you look like you’re going to cry?” 

With a deep breath, you close your eyes and pull your hands from his. You feel him tense slightly, but he relaxes as soon as you guide his hands to the slope of your body between the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. You finally turn in his arms, looping your arms around his neck, unable to blink back the tears in your eyes despite the smile on your lips. His eyes are watching you carefully, dark and deep and attentive as always, even when the black hair of his fringe threatens to overlap them. It hides his eyebrows, but you know one is cocked slightly to match the lopsided smirk he’s giving you. 

“Because, this is where we grew up, Yoongi,” you tell him, watching as his expression relaxes from a teasing smirk to match your soft-eyed smile. “We went through so much here; the good, the bad, the ugly… the fun.” You pull gently on the hair at the nape of his neck at the memories of the kitchen floor you’d just been reminiscing on and grin, a deep sigh sounding when he closes his eyes and bites his lip before staring straight back at you, pupils dilated. “We’ve got so many memories here,” you continue, looking around at the empty walls and pretending to ignore the way he grips you tighter. “I know it’s not the best apartment, but it was us. This was our home, and I’m going to miss it.” 

Yoongi’s stare softens once more and he internally curses how he knows he’ll never win against you; you hold his heart in your hands and he worships how gently you hold it, never squeezing too hard or letting him feel like you might drop it. 

“I won’t miss it,” he says quietly, catching you off guard as he leans in a little closer.

“No?” He shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my home,” he states, as if it were a fact universally acknowledged. “As long as I’m with you, I’m more than happy.” 

“You’re my home, too,” your watery smile threatens to push your tears down your cheeks, but you manage to catch yourself before they do. You smile instead, adoration clear in your eyes as you look up at him. 

Yoongi’s heart beats wildly at the conflicting emotions coursing through his body, wanting to make sweet, reverential love to you, fuck you against the wall until you know nothing but his name, and simply hold you tightly against his chest, all in equal measure. You bewitch, ensnare and captivate his senses all at once, always have done, and he constantly struggles with how he can possibly express how much he loves you. He wants to worship every inch of you and yet feels too inadequate to even gaze upon your body. He wants to wait on you hand and foot and give you anything you want, but also wants to see you thrive in your own spotlight, carving your own path as you go. He’s torn between fierce attraction and heady admiration at every turn, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

As his friends have repeatedly said, he’s whipped. 

And guess what? He’s proud of it. 

You’re the woman who has stood by him despite everything, despite all the hardships you easily could have upped and walked away from. You’re the one who comforted him when his own parents refused to recognise his dreams, letting him vent and cry rather than telling him they weren’t worth the pain they caused him. You’re the person who admonished him for wanting to give up on his dreams of music, even when it was barely bringing enough money to the table despite keeping him up all night. You were the first person he wanted to tell when he finally sold a track for a decent amount of money, running home to show you the cheque in person because he could barely believe it himself. 

And here you still are, in his arms, gazing up at him like he’s worth more to you than the whole world, a position he still doesn’t feel like he’s even close to earning. You entered this flat together and you’re leaving together, off to take on new adventures together on stronger legs. Your new apartment is bigger, with enough room for Yoongi to have some proper equipment in a proper studio space while you have your very own writing desk in your new office. You’ve been able to upgrade your bed from a rickety-framed double to a memory foam-topped queen. There’s even more space on the kitchen floor. 

You smile as he lets his forehead rest against yours, both of you closing your eyes as you breathe into the same private space between you. As you feel his hands move around to rest at the base of your back, you feel a new surge of confidence fuelled purely by the love you feel radiating off of your partner. As long as you’re with him, you feel invincible.

“Let’s go,” you say, not moving an inch. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, pulling you closer so that your chests are pressed firmly together. 

A final deep breath, you pull apart. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

If you would like to read any more of my writings, please feel free to check out my masterlist here. 

[amythedvdhoarder]

Protection - Part 10

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Steve x Reader (platonic)

Story Summary: Bucky cannot bear that Y/N was hurt because of him. He has to find a way to keep her safe. Forever

Chapter Summary: Bucky returns and you decide to keep your pregnancy a secret from him. Will you ever be able to forgive and let him back into your life?

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of pregnancy and labour plus whole lot of angst.

Word count: 3.8K

Author’s note: Gif not mine. Sorry it has taken me ages to update this, I have been busy writing Bucky one-shots for the flex your writing muscles challenge. I can’t quite decide whether to write a full other chapter and an epilogue or just an epilogue. Please let me know of you have any thoughts. Feedback always welcome, it is lovely to see who has been reading this story. Enjoy x

series masterlist

masterlist

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Bucky’s POV

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he got a good night’s sleep. That was a lie. He could. But the memory of you curled up against him made his heart hurt. Echoes of your screams played on a loop in his head. The betrayal in your voice as you had begged him not to leave made him physically ache. All he wanted to do was find his way back to you. But would you even take him back after all the lies he had told you to try and protect you? His eyelids felt heavy, sleep threatening but he had to try and focus. He was close now.

It had been 6 months. 6 months away from you. 6 months of hunting down Zemo, the head of the Sokovian death squad. The man who had nearly killed his best friend and the man who had threatened to tear his adopted family apart. Bucky had been taking out members of Zemo’s death squad as he tracked them across the world. He had been careful about it though. It was a fine line; he wanted Zemo to know he was on borrowed time but didn’t want to draw the team’s attention. Now all that remained was Zemo and the last of his cult.

Bucky watched as the light turned off in the tower block across the street from his hiding place. Zemo and his goon were in there and there was no way they were leaving in one piece. This was one the few times that Bucky could remember being grateful for his skill set. Zemo was going to pay, unfortunately the price was his life. He waited in the darkness, took a deep breath then headed towards the tower block, gun tucked in the back of his trousers and cap pulled low over his face.

Readers POV

Subconsciously your hand fell to your stomach and rested on the swelling bump. It had been 3 months ago since Dr Cho had told you about your pregnancy. 6 months since Bucky had left. You were sat watching Steve paint the walls in what would become your baby’s nursery. You were excited about becoming a mother but you still couldn’t shake the sadness that had lingered around you since Bucky had left. Steve had been your rock during the pregnancy; he came with you to every scan, he helped Tony organise new living quarters for you in the compound for when the baby arrived. Not to mention how he had moved into the room next to yours just in case you needed anything during the night.

