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just1cefor4ll · 6 months ago

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—You’re the kind of person they write rock songs about

modern!au Viktor x fem!reader

part 8 || epilogue

A/N. sighhhhhh its the end guys :(((( idk if im too happy w this chapter butt i still hope you enjoy!! and im so sorry for the wait ive been busyy

‘You will never walk alone

You can always reach me

You will never ever walk alone’

Months had passed since you and Viktor got together—and it had been worth every second of waiting and ‘dancing around each other.’Your relationship was effortless in all the best ways. He needed you, and you needed him. It was as simple as that. And yet, you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around how you’d ended up with someone like him—someone who, at first glance, never seemed to think about love, yet here he was, utterly and hopelessly in love with you. Just as you were with him.

You both had your moments of realization—those quiet, startling instances when the depth of your feelings hit you all at once. Viktor had his just a few weeks into your relationship. It had been the worst week imaginable for him—exams, assignments, endless experiments. By the end of it, he was completely drained, barely holding himself upright.

When he showed up at your door, you weren’t sure whether to greet him or offer your condolences. He looked exhausted, circles under his eyes darker than usual— if that was even possible, and he looked like his mind was everywhere all at once.

Without hesitation, you stepped aside to let him in. “Yeah, no thinking or touching anything related to school for at least a day,” you said with a soft smile. He didn’t protest, didn’t even try to argue. He just let you pull him into your bed, where you lay together, his weight pressing into you as he let himself rest for the first time in days.

It was in that moment, as you ran your fingers through his hair, that he understood—this was what it meant to have someone. To be cared for without asking. To be loved without condition.

And he never wanted to go without it again.

truly.y/n posted to their story

For you it was how he admired and noticed every single detail about you. It started when he noticed your fidgeting with your guitar strap before shows, the way he held your hand right then and there and kept your overthinking thoughts calm down in just a second. The way he said things you mentioned months back and he still remembered.

“Hey I’m bored and i’d really want to go somewhere..” You said through the phone, a soft huff escaping your lips since you’ve been rotting in bed for the past 3 hours. Viktor reacted almost instantly, your heart skipping a beat— face getting a bit warm. “How about we go get you those new guitar strings? You said you’ve been wanting to get new ones along with a guitar pick and I’m pretty sure you’ve had getting a new vinyl in mind for a while too.” He rambled, making you stutter out a response after staying quiet for longer than needed. “O-oh yeah sure that sounds awesome! Also I—” You’d want to go to that new cat café down to street of the music shop?” You smile, getting up and going towards your closet. “You know me so well.”

“I know, love.” You could definitely hear the smug smile on his face making you chuckle. “Alright then I’ll give you some time to get ready. Be there in an hour?” You nodded, saying your goodbyes before you went into the shower.

Your heart felt warm— full of his love and you couldn’t be happier. In your past relationships you didn’t really bother mentioning your interests since no one ever bothered to remember— but he did..

It was nice being known.

vik.tor222

vik.tor222 my girl 🤍

liked by ishaaq, ekk0stime, j.talis and 42 others

3 commented

truly.y/n 🤍🤍

mmedarda cuties

ishaaq finally our girl is happy omg

Hang outs became more lively— you didn’t have to awkwardly interact or just glance at each other all day. Everything changed for the better and it was just the best your lives have ever been.

You still spent most of your time at the Last drop like you have for years before you even started dating— or you ended up at the venues bar you had just played at and laughed until they had to kick you after closing time.

Tonight, the usual chaos unfolded—Ekko and Powder bickering over some ridiculous bet, Isha sipping her drink and listening to Mel talk, and Viktor sat beside you in the booth, his arm resting lazily behind you. "You two are gross," Powder groaned, watching as you absentmindedly played with Viktor’s fingers. "Like, actually sickening. I miss when you were just pining idiots."

You smirked, tilting your head at Powder. "Oh, we’re disgusting?" You gestured between yourself and Viktor before pointing at her and Ekko. "That’s rich, coming from you two."

Ekko raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Viktor chuckled, catching on immediately. "Ah, yes. I suppose staring at each other like lovesick fools doesn’t count?"