Steve’s phone rang, he put the paintbrush down and quickly yanked the phone out of his back pocket. “Sam what’s up?” You couldn’t make out what Sam was saying but could hear the urgency in his tone. “We’ll be right there.” He walked over to you calmly, held out his hand for you to take, helping you out of your seat. “Steve, what’s happened?”  He sighed. “Zemo.” Just upon hearing his name you could feel your heart hammering in your chest. If they had something on Zemo, then maybe there would be news about Bucky. Your mind was racing at the prospect of some information, so much so that you didn’t pay attention to where you were going allowing Steve to lead you all the way to the conference room.

Sam was waiting for you both when you arrived, his expression unreadable. “I’m just going to come out and say it. We found Zemo” Steve looked at him for a second frustrated “and…” Sam glanced at Steve and then at you. “He’s dead. It’s not a pretty sight I will warn you now.” An image flashed up on the screen. It was hard to identify Zemo; he looked like he had been attacked by a wild animal. Whom ever had done this had been consumed by pure rage and any form of self-control had vanished. You looked away in shock, the image bringing up the terrible memories of finding Steve after he had been kidnapped. You didn’t need to ask who had do this, it was Bucky. Bucky had finally taken his revenge. Steve cleared his throat, he knew what this meant. “Any sign of Buck?”

As Sam explained how there were still no signs of Bucky, Steve automatically placed his arm around you and ran it up and down your back. There was no evidence that Bucky had any involvement, but it was obvious to those of you within the team. Now Bucky had completed his mission, would he come back?  A glance at Steve’s face told you he was thinking the exact same thing; he was biting his bottom lip and had one eyebrow raised in thought.

For the next few days everyone on the team was quiet. There was no easy flowing conversations and any interaction was an effort. All of you were anxious about what was going to happen now. Would Bucky suddenly reappear as if nothing had happened or would he stay away? Either way, you had made a decision. If Bucky did come back, you didn’t want to see him. Yes, you may be carrying his baby but he didn’t know that. How could you trust him not to run away again? He had hurt you and you didn’t think you would recover if he walked out on you again and this time on his child as well. Steve took a bit of persuading to come around to your way of thinking but ultimately agreed with you, at least until the baby had been born. Dr Cho has already warned that due to the super serum from Bucky, the baby was developing faster. Any stress could potentially harm the baby or even cause you to go into premature labour. So, it was agreed, you moved into you flat in the compound that week with Steve taking the guest room.

It was the middle of the night about a week later FRIDAY sent out the alert. The AI’s voice rang through your flat. “Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes is at the door to the compound.” You struggled to sit up, in the last week your bump had ballooned leaving you feeling like a beached whale. As you flicked on the bedside lamp, Steve appeared at your door still fighting his way into a t-shirt. “You ok?” he asked through a yawn. You gave him a half smile “I guess, least we know he’s safe.” Your gaze lowered to your bump and your hands ran over it softly. “Look Y/N, I’m probably going to be a while dealing with this. He doesn’t have access to this floor so you want wonder in to him by accident. I’m not going to tell him anything. Ok?” When you didn’t answer him, Steve walked over to you. He wiped away the tears that were rolling down your cheeks with his thumb and leant down to place a kiss on your head. “It’s going to be ok Y/. I promise.” He lifted your hand to his lips and with that he left.

Bucky’s POV

He knew it was wrong to just show up now after everything that had happened, but he wanted to be near you again. He had done what he had set out to do. Zemo was dead; he didn’t pose a threat to any of the team anymore, to you. He saw Steve walking towards the door, his jaw was clenched and he looked thoroughly pissed. Bucky braced himself for what was about to come. Steve punched in the code to open the door and motioned for Bucky to come in. “Steve…” Steve help his hand up “Don’t” he growled. “Follow me.” In the conference room Bucky was met by several pairs of disdainful eyes; Tony, Nat, Sam and of course Steve. There was one pair missing, the pair he longed to see regardless of the hate for him that they probably contained. Steve pointed to a seat and Bucky sat, he glanced to the door wondering if you were going to walk in. When everyone else drew up a seat, he knew you weren’t coming.

“What the hell were you thinking Barnes?” Nat started. “What part of ‘team’ don’t you fucking understand?” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Of course, he had thought through what he could say to everyone, but now he was here he didn’t have a clue. “Look I’m sorry. I just thought…” Nat got to her feet now, anger taking over taking any semblance of professionalism “No you fucking didn’t. You didn’t think at all. Steve was a mess and Y/N well …”. “Nat” Steve cut her off. She shot him an apologetic look. “You left Bucky because you and your jumped ego thought you could handle this on your own. Sod everyone else.” Nat shook her head, her hand trembling with the rage currently coursing through her. “I don’t often say this but I can’t do this” Nat walked out of the room, the men left behind stunned into silence.

Sam started next. “She has a point man. Zemo threatened us all, hell he nearly killed Steve. Do you not think we were all in this?” Bucky just glared at him. No one was ever going to think he had might the right choice, maybe he didn’t but the problem had been dealt with. What had been done and how it was done couldn’t be changed. “I did what I had to do. I did this for years, it’s not something I am proud of but I’m different to all of you” Tony’s fists clenched on the table in front of him. “You would have arrested Zemo, he didn’t need imprisoning he needed getting rid of. I did what none of you would have done. Did I enjoy it? No. But it had to be done.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Buck, it wasn’t your choice to make.”

Bucky knew it was pointless arguing. “Obviously there are going to be consequences Barnes. 6 months suspension and house arrest. I don’t know what consequences there will be from other agencies. At the minute they have no idea your involved so maybe you’ll get lucky” Bucky nodded at Tony, accepting his fate. The punishment wasn’t as harsh as he thought it was going to be. He thought for sure he was going to be kicked out onto the street or put in some max security facility. Tony left the room leaving Bucky with Sam and Steve.