Powder’s face scrunched up. "We do not—"

"You totally do," you cut in, grinning. "And don’t even get me started on how you two kick me out of our dorm room so you can make out."

Ekko smirked, unbothered. "And? At least we don’t subject people to whatever this is." He waved vaguely at you and Viktor, who still had his arm draped behind you.

"Please," you scoffed. "You guys were worse before you got together. At least Viktor and I had some self-control."

Powder rolled her eyes playfully. "Yeah, real subtle. Because begging me to change the setlist and making me play the guitar— which I haven’t in like years— last minute so you can sing Iris to Viktor in stead of just saying ‘Hey! I’m in love with you!’ was totally not doing too much."

You opened your mouth to argue but hesitated. "Okay, fair point."

Viktor just smiled beside you. "I still think it was a lovely confession."

Ekko snickered. "You would."

After a few hours of talking and laughing, you decided to slip away for a bit, stepping out back for a cigarette. The night air was cool against your skin as you sat down on the small, weathered bench—probably older than the bar itself. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your pack, but after a few seconds of searching, you sighed.

powpow

powpow love my girls (and my drinking buddy ig)

liked by ekk0stime, truly.y/n, ishaaq, vik.tor222 and 207 others

2 commented

truly.y/n we love YOU!! ❤️

ekk0stime replied stop trynna steal my wife tf

ishaaq replied you mean OUR wife?

vik.tor222

vik.tor222 an angel sent down just for me

liked by truly.y/n, j.talis, mmedarda, powpow and 42 others

4 commented

j.talis credits to us, we sent the angel

ekk0stime replied clapping for me and the band

powpow replied a pat on the back is def deserved

truly.y/n replied kindly stfu

“Shit—”

Before you could finish the thought, Viktor pulled out exactly what you were looking for. He flicked the lighter to life, the small flame casting a glow over his face as he held it up to your cigarette.

“You know,” he said as you took a drag, “this will kill you one day.”

You exhaled slowly, smoke curling between you. “Yeah, yeah. You tell me every time.”

“And yet, you never listen.”

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “If I did, I’d be boring.”

Viktor shook his head, but there was no real disapproval in his expression. He just watched you, eyes flickering between your lips and the cigarette before landing on your face.

“You gonna keep staring, or do you want a drag?” you teased, holding it out to him.

He scoffed. “Tempting, but I’d rather not die faster.”

“Suit yourself.” You took another slow inhale, then blew the smoke just enough in his direction to make him roll his eyes.

For a while, you sat in comfortable silence, the distant sounds of the bar filtering through the alley. Then Viktor spoke again, softer this time.

The distant hum of the bar faded into the quiet of the alley, the only sounds between you the occasional drag of your cigarette and the soft scuff of Viktor’s cane against the pavement as he shifted beside you.

For a moment, it seemed like he was content just sitting there, but then he spoke—his voice careful, like he had been thinking about this for a while.

“You know,” he started, “I have.. come to a realization.” You exhaled slowly, glancing at him. “Oh? Do tell.” Viktor rested his forearms on his knees, fingers loosely intertwined. “You and I… we spend a great deal of time together.” You smirked. “Usually how relationships work, yeah.” He nodded, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he continued. “It is not a complaint, I assure you. Rather, I find it interesting.” You took another drag. “Interesting how?”

Viktor turned his head toward you, studying you in that way he always did when he was gathering his thoughts. Then, with the same quiet certainty he always had in moments like this, he said:

“That, despite seeing you nearly every day, it never feels like enough.”

The cigarette nearly slipped from your lips. You blinked at him, caught completely off guard by how blunt that was.

And yet, Viktor looked almost unaffected, as if he hadn’t just casually said something that sent your heart into overdrive.

You cleared your throat, forcing out a chuckle. “So you’re basically saying you’re obsessed with me?” You smirk, thinking you got him right back.

Viktor huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “If that is how you wish to interpret it.”

You turned more toward him, resting an elbow on the back of the bench. “You are obsessed with me.”

His eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression. Then, as if accepting the accusation completely, he simply said; “Yes.”

Your breath hitched. No hesitation, no awkward stammering—just the truth, laid bare between you.

He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice just enough to make your pulse stutter. “And you?”

You swallowed. “What about me?”

Viktor tilted his head, gaze steady. “Are you obsessed with me as well?”

You hummed, thinking about it. “Maybe I am.” He chuckled, grabbing your cigarette and throwing it away even after your protests. “Maybe it is then.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to Viktor. "You regret it yet?" He looked at you with a raised brow. “Can’t say I understand, love.” He stated, confused.

“Us? Am I not too much or too little? I don’t know I’ve never been in a healthy relationship before.”

He hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against your upper arm— a habit he developed whenever you had long conversations while his arm was around you. "Hmm. Let’s see.. I get to spend time with you, no longer have to agonize over if you like me, and I get to do this—" He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back with a smug grin. "So no, I don’t regret a thing and you are perfect.”

Viktor’s words lingered in the cool night air, settling between you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. You huffed out a soft laugh, shaking your head.

You hummed, still not entirely convinced as you took one last drag before flicking your cigarette away.

Viktor tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Not convinced?”

You scoffed, nudging his side. “Bold assumption.”

He just hummed, stepping closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth of him even in the chill of the night. “Not an assumption,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just slightly, his touch impossibly gentle. “I’m simply observant.”

Your breath hitched, but you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your pulse stuttered. “Alright, genius, if you’re so observant, then you should know that Powder’s probably already looking for us.”

Viktor smirked. “Let her look.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a way that was both effortless and deliberate, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment. His hand found your waist, holding you there as he deepened it just slightly—slow, lingering, like he wanted to make sure you felt every second of it.

By the time he pulled away, you were left blinking up at him, lips still tingling from the kiss. Viktor, of course, looked entirely too pleased with himself.

You cleared your throat, ignoring the heat rising to your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

He only chuckled, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together. “Mm, and yet, you are still holding my hand.”

You huffed, tugging him toward the bar’s back door. “Come on, obsessed boyfriend. Before Powder drags us back herself.”

Just before stepping inside, he gave your hand a small squeeze, voice light but certain.

“Whatever you say, obsessed girlfriend.”

You groaned, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. And as the noise of your friends filled the air again, Viktor still at your side, you couldn’t help but think—yeah, you were both absolutely gone for each other.

vik.tor222

vik.tor222 don’t regret a single second spent with her<3

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taglist: @erica2024 @lolixsstuff @skullmvncher @startingtoloveyou @astarionapologist @th3stup1dcat @fiveperrcent @fadedpinkpen @noxturnalmoth

#⚖️just1cefor4ll #viktor arcane #arcane #arcane viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor x y/n #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor x you #viktor fanfiction #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor lol #viktor league of legends #arcane fanfiction #arcane fanfic

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heroexxs · 2 months ago

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Stanley felt like a ghost inside his own life. The house was too quiet, too still, like it was holding its breath in anticipation of a presence that would never return. He’d spent most of the last few days planted on the couch, surrounded by half-drunk mugs of coffee and the soft hum of a TV that had long since become background noise. He didn’t really remember when he last ate a proper meal or got a full night’s sleep. Since the funeral, time had blurred into a haze of forced condolences and empty casseroles delivered with well-meaning but hollow expressions. No one really knew what to say anymore. They’d said their piece at the service—“I’m so sorry,” “She was so lovely,” “If you need anything…”—but now the calls had slowed, the visits stopped, and Stanley was left in the silence of it all.

So when he heard the knock at the door, he honestly wasn’t sure if he imagined it. It felt out of place, like sound wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. He stayed frozen at first, his body slow to react, but eventually, he forced himself to stand and shuffle to the door. When he opened it and saw Desiree standing there, something inside him, small and cracked, shifted. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped aside and motioned for her to come in. Desiree was his best friend and had been a quiet, constant presence since everything happened, and he was grateful for her without always knowing how to show it. He knew grief made people uncomfortable, made them pull away or rush to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. But Desiree didn’t do that. She just showed up.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the roughness of his unshaven jaw scratching against his palm, and muttered, “I’m okay.” It was a lie. They both knew it. But he said it anyway because it felt easier than admitting that he still expected his wife to walk through the door every time the floor creaked or the wind shifted through the curtains. “You don’t have work?” he asked, his voice hoarse from too many days of silence. “You really don’t have to hang around here, Des,” he added, his voice lower this time, rougher. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to babysit me or something. I’m just… I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to...” he paused, biting down the rest of the sentence before it could get too real, too exposed. His shoulders slumped with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. “You don’t have to stay,” he repeated, a little quieter, not really meaning it.