“I know I don’t have much right to ask this but where’s Y/N? I need to talk to her. Apologise I was an arsehole.” Sam scoffed “Got that right”. Steve’s face hardened “She doesn’t want to see you. You hurt her Buck. She’s gonna need time.” Bucky didn’t trust his voice to hide his emotions so chose to nod. “Sam is going to get a detailed account of everything that happened whilst you were after Zemo.” Steve stood up, his hand on the door handle. “Buck, she’s still here, she’s safe. But please don’t go looking for her. When she wants to see you, she will.” Steve stood staring and Bucky, waiting for a response. “Ok Steve.”

Bucky sat in the room for hours with Sam, patiently recalling the events of the last 6 months. Every location, every stakeout and every killing.  Sam didn’t have to prompt Bucky for any information, he just let Bucky regurgitate the facts. “I did it for Y/N” Bucky said suddenly, “I just wanted to make it safer for her, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.” Sam smiled sadly. “FRIDAY, stop recording” The AI confirmed and Sam cracked his fingers then looked up at Bucky. “Look man, I can’t tell you how torn up she was. But I think part of her understands. She loves you, that doesn’t go away but you have to admit what you did was brutal. You can’t expect it to go back to the way it was, for her to trust you.” Bucky bowed his head into his hands. What did he expect? He told you he had lied to you, that he didn’t love you, that he had used you. All he ever wanted to do was protect you, but to do that he had hurt you in the worst possible way. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, he knew that, but he needed to be around you, to show you how he really felt. Sam stood up and rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

Bucky followed Sam up to his old room. Bucky felt his heart break as he walked past the door to your old room; it was clear that you weren’t there anymore. All of your belongings had been cleared out, the only trace that you had been there was a faint lingering scent of fresh cotton and lavender. Once closing the door to his own room, he realised it had been like he never left. The memories of the last time he had been in the room flooded back to him. Your cries still seemed to echo around the walls and hurt evident on your face as you screamed at him. His final act in this room had been one of betrayal; severing ties to the one person who meant the most to him. Going after Zemo had been the right thing to do, but the way he had pushed you away, the malice in his words. Well that was unforgivable. Bucky threw himself and screamed into the pillow. The emotions he had worked so hard to keep at bay for the last 6 months finally poured out until he was exhausted.

Over the next few weeks Bucky kept himself to himself. He didn’t venture out of his room during the day. He couldn’t bare the disappointing and judgemental looks from the others, the self-hatred was enough. In the middle of the night, he would venture from his room, got to the gym for a bit, walk around and eat some food. He always lingered in the places he knew you used to go, he wanted to see you, to just run into you accidently. It wasn’t as if it is breaking Steve’s request, he wasn’t actively looking for you he just hoped that before he shut himself back in his room, away from the world, he might just catch a glimpse of you. It was selfish really but he just needed to see you. It was killing him knowing that everyone else got to spend time with you, he would catch snippets of hushed conversations as people walked past his door. Just the simple mention your name would make him run to the door and look for any sign of you. He even smelt you on Steve a couple of times when he had come to visit and he couldn’t help but feel jealous. For now, he just had to accept that you didn’t want to see him and after everything he had done he couldn’t blame you.

Readers POV

You were sat waiting for Steve when he came back from seeing Bucky, a mug of tea clutched in your hand the other placed on your bump. Steve came and sat down next to you and sighed. “Y/N, you should be sleeping.” Placing your cup down, you shifted, with some difficulty, to lean against Steve who automatically wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “I couldn’t.” Steve trailed his fingertips down your arm. “How was he?” You tilted your head up to look at Steve. He pinched his nose and scrunched his eyes up before meeting your expectant gaze. “He’s not injured.” You pressed your hand to his chest. “You know that’s not what I meant.” He groaned. “I know Y/N. He seems lost. Nat had a proper go at him and he just took it. Didn’t fight back when she screamed at him.” Steve knew what you wanted to hear and couldn’t deny you. “He asked about you Y/N. I think he really regrets how he treated you.” All you could do was nod in acceptance and nestle tighter into Steve’s chest. Despite the fact that he had hurt you so much, you couldn’t help but feel comforted by the fact that he was back, that he was safe. Your brain was telling you to stay clear of him but your heart, well it knew that he had lied. He had said those things to protect, even if he had to hurt you.

For the next few weeks you never seemed to get a minute to yourself. It was like the team was babysitting you. Steve was obviously staying with you in the flat, but when he was busy then you had Nat, Sam, Tony or Clint keeping you company. All you wanted was peace and quiet, time to be on your own. You knew what they were doing; they were trying to keep you distracted, but to be honest you also suspected it was partly down to Bucky’s return. Maybe they thought you were going to go looking for him or he was going to come looking for you. Every time there was a knock on the door your stomach flutter in anticipation. Even though Steve had told you that Bucky had no access to the floor you still hoped that Bucky would try to find a way to see you. But he didn’t, as far as you knew he had no idea where you were or in fact you were carrying his child.

After 8 months the pregnancy was really taking its toll on you. It was becoming more and more difficult to sleep due partly to how much your back hurt but mainly because of how active the baby was. Walking around seemed to alleviate some of the pain and also stopped the demon child kicking the hell out of your internal organs. So that was how you found yourself wondering around the compound at 3 in the morning. Steve had told you to stay on your floor at all times; it made you feel like a prisoner. Plus, the likelihood of anyone being awake was slim to none. You had heard the snores coming from Steve’s room as you snuck out and figured what he didn’t know would hurt him.  

Exhausted from the short walk you sat at the breakfast bar in the communal kitchen sipping on a cold bottle of water. You hissed at the sharp pain coming from your abdomen, the baby still very much active despite the time of day. “Do you ever sleep?” you mumbled down at the bump. “Y/N?” You froze at the voice in the doorway. It was a voice that stirred a lot of emotions within you; love, sadness, anger, fear, longing and at the minute you couldn’t decide which emotion was winning. You turned your body, hiding your stomach from view and turned to look at Bucky. He took a hesitant step into the kitchen. “Am I alright to come in?” he asked quietly. You nodded, you didn’t quite trust yourself to speak yet. Bucky leaned against the cabinets on the other side of the room, giving you space.

It wasn’t difficult to notice the changes; his hair had grown out, he had lost a little bit of weight and the spark in his eyes was gone, he looked lost. As he shifted on his feet slightly and toyed with his fingers you witnessed just how nervous he looked. “Look I know you never want to see me again, I can go if you want?” His eyes met yours from across the room and you couldn’t help but feel your heart break a little. “No Bucky, it’s ok.” His name sounded foreign as it left your lips, it was a name you had barely uttered for over half a year.  Bucky couldn’t squash the small smile forming on his lips. “Look Y/N I don’t even know where to begin. I am really sorry. I didn’t mean any of what I…” The bottle you were holding slammed into the table, the anger getting the better of you “Don’t you dare try and apologise, you still said it Bucky. You fucking abandoned me. You … Arghhhh”

Your hand flew to your stomach as you cried out in pain. “Bucky, get Steve” Bucky stepped towards you unsure of what was going on. His eyes filled with concern as he took the final steps around the counter. “You’re…when?” Bucky’s eyes were now glued to the bump peeking out from your tank top. Another cramp hit you. “Bucky get Steve, I think the baby’s coming.” You said through gritted teeth Bucky was frozen. His mouth open and shut as words failed him. “FRIDAY, wake up Steve and tell him to meet me at the medbay.” A warmth began to spread down your legs. “Buck, I know you’re in shock but I need to get to the medbay. I’m a month early. BUCKY HELP.” The shouting seemed to snap him back. He held out his hand for you to take and helped you off the stool. “Doll, you ok to walk?” You glared up at him “Don’t fucking call me that.” He pulled an apologetic expression. “I can walk, just need you to help.” Bucky held your hand in his and wrapped his metal arm around your waist. It was a slow walk down to the medbay, having to stop as contractions hit you. Bucky let you squash his hand in yours as you rode out the pain. He couldn’t help but look at you in admiration, you had always been beautiful but pregnancy suited you. It’s no wonder you hated him. He had abandoned you and his child.

Steve glared at him as you arrived. He strode towards the pair of you. He immediately pointed at Bucky. “You. I…” You cut Steve off by putting your hand on his chest. “Steve, it wasn’t his fault. I went…” You gasped as another contraction hit you. Steve pulled you away from Bucky to the delivery room that Tony and Bruce had set up. You turned back to look at Bucky, his hands fisted in his hair, conflict written all over his face. “Bucky, I don’t want you in here” you gestured to the room and his face fell “but, you can wait out here until it’s over.” He nodded, tears in his eyes and took a chair as Steve closed the door behind you. He took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to steady his heart rate and breathing. How could he have ever left you? Your invitation for him to wait gave him a small ounce of hope though. He knew he didn’t deserve to be in your lives but all he knew is that nothing else mattered now. The only things that were important to him now were in the room his was banished from. You and your child.

taglist: @broco8​​, @mela-noche​​

[externally-buzzing]

the flame in her heart (bumbleby short)

It was dark, past midnight at least. Everyone had fallen asleep by now, the battle with Cordovin and, soon after that, another battle with the Leviathan had left everyone rightfully exhausted. To top that off, they had had to bicker with the Atlas military as to why they didn't need to be sent straight to jail. They had stolen Atlas tech, and crossed the border without permission, after all. Eventually, the military got a call from Ironwood, and told the group that they would stay in the stolen aircraft overnight. Ironwood would see them in the morning.

They’d also desperately attempted to actually be let inside Atlas, but they were shut down immediately. It would cause wide panic among the people, according the the Ironwood’s word. And then they made eye contact with the Faunus of team RWBY, with eyes glaring daggers through her, words equally as sharp as they had said, “Especially since there’s a Faunus among those who tried to infiltrate our facility. They won’t feel safe with her in there.”

With that, they had slammed the door. There were complaints among the group, but Ruby had been quick to shut them down.

“This could have been a lot worse. Now, everyone rest up. Who knows what Ironwood has planned for us tomorrow.”

Blake had walked back into the aircraft. An unknown force was tugging her toward Yang, constantly. Right now was no exception. She gravitated toward the corner Yang resided in subconsciously. The blonde simply looked up at her and smiled, patting the spot next to her on the ground. A flame flickered inside Blake’s heart. It should have been impossible for Yang to smile at her the way she did. After everything she did.

That brought a memory to Blake’s mind, one back in their days in the academy.

“You’re not one to back down from a challenge, Blake.”

She had denied it at the time .But now, looking into the lavender eyes before her, she opted to another memory.

Yang holding her as she had sobbed, Yang muttering four words into her ear, and Yang being all she could breathe after that. Warm blood stained her hands. Blood that she thought she could never wash away, but before her was the sun, and the sun had told her she knew she’d stay this time around. That gave her hope that in time, the blood would fade away from her hands. It may be ever so slow, but Yang knew. Yang understood, as she always had.

‘And you’re not one who ever ceases to take my breath away, Yang. Take it away forever, and be everything I breathe at the same time,’ Blake felt a smile creep to her face, as she took the seat next to Yang. She sighed, pressing her head onto Yang’s shoulder. Yang made no motion to move Blake, only wrapping her free arm around her bare shoulders. With that, the flame flickered again.

-

It’s well past midnight, and everyone is asleep except for Blake. She’s shivering cold. Yang’s arm around her shoulder didn't account for much of the rest of her body. She’s distracting herself by playing with Yang’s hand that rests over her shoulder, when suddenly the fingers flex on their own, and a soft yawn rumbles beside her. Her eyes dart to the side, expecting to meet lilac eyes, but only really making out the silhouette of Yang.

“Hey,” Yang mumbles hoarsely, still quiet, and then the rest of her words are slurred, incomprehensible.

“Hm?”

“I said,” another yawn interrupted Yang, before she continued again, “Why are you awake?”

Blake sighed, “I just can’t, I guess.”

Yang sits herself more upright, mimicking Blake. She retracts her hand to stretch, but her warmth lingers there momentarily.

‘The tingle of her ever being there in the first place will remain forever,’ Blake thinks to herself.

Yang stands abruptly, the floorboards creaking loudly under her weight, and Blake’s genuinely surprised that no one as much as stirs in their sleeps. She blinks at the prosthetic when it’s outstretched towards her, and tilts her head.