// @thedevilsbckbone

#thedevilsbckbone #[ stanley convo ]#ugh this might break us LOL

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hardkittyprince · 1 year ago

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Ok so I had this Idea about tevan marriage fic that summary is like: buck and Tommy are together for 2 years now but on their wedding day buck freaked out and runaway i really wanted to write fic about this but I didn't have any word or how to write so i asked chat gpt and here is the result

**Title: The Runaway Groom**

The day was perfect, just as Tommy had always imagined. The sun shone brightly over the garden where the ceremony was set up, flowers in full bloom, and chairs filled with friends and family. Everything was ready. All that was left was for the groom to show up.

Tommy stood at the altar, nerves fluttering in his stomach, but his heart full of love for Buck. They had spent two wonderful years together, facing every challenge, every joy side by side. This day was meant to be the culmination of their love, a promise of forever.

But as the minutes ticked by, Tommy's smile began to fade. The whispers among the guests grew louder, concern rippling through the crowd. Buck was nowhere to be seen.

"Has anyone seen Buck?" Tommy asked, his voice strained as he tried to maintain his composure.

No one had. Panic began to set in. Tommy's heart pounded as he rushed towards the back rooms, hoping to find Buck there, maybe just running late or having a last-minute suit adjustment.

Instead, he found an empty room and a note hastily scrawled in Buck's familiar handwriting.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy. I can't do this. Please forgive me."

Tommy's world tilted on its axis. He stumbled back, clutching the note as if it were a lifeline. How could Buck leave him like this? On their wedding day? Without even saying goodbye?

The minutes turned into an hour. Tommy sat alone in what was supposed to be their dressing room, staring at the note, tears streaming down his face. Guests slowly began to leave, offering condolences, their words a blur to Tommy.

Finally, when the garden was empty, and the sun began to set, Eddie found him. He sat down beside Tommy, silent for a long moment.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," Eddie said quietly. "I don't know what Buck was thinking."

Tommy shook his head. "I don't understand. We were happy. We were ready."

Eddie put a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Sometimes fear gets the better of people. Maybe Buck panicked. But you deserve answers."

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no word from Buck. Tommy threw himself into his work, trying to forget the pain, the humiliation. But every night, he lay awake, wondering why.

It wasn't until a month later that Buck finally reached out. Tommy received a message asking him to meet at their favorite spot by the beach. Reluctantly, he agreed.

When Tommy arrived, Buck was already there, sitting on the sand, staring out at the ocean. He looked tired, his eyes red as if he hadn't slept in days.

"Tommy," Buck began, his voice raw with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you. I owe you an explanation."

Tommy crossed his arms, standing a few feet away. "You think? You left me at the altar, Buck. Without a word."

Buck winced, nodding. "I know. And it was the worst mistake of my life. I... I freaked out. The idea of forever, of marriage, it just... it terrified me. Not because I didn't love you, but because I was scared I wasn't enough. That I'd mess everything up."

Tears welled up in Tommy's eyes again, but this time, they were tears of anger. "So you just ran away? Without talking to me? Without giving me a chance to understand?"

"I was a coward," Buck admitted, his voice breaking. "I was so afraid of failing you that I ran. And I've regretted it every single day."

Tommy sat down beside Buck, the anger slowly giving way to the sadness he'd been carrying. "You didn't just break my heart, Buck. You humiliated me. In front of everyone we love."

"I know," Buck whispered. "And I don't expect you to forgive me. But I needed you to know the truth. I love you, Tommy. I never stopped. I was just too scared to believe that I could be the partner you deserve."

Tommy looked out at the waves crashing against the shore, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the water. "I loved you, Buck. I still do. But you broke something in me that day. I don't know if I can trust you again."

Buck nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I understand. I just... I needed to tell you. I'm so, so sorry."

They sat in silence, the weight of Buck's actions hanging heavy between them. Finally, Tommy stood up, looking down at Buck. "I need time, Buck. To heal, to figure out if I can move past this. But thank you for finally telling me the truth."

Buck watched as Tommy walked away, his heart aching with the knowledge that he might have lost the love of his life forever. All he could do now was hope that time would heal the wounds he had caused and that maybe, someday, Tommy might find it in his heart to forgive him.

#bucktommy #buck x tommy #buck and tommy #i want more tevan to be endgame please #lou ferrigno jr #evantommy #911 on abc #oliver stark #bi buck #wedding fic #runaway buck

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boredwritergirl · 1 year ago

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Day 6 - Pocket Full of Posies

Day 6 - hey everyone, the write a short story every day in may challenge is going smoothly. I'm having fun with it and I hope you are too. It makes me happy to start seeing these posts get a little more attention and I hope that keeps on happening. Hope you like the story, have a nice day!

Trigger Warnings: Disease, Death & Child Death

Pocket Full of Posies

I have to do something! Thought Luna as she strolled around her dowry village. The streets were flooding with corpses yet again. Yet another day of people dumping their loved ones onto the street to be collected and burnt so the black death doesn’t spread.

Luna had only just moved to this town. She had fled her homeland because her sister was burnt at the stake for “Witchcraft”. In truth, Luna studied medicine with her sister, and she knew she’d be next. She was initially met with warm reception from this new village, back when it was a prosperous town, destined to blossom into something truly grand and spectacular. But then the plague came, and the plague stayed, rupturing the population in its wake.

In the mere few weeks since the black death claimed its first victim, the village had lost its busy, bustling and friendly spirit. Now there were more dead people outdoors than living ones in the safety of their own homes.

During this time, Luna had spent bunkered down at home, studying her notes on medicine, only occasionally venturing out of her cot after dark to collect plant samples. But finally, she thought she found an answer, a decoction that could potentially heal the sick and certainly stop them from falling to the illness again.

This was the first time Luna decided to walk out during the daytime, really seeing how bad the death toll was. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she saw the burning piles of rotting corpses right there on the cobblestone street for all to see.

It’s not fair! Luna thought. I couldn’t save them in time… but, maybe I can save the others… No, No! I remember what they did to Cassandra… I’ll never forget that look in her eyes, how she cried, pleading for mercy, begging for my help, yet I was powerless. Surely the same would happen to me… But, this isn’t the same village. When I was a stranger, they treated me with kindness. They’re desperate, they probably wouldn’t see my medicine as witchcraft and let me help. It's not like God is going to step in and do anything… But, I don’t really have any proof they’ll react that way either. The only way to know for sure is to look for someone I can help. I need to show them that I can save them. That I must save them and repay them for their generosity.

Luna kept walking, finding more and more corpses, rundown homes and empty shops. The thriving town that should have become a bustling city had become hollow. She’d pass by the bodies of several people she had gotten to know, once kind hearts now just necrotic bodies laying on the ground, most of their clothes looted off of their beings, leaving the corpses undignified.

Then finally, Luna heard someone alive, a woman crying, bawling her eyes out not too far from her.

As Luna followed the sound of the sobs, they led her to a home, a man holding a crying woman back from leaving the door frame, as two of their sons dumped their little brother off to be collected by the corpse burners.

“Nooo! Bring Johnny back!!! He’ll wake up any minute now!” The woman yelled.

“How many times do we have to tell you he’s dead!? God took him from us, there’s no saving him. We can only pray for his eternal soul.” Her husband said, hugging her tightly, keeping her in place as she started crying into his shoulder.

Luna decided to approach the pair, gulping as she knew she was taking a big risk. “My condolences about Johnny. I’m so sorry for your-”

But before she could say anymore, not even being able to offer her help yet, the crying woman interrupted her with a deep, horse and venomous tone. “You!” she yelled, staring at Luna with a vengeful glare.

Luna was caught off guard, all her thoughts, her conviction to help, her internal monologue all going blank as she froze up.