“Let’s go on a walk, then,” Yang whispers, voice more smooth than it was when she had first awaken. Blake suddenly forgot about the absence of her coat, and took Yang’s prosthetic into her hand. Yang leads her out of the room quietly, which Blake wants to laugh at. She had jumped up and made a ruckus, but now she cared if she would wake anyone up. Her free hand covered her mouth, careful not to let any giggles spill out.

After seemingly an eternity of dodging things and people on the floor, all while tip toeing, they made it to the doorway. Yang slid it open gently, and pulled Blake outside into the moonlight with her, just as quickly sliding the door shut.

Blake finally notices the cold nibbling at her skin again, harsher than before. She wraps her arms around herself in an attempt to warm herself up a bit. Blake finds herself disappointed that it doesn’t work.

Yang notices as well, already stripping her own jacket off. She hands it to Blake, who prays to God that the moonlight wasn’t enough light to reveal the light pink dusting her cheeks. She grabs it reluctantly, shooting Yang a look, one eyebrow raised, asking for clarification without asking. Yang simply nods, already starting to walk towards the forest.

Blake slips the jacket on, instantly nuzzles into the collar, and notes to herself, ‘Citrus scented, classic Yang,’ before she catches up to the retreating Yang.

“Thank you,” her words come out muffled from under the jacket, zipped all the way up. Yang laughed at it, and Blake closed her eyes, trying to memorize every bit of it, so she could lock the sound away forever.

“No problem, human space heater, remember?”

Maybe it’s sleep deprivation, maybe it’s the view of the shattered moon above them, or maybe it was just meant to happen. Blake's smile is hidden underneath the jacket, but you can still hear it in her voice when she says, “I love your laugh, it makes me feel safe. At home.”

Yang’s breath audibly hitches, then catches a second too late for Blake’s liking. She’s about to apologize, about to curl in on herself and hide away from the world, but Yang says something first.

“You’ve always been the one to make me feel safe, though,” she stops mid strife, turning around to face Blake, who nearly runs into her. She turns her head upward, and then lilac meets amber, and oh, the flame in her heart lights again, “Your eyes, your voice, your laugh, smile, your mere presence. It makes me feel safe, always has. I guess…” her voice trails off, and Blake knows what she’s going to say, but the suspension burns in her soul anyways, “That’s why I was so angry that you left. Not really with you, but because you had become home and then you were gone. And I was the one who let you ever become home.”

They had to talk about this someday, Blake reminded herself. But never had she expected it to be like this, here. After a battle against the demon of both of their pasts, after supporting Ruby in killing a Leviathan, after having to reside outside Atlas for who knows how much longer.

‘How did I imagine this going, then?’ She asks herself, and no answer comes. Right. She didn't have any expectations, she just knew it was up in the air. Yet it still slapped her in the face. Was she still the weak girl she was before, in Yang’s eyes? Did she believe her? Doubt was now shoving its way into her head, forming hot tears in her eyes.

“I’m-”

“Sorry, I know. I know, Blake. But you didn’t let me finish,” her prosthetic grabbed the small of Blake’s back, the other gently wiping her eyes, “Baby,” she paused, letting the word ring into the air, letting the fire in Blake’s heart breath in more oxygen, growing brighter and brighter, “I don’t regret any of it. I wouldn't take it back. In a heartbeat, I’d choose you over and over. I’d still want to live in any moment we share. That’s my promise. You made one to me, not to leave. My promise is that you’ll always be my home, and I’ll never regret it for a single moment.”

Blake’s unzipping the top of the jacket with haste, and then she’s pressing her lips on Yang’s. There’s no moment of hesitation in any of it. Yang kisses back, with such passion Blake has to loop her arms around Yang’s neck to stay standing. Or maybe it’s just because her knees fell to jelly the second Yang called her home. Blake is pinned against a nearby tree, both of them smiling wide, and then they just turned into giggling messes. It’s not even a kiss at that point, just laughing with their mouths pressed against one another.

‘This is perfect,’ Blake thinks, the flame in her heart flickering wildly. She knows Yang feels it too, because when they’re done laughing, and they’re just staring at each other with love stricken eyes, her smile is real. Genuine, and beautiful. The stars above complimenting the shattered moon are nothing compared to the view in front of her.

-

{basically i love them, and will most likely continue this into something a lot longer during the hiatus.}

[whatrealityisthisagain]

EMDR: Dracula's Healing Touch

CRASH! BANG! 

In my conscience moments, I saw blood flying, roofing raining around me. Heard gunshots echoing. My two assaulters, I remember, were suddenly torn off me - one thrown across the room, the other pinned against a wall, and I vaguely remember seeing John Wick walk passed the open door as he was clearing the remaining rooms. 

Even though I was in and out of consciousness, I do remember many things. Like when Dracula draped his cape around me, or when I noticed that Wonder Woman had Her - my betrayer - pinned against the wall in a chokehold. 

“They came for me. They came… to save … me!” I remember realizing in between wakefulness as I started to sober up.

I was still unable to sit up, so I laid there and watched. 

I watched as Dracula tore out the unknowing monster’s heart after seeing my state, but not before pulling the monster’s toy(penis) from its body and stuffing it down the nightmare’s throat. 

“You deserve so much worse,” I didn’t hear the rest of Wonder Woman’s words to my “friend” because Dracula flew me away. We flew high into the night sky, my body sobering the further from the Hell we got. He held me close-protectively as we crossed the starlit sky.

Now.

Now, I know what happened. Now I understand that none of this was a dream, and it didn’t take me the full day as it had in the real world to know. Know that I was defiled, taken advantage of while I was vulnerable.

I went there to celebrate a horrifying depression episode coming to an end… so … why? WHY! Why did it end with my friend and a man I didn’t even know raping me? WHY! 

Dracula took me first to the shower so I could clean myself. Not for his sake, but so I could feel even just a tiny microscopic bit better! So, I scrubbed, and I scrubbed. And. I. Scrubbed! HARD.

I’d never had sex before, were their touches supposed to linger? Flashbacks kept flooding my mind! I had no break from the visions of that night racing across my eyes like flashes of lightning, and with them, I relived the whole thing. I relived the celebration, I relived the moments of consciousness after! I relived the smells, and the breaths, and the sounds, and the feelings, and each. And. Every. Touch. 