The woman continued yelling at her. “Ever since you came to town, everyone’s been dropping like flies! This horrid curse started barely a week after you came to town! You used your witchcraft to doom us all!”

Luna gasped, standing in utter shock. “But- But I-”

The husband quickly punched Luna right in the head, knocking her unconscious.

As Luna woke, she found herself bound, tied to a stake with stacks of hay surrounding her… In the middle of the town square, where what little remained of the townsfolk were watching her.

The priest was saying his prayers, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done-” as he continued, the crowd booed and jeered at Luna, even the sounds of the rotten fruits they hurled at her was overshadowing the priest’s repeated praying.

Luna tried to scream, she wanted to scream harder than anyone before. I’m trying to save you! I made a cure! I can save all of us! But she was gagged, so her attempts were for nought.

The villagers set fire to the haystack, flowing up the stake and burning Luna alive, slowly roasting her in front of the angry mob. She cried and cried, but the angry, desperate beasts that surrounded her were hungry for blood, an overwhelming desire to kill their scapegoat with nothing to stop them.

The villagers celebrated Luna’s death for a time, but it was short-lived. They grew to be paranoid of each other as their sacrifice did nothing to eliminate the black plague.

Their hatred was the only thing they had left as the once prosperous town faded, the population continuing to bleed until the very end, until the village was ashes, ashes, and all fell down.

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wooahaeruby · 11 months ago

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WHAT THE HELLLLLLLLLL IS WRONG WITH YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 GODDAMNNNN THAT WAS SO INTENSE BROTHERRRR, and also finally I see the enigma’s chapter is here huh, dear readers it was our own dear seungcheol who always threatened to shot mouse but we all know why not, the next chapter coming is so devorable, you all will enjoy it and maybe go through the trauma that im going through.

I’m really sorry for not reading it sooner, things kind of went south these past few weeks and I have been sick as well, and finally got well today and the anticipation was killing me to read your work as soon as I get well and it was worth it, OH MY GODDDDDD, so I had my playlist on shuffle and I lost my shit when strange by agust d started playing, the ominous and the music was so perfect and I was drowning in chapter 39 for a very long time, my whole body it was like it was on fire and it still is, I am going insane fuck I DONʼT THINK I CAN DO THIS EDITORS HOW DO YOU DO THIS FUCKING HELLLLLLLL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

seungcheol :(((((( i think the things are becoming more intense from this point forward, and i wish mouse to be safe and sound and happy, and jeonghan dk PLEASE BE SAFE, FOR THE SAKE OF GOD I DONʼT THINK I CAN DO IT ANYMORE.

AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH I think I am going insane, my emotions are truly heightened up and its like a part of me is also burning, you wrote this chapter so so so so well, this is what I signed up and you are devouring it so well, this is what I died to read for, this is intense FUCKKKK I know I am repeating myself but fuck, I really cannot do this anymore I am on my knees begging for next chapter, editors please send your condolences to me because I am sure I will not make it alive without dying some times. 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also trist, I missed you so much I was dying to read your writing and I am so happy to read it, I hope your days is going amazing and lots of love to you, you really are my favourite writers and there is also another thing I want to talk about, I will write in the next ask.

— 🌙

I'm going to do the same thing I did last time and reply to all your things in one shot lmao.

Ummm, a lot is wrong with me, I watched Criminal Minds writing BSH so no one should be surprised :D Mouse and Cheol? They might have their moment sooner or later~ Who knows~

It's okay!! My editor and I were going "When will Moon return from war!" as a joke but I hoe you are doing well! chapter 39 was...oof. It took me so long to write because I wanted it to be perfect. I have nothing else to say for myself haha. I'm glad you enjoyed it despite the pain that came with it. My editor, they....deal with me :D On a daily basis :D Sometimes they want to beat me with a baseball bat. Sometimes I write something nice and it smooths things over for a short period of time before I am evil again.

I don't think you really need to worry about Cheol, Joshua, Jeonghan, or DK. I don't plan to hurt anyone else. However, if that is how the dice rolls, so be it. No one is going to full out die, I never planned on that to begin with!

I'm glad you continue to enjoy BSH!!