For weeks, I scrubbed myself raw. For months, I scratched until I bled. And it continued for an eternity as I’m stuck in a suffocating fog that loops that night every new day over and over and over and over … 

Dracula watched over me as I couldn’t sleep, and soothed me through the night. And to be honest, it helped. When I closed my eyes he would talk over the terrible noises with his own soothing sounds. He’d cuddle to me in wolf form and how to keep me present and mourn my pain. Or to a bat to fly with me through my daily tasks. Then, when I’d relive the experience with my eyes open, he brought me back by gazing into my eyes with his own. I don’t care if he’s using hypnotism or mind control because! It. Helped! 

As the looping continued in my suffocating fog, I figured that this was as good as it got. I just had to deal with this until I finally died, and Dracula would just stay by me to help me out when a smell triggered the memories or a sound drags me back or the visions just appear.

But, Dracula could smell my blood, and hear my scrubbing and scratching. He sensed my pain…. So, instead of letting me deal with it - instead of letting me continue to hurt myself, he took a chance. This chance could have thrown me deeper into the fog, could have caused me to cast him away! But he took it anyway. 

He came in while I was crying on the shower floor trying to scrub away their imprints on me. There were crimson streaks flowing down the drain from many of the areas I was scrubbing at. Even my tears were mixing with the blood trickling from my lip. I couldn't take it anymore! I just wanted to end it! Just wanted to cut it all off! Wanted it all gone! 

“May I replace their touch?” He asks me quietly as he gently takes my hands to stop my scrubbing. Too exhausted to be shocked, and too desperate to be scared all I can do is weakly nod at his request.

For the rest of the session, he did just that. Starting with the bleeding areas, he replaced their touches with his own. He wasn’t sexual about it, rather he was healing. The rest of the time in the shower he healed my visible scratches, replacing the skin with that of which that only knew his touch of healing. 

After that, any time a flashback invaded, he was there. He saved me, then he healed their touches with his own. Somehow, even the smells and sounds were drawn away with his touch, like a magnet or a vacuum sucking up the remaining dirt in my subconscious.

For the rest of that physical day after leaving my therapy session, I went home to take a shower. And I felt clean! For the first time since it happened! The grime that they left on my skin, wiped off so easily! I watched the pain, and the defilement wash down the drain. That night I got my first full night's sleep since even before the night I was raped. 

And even since then, the moment the horrors came back, Dracula was there to replace them. He and Wonder Woman continue to break through the flashbacks before they have a chance to start even a year after that session. 

-whatrealityisthisagain

[robins-whump]

Bad Things Happen Bingo #8

Bingo Card: Carved Mark

Fandom: Original Work

Characters: Finn and Tristan

Word count: 1699

The echoing tap of footprints awoke Finn from his restless sleep. He snapped awake immediately, drawing himself against the wall instinctively. He hissed quietly as the movement aggravated the many scrapes and bruises from his failed escape attempt.

Escape attempt.

The very memory of it made his blood run cold and forced terrified apologies to his lips, waiting to spill out. His skin displayed the consequences in a myriad of cuts and bruises that would linger for weeks, if not months, a patchwork of warnings about what it meant to be disobedient.

Even so, the idea of obeying that madman left a sour taste in his mouth.

The door to his cell banged open. Finn’s eyes snapped up to see Tristan stride in and sweep down the length of the cell. Subconsciously, he scooted further back.

Tristan paced the cell for several, agonizing minutes, brow furrowed, seemingly contemplating something. Finn’s tracked his movement, wide eyed and frozen. He didn’t dare interrupt.

Finally, Tristan stopped pacing.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About you. And our little discipline problem.”

A snarl was hiding behind Finn’s teeth, but he forced himself to keep quiet.

Tristan continued. “I think the real problem, darling, is that you think this is temporary. You have potential, naturally. I wouldn’t have chosen you if you haven’t. But you seem to think that if you hold out for long enough someone will find you, or I’ll somehow let you go, and everything will get better. Things are going to get better when you start doing what you’re told.”

Finn’s fists clenched with white-hot anger that did nothing to dampen the crushing feelings of hopelessness that Tristan’s words evoked. He turned his head away, defiantly.

Tristan smiled a shark’s smile. “Darling, the only way you’re leaving is in a coffin. Isn’t it better to just be obedient? I’m not a cruel man, but you drive me to extremes. You need to learn your place. That place is with me.”

He strode forward to tower over Finn. A hand brushed his hair away from his forehead in a deceptively gentle manner.

“I need to teach you a lesson, boy. Something more permanent.”

For several moments, neither of them moved. Then a key appeared in Tristan’s hand. “I can trust you not to run if I unchain you, can’t I?”

Finn’s heart leapt into his throat. He was so close, again… but he remembered the events of the day before. He nodded hesitantly, still ready to take the opportunity if one came along.

His ankles were swiftly unchained, but before any plan of escape had formed in his mind there were new cuffs clasped around his ankles, connected by a short chain. The same was quickly done to his wrists. Tristan tugged him roughly to his feet.

“Follow me,” he said curtly. “I don’t need to tell you the consequences if you run.”

After a long moment of hesitation, Finn followed Tristan out of his cell and down the passage. Finn looked around curiously. It was his first time out of his cell, save for his failed escape attempt, and he hadn’t exactly been checking out the décor then. From what he could see through the haze of fear that choked him, the passageway was lined with cells much like the one he occupied. The same damp, rough stone on the floor climbed up the walls, and the ceiling glistened with moisture. Some cells contained manacles, and some were completely empty. Why would Tristan need multiple cells? Finn wondered.

Tristan unlocked a cell near the end which contained nothing but a cold slab, leather restraints of all sizes cemented into the concrete. It was newer than anything else he had seen in the dungeons.

Finn stopped at the doorway, heart thudding in his chest. A harsh shove made him stumble into the cell. He caught himself on the slab. The click of the lock sounded loudly into the silence. Dread pooled in Finn’s stomach.

“Get on the table,” said Tristan. His eyes were narrowed, watching Finn’s reaction.

Why? “I Don’t-” Finn started, but a vicious backhand snapped Finn’s head to the side, sending him careening into the wall. A follow up left him dazed and trembling. Finn wiped blood off his mouth from reopened wounds. He cursed, quietly.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Finn glanced at the slab, then back at Tristan, weighing up his options. Nothing good was going to happen if he let himself be tied down, but was Tristan’s anger any better? He knew that even if he resisted, Tristan would end up getting what he wanted. Tristan did, Finn was learning, always get his way. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Feeling as though his limbs were filled with lead, Finn slowly walked over to the concrete slab. He lifted himself up with shaky legs and sat on the very edge.

Tristan looked smug. “Lie down, arms at your sides.” And when Finn complied, trembling: “good boy.”

The praise made him shiver unpleasantly. Or maybe that was just the freezing concrete on the bare skin of his back.

Tristan set about attaching the leather loops to his body, Finn fighting every impulse to pull away. His vision was still swimming from the blows. Straps were applied to his ankles, wrists, torso, legs, and even his arms. Finn almost screamed when a strap went around his forehead, clenching his teeth so tightly it turned his jaw white.

All the while, Tristan was speaking to him in a hushed voice, in a way that made Finn feel like he was being offered up as a sacrifice. What God could Tristan possibly pray to?

“This is going to hurt,” Tristan murmured. “But I’ll know you’ll be good. I really think we made some progress after our little mishap yesterday.”

Finn shivered and tensed. When Finn was so restrained he could barely wiggle his toes, Tristan stopped. He reached into his pocket and drew out a short, silver blade. The end was sharpened to a pointed that glinted in the dull lights of the dungeons.

At the sight of the knife, Finn’s calm demeanour snapped. He yanked at the restraints, pulling desperately away. “N-nonono, please, don’t, please-”

The knife kissed the tip of his collarbone and Finn stilled. He was excruciatingly aware of the proximity of the sharp blade to the vulnerable expanse of his neck. He tucked his chin.

Tristan stroked the slender edge of the knife down Finn’s torso. “It seems a bit extreme, darling, all these restraints, but I want it to be perfect. Why, a single nick in the wrong place could ruin the whole design.”

He pressed down harder above Finn’s third rib. “That’s the last thing you want, right darling?” Finn bit back a dozen curses and nodded. No more than an obedient puppet. Finn hated himself with every fibre of his being.

“I wanted to make it easy for you. This way, you can’t move, even if you try. Takes those pesky reactions out of the equation. It’s never been said that I’m unreasonable. Oh, how am I meant to see the design like this? Let’s get a bit more light in here.”

Harsh lights suddenly illuminated the previously dark space. The bright white shine forced Finn’s eyes shut, squinting against the light. It was bright bordering on painful. Finn’s eyes, accustomed to perpetual near darkness, were completely overwhelmed. He barely noticed the light touch of the knife pressing down harder, trailing down until it reached the bottom of his ribs.

“Here’s a good place to start, don’t you think?”

Finn was relieved when Tristan didn’t expect an answer from him. He doubted he could have given one, mouth gone dry with fear.

The blade pierced his skin and dragged upwards in a hot flash of pain. Finn screamed, high pitched, and a hand clamped down on his mouth

“Quiet now, darling. You’re distracting me.”

Finn nodded apprehensively, and the hand left his mouth, stopping to squeeze his neck briefly in a casual threat. The pain was already fading to a dull throb when Tristan made the next cut. This time, Finn didn’t scream, jaw clenched tight. Tristan ran a hand down his chest in what was meant to be a soothing gesture. Finn’s skin broke out in goose bumps. He could feel hot blood trickling down his side and pooling under him. How deep had Tristan cut?

The pain of the cuts bled into each other until Finn’s left side felt like one pulsing wound. Tristan stopped and started, contemplating the next cut then ruthlessly executing it with an elegant flick of the blade. Finn let out the occasional whimper, and once a keen as Tristan made a particularly deep cut. Tristan had stopped for several minutes to teach him the importance of being quiet when asked.

When Tristan was finally done, he wiped off the knife with a rag and slipped it back in his pocket. Finn sagged against the concrete slab, adrenaline rush fading. The pain felt sharper as all the fight left him, and he blinked back tears. A small sob tore its way out of Finn’s throat.

“Shh, darling. You did well. Would you like to take a look?” Tristan unbuckled the leather restraints, trusting that Finn was too weak to do anything. Without waiting for an answer, he lifted Finn into a sitting position.

Finn gasped in horror at the markings covering his left side. It was a stain of red, but underneath the blood Finn could spot a familiar design. Sudden nausea swept through him. He leaned to the side and retched, bringing up no more than spit. a large hand stroked his hair.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Tristan murmured. “I don’t do that for just anyone. That makes you very special, darling.”

He knew those markings, Finn thought dully. They were on half of the things Tristan owned. Tristan’s family crest carved into his skin, as it was embroidered onto his suit, and onto his stupid pocket handkerchiefs.

Finn shivered as the cold reality set in. What it really meant to belong to Tristan. He didn’t push the hand off his hair.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, lark-cale

May 4-Wanda Maximoff/Bucky Barnes Prompt: Soulmates, smutty first time, for @lark-cale

Written by @lj-todd

Bucky wasn’t certain how he’d gotten so lucky.

He’d been born without a soulmark. No phrase graced any part of his body that would guide him to the one person in all the world meant for him and him alone.

He had, eventually, accepted that it was not some disgrace, like so many claimed, but rather that it meant he was able to freely choose who he would spend his life with. Who he would give everything to and for.

And for a long time, he’d thought that person was Steve. 

Even soulmates were not always romantic so why should it be any different for him?

But then he had fallen from the train. Been tortured and turned into a murderous robotic monster. Woken up from the ice to discover words on his chest that had never been there before. Even with his faulty memory he always remembered that. Remembered that before, whatever before had been, he had been without a phrase. But now he bore one.

Four simple words that, even when they wiped his memory, stripping away the present and further burying the past, he had the words.

He waited years, decades, to finally hear someone give them voice and it was during the raid on the Raft prison, fighting to free Steve’s friends who had sacrificed themselves in order to help him and Steve, that it finally came to pass.