There is a long running joke between Dooahae, my editor (our editor), and me, that we are constantly throwing mental rocks at FF Jeonghan. Uhhhhh, it somehow bleed into BSH due to our editor.

Editor: "I know this isn't Fallin' Flower Jeonghan but I'm throwing mental rocks at him."

Especially when Jeonghan was being a heathen in the beginning flirting with Mouse.

I sent this to to our writing group chat this morning and he sent this

So know your comment reached the right person!

I hope you know that I wait now for your comments about the chapters. I'm sorry they are so spread apart. I'm in a small bump of writer's block so I'm trying to get more done but I'm more than likely going to get 10000000% more busy due to some job changes and things coming up! I'm trying my best!!

I have you are well and I hope you continue to enjoy BSH

And....

As always....

Nothing Bad Every Happens in BSH

#seventeen #svt #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen mafia au #mafia au #wooahaeruby stuff

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casadecopia · 3 years ago

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Just want to join the league of ppl complaining about the finale bc the more I think about it, the more evidence I come up with that it was just a shitty rushed job and overall bad writing and directing.

Full on ignoring the inconsistencies that went along with Eddie’s characterization and subsequent choices that led to his death being out of character and full of continuity errors:

I just want to address Dustin and Steve in the finale; I’ve seen a lot of posts about how they just made Steve cold, out of character, seemingly unaffected by Eddie’s death at the end. He’s just folding clothes all ~*la di da and ignoring his son Dustin crying away over Eddie:

And I think honestly the reason for this is just as everybody is saying: shitty writing- except the scene with Mr Munson and Dustin was not actually done like shit! It was moving, it was well done and it was very nice to see Dustin find comfort in comforting Mr Munson.

What’s actually shitty about it is the production of them choosing to substitute a scene with Mr Munson with Dustin instead of a scene with Dustin and Steve when that should’ve been blatantly obvious that that is what the audience would have wanted.

And I’m not knocking the scene either, I enjoyed it! But to me, it really just seemed like a lazy way to end the volume. You can go on about time constraints and scenes being cut out if necessity and I understand that, I do. So why not cut the scene with Dustin and Mr Munson and replace it with one of Dustin and Steve?

Because it’s lazy writing that’s why! A scene with Mr Munson and Dustin is straight forward, its essentially just repetitive small talk and condolences one usually receives- but a scene with Steve? Fucking Dustin was being strong for Mr Munson, with Steve he wouldn’t have to have been that way. His emotions could have been raw and true and so would have Steve’s. And an emotionally charged scene is harder to write than the typical “sorry for your loss” condolences. Ergo lazy.

I propose they could have kept the scene with Mr Munson, not even making it deleted- because I did enjoy it-but they should have added one with Steve as well.

#stranger things s4 #stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #joeseph quinn #joe keery #dustin henderson #Steve Harrington #steddie #Eddie Munson

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forestgreenfairy · 3 years ago

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A Teenage Kind of Love (salvis)

Episode 5

( travis)

I'm staring at my ceiling, analyzing all the patterns in the roof, cracks, paint peeling or water damage, all the things that come with age and houses. For me the things that come with age are far worse than cracking or being damaged. Its feelings.

When you're little you don't feel much besides happy, sad, and mad but as you grow your feelings develop along with your body jealousy, disgust among others, and love. Love is the one which brings me the most distress and anxiety, not becuase im nervous to confess my feelings to a girl or a girl doesn't like me back. It's because I like boys. Something my father could never accept, something that could get me killed.

There's a loud bang on my door and I shoot up out of my bed.

“TRAVIS LETS GO '' my father shouts. I get up smoothing my suit and slipping on my black dress shoes. I open the door and he's staring at me with evil eyes.

“Ready?” he questions and I nod following him down the stairs. Allyssa is waiting for us dressed in black from head to toe standing in the doorway.

“My condolences travis” she says wiping a tear from her face slightly smudging her mascara.

“Thank you alyssa, but you knew her about as well as i did” i pause “my condolences” i say smiling

“Let's go, they are waiting for us at the church,” my father says, grabbing the keys off the wall.