He had been the one to find Wanda, the girl with powers beyond anything he had ever seen before, and the sight of her in that straight jacket, that shock collar, had nearly gutted him. She looked terrified and, even though he was lacking his left arm, he had reached for her, his voice soft, gentle, wanting to comfort her even though he honestly had no idea how.

“I got you,” he had said, reaching for the collar, deactivated by T’Challa’s tech, snapping the metal easily even with his right hand. “I got you.”

She had blinked, looking up at him with wide eyes, before her hands, delicate yet strong, curled into the fabric of his shirt as she tucked herself closer to him, whispering four simple words in return.

“I knew you’d come.”

He had read things, stories and reports, about what a person felt when they finally heard their words given voice by their soulmate but none of it had prepared him for the feeling that filled him. Like the warmth of a fire after being cold for so very long. It started in his belly and then quickly spread. Filling him. Warming him. Thawing him in a way he had never thought would be possible.

The entire way to Wakanda he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Wanda, even as Barton fussed over her like a worried father, her gentle words of reassurance clearly not enough for the archer, he kept watch, a part of him still worried something would happen to take her away from him. That, given his past, all the things he had done, fate would decide it had made a mistake after all and take Wanda from him.

Once back in Wakanda, he forced himself to keep a distance, to let her settle, knowing he was still a danger, to wait until T’Challa’s people could fix him if they could.

He had not expected to step from the bathroom of the private room he had been given to find Wanda waiting for him.

She was dressed simply, dark pants and a dark red blouse, but to him she was the most breathtakingly beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Sergeant,” she said softly and immediately he shook his head.

“That’s not me anymore,” he replied quickly, though he couldn’t say for certain who he was anymore. “I…” He shook his head again. “I don’t know who I am now.”

Wanda studied him for a moment before closing the distance between them.

She lifted her hands, framing his face with them, her fingers scant inches from actually touching him and she gave him a questioning look. Asking his permission before using her powers on him. A sign of her respect. For him and for all he’d already been through. He nodded, not sure what to expect, but the gentle pressure in his temples that smoothed out into warmth was not it.

He felt her presence in his mind, likely because she wanted him to, and it was a warm light that felt like a hug or holding his hand. He saw his memories as she saw them, like an outsider watching a movie, things he’d forgotten even before falling from that train and he felt his heart swell as he realized what she was doing. She was returning them to him. Showing him who had had been and who he could become.

And then there were the dark memories, the torture and pain and things he tried to push back, to hide from her, but she tugged gently, her voice whispering through his mind. Telling him not to hide, that he wasn’t the only one to have lost part of himself, that he was not the only one to have done things because of what had been done to him. She showed him her past. Her choices and losses. So he did not fight her. Did not try to hide from her.

She was his soulmate. She deserved his truths. All of them. Good and bad.

When she found the triggers, the words burned into his subconscious so deep he feared they would never be truly gone, he felt a chill. Her cold rage. Her fury that someone had dared inflict such pain on him. On her soulmate. And, at the same time, he felt her question. A silent question he answered with a nod.

The pain that flared in his skull was bright and red and blinding. He swore his nose and throat even burned as, with what felt like clawing fingers, Wanda ripped the triggers away. Burning them and scattering them to useless ash.

He gasped, coming back to himself, his mind empty of her presence, finding himself kneeling before her, clutching at her hips, gasping, staring up at her with wide-eyed wonder. She stared back much the same and, his chest heaving, blood singing and adrenaline racing, he surged upwards, capturing her lips in a burning kiss.

He couldn’t clearly remember how they made it to the bed, or how they lost their clothing, and he doubted she remembered either, but he did remember how her skin felt, soft and warm and how her hands had glided over him, drawing him nearer and nearer.

When she parted her legs he went easily, willingly, happily, between them, ducking his head and running his tongue over the wetness between her thighs, making her cry out in surprise and her fingers tangle in his hair. He didn’t care when she tugged sharply, didn’t care that her nails bit into his scalp. As he licked and sucked and tasted her all he cared about was that he was giving her such pleasure. That he was driving her wild with desire and passion.

He relented his assault on her only when his own need became too much to ignore. He needed more than the taste of her. The feel of her. He needed all of her.

Crawling up, pressing kisses and nips and touches to her body as he moved to cover her with his own, he took pride and pleasure in every sound that fell from her lips. Even the way she mewled his name, over and over again, was beautiful. Music straight from heaven. And when he finally lined himself up with her, when he finally sank into the wet heat of her, causing her to cry out and buck and clutch at him while all but screaming his name, he felt as though he was finally whole. They were two halves meeting at long last.

She gasped and sobbed and mewled when he began rolling his hips, quicker and harder with every inward thrust, and he groaned, deep and loud, as she clenched around him, one hand tangling in his hair again, drawing him down into a kiss, while the other curled tightly against his shoulder, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin.

She met his thrusts with eager rolls of her hips and, suddenly, he felt another flash through his mind and gasp as their feelings shimmered across the connection she had unintentionally created between their minds. She cried out even as he gasped, the feelings intense and nearly overwhelming, the shared sensations too much and yet perfect at the same time.

Connected that way meant they could not last long and, with twin cries of pleasure, they reached their climaxes together.

It was like their minds whited out in pleasure and, when they finally came back to themselves, their minds were separate once again and Bucky had, it seemed, had enough sense not to collapse atop her but had rolled to the side, sprawling on his back and pulling her over him.

Gasping, looking down at Wanda, at her beautiful face, he couldn’t help but smile.

“I got you,” he whispered, seeing the words in his messy chicken scratch handwriting on her left bicep and Wanda smiled back, nuzzling against his chest.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispered back, nuzzling at the words on his chest, right over his heart, in a delicate, looping hand. Her hand.

He chuckled at the double meaning of her words, which made her laugh as she no doubt realized how her words had sounded, and they shared yet another gentle kiss.

They would still need to tell their friends, Steve would congratulate them while Barton would likely, as Wanda’s surrogate father, do his best to threaten or intimidate Bucky, but in that moment, happy and floating in the warmth of the aftermath of their lovemaking, all they needed was each other.