The next hours are hard to recall, many people hugged me and said they were sorry to me and my father. Everytime my father would cry or act sad I wanted to scream, I was so angry I started crying. I couldn't take it. Everyone assumed they were tears of sadness but they were tears of complete rage and hatred.

I helped carry her coffin out of the church and to the hearse, and then from the hearse to the gravesite. A small graveyard exclusively for members of the phelps ministry church, it has a few trails right out front but other than that it is quite barren.

I set her coffin down and step back and listen to the rest of the sermon my father gives. They begin to lower her in the ground and suddenly it's real. This is my life forever, my life continues on when hers has ceased. My heart hertz in a way I can't describe, I fall to my knees crying.

People begin to whisper behind me and I know my father is angry, making people talk is one of the worst sins he would always say, But I couldn't care any less than I do know. I pull my golden roasterie out from beneath my shirt and suit and hold the cross in my hand. I slump over head to the ground and for the first time in a long time, I pray.

(sal)

Today is Mrs. Phelps funeral and the whole town's talking, talking about how she died and about Mr.phelps behavior leading up to the funeral. Larry says es seen Mr. Phelps with a young woman who he says looks “shockingly similar to young Mrs.Phelps”.

It's about 12 when churchgoers begin to leave the cemetery grounds and begin to tell the events of exactly what happened at the funeral.

I talked with a women who live downstairs about it once she got homeA

“It was a beautiful, and extravagant service but other than that there was nothing of note” she says in her sweet soft voice.

“except for what Travis did when his mom's coffin was being lowered into the ground.” She frowns, eyes full of sadness.

“he started crying and fell to his knees,then he pulled out his rosary and keeled over and while crying, he began to pray. Almost every prayer i knew and ones i didnt he was muttering under his breath.'' She pauses and takes a deep breath.

“His tears are watering his mothers grave like Mary at Jesus's feet '' she says, patting my shoulder.

“Now I really must get Sam.” I don't care to correct her because I'm so concerned for travis. Him hurting so much hurts me, it makes me sad for him. I need to see him, hug him, hold him and tell him it's okay.

Fuck. i do have a crush on him. But i dont think im totally gay? I mean i've had a crush on a girl before,but i do think i like travis i mean i don't know what else this feeling would mean if i didn't like him. I don't think it really matters as long as I'm honest with him. I mindlessly find my way back to the partment and sit at my desk.

I pull out a piece of paper and pen. My therapist said when I'm dealing with feelings that are hard to express, I should write a letter to myself or whoever I'm feeling frustrated/sad/upset etc with. I write a letter to travis and it reads:

Dear travis,

I know you won't know what to do when you read this, if you read this but hanging out with you has made me realize and i don't really know how to say this so i'm writing it but, i like you travis like you. Like I want to hug you and hold you. I want to run my hands through your perfect hair and kiss your perfect face. I want to tell you how I feel, I want you to be able to tell me how you feel, I want you to confide in me. To trust me. I understand if you don't feel the same way about me as I do you, considering your religious beliefs and your personal emotions but you just needed to know.

Love,

Sal fisher.

I fold it neatly then stick it in the most hidden pocket of my backpack. I don't intend on giving it to him any time soon or even at all but I want to have it just in case. When I do this I see the letter from that boy and I re-read it. I recognize the handwriting but I'm not sure from where… oh my god, this is travis’s handwriting, i remember because one time i had to peer-review an essay of his. My brain wonders thinking of every possible solution and of who the boy he's writing to is.

Then my heart sent a flutter. Could it be me? I think. Maybe I will give him my letter on monday.

(travis)

When I get home I'm drained of any and all emotions except for emptiness and sadness. My father does not share these same emotions with me because when we get home he sits me down on the couch to “just talk” with him and alyssa.

“So travis considering the day we've all had me and your father were hoping to bring some good news” she says smiling and holding onto my fathers arm.

“Me and alyssa travis we are getting married next sunday” he says beaming down at her.

My stomach drops and I begin to cry once again, he is a truly evil man. Not only did he kill his wife he is getting married exactly a week after her funeral? I don't understand and I don't understand his reasoning but still I listen when he begins to speak again.

“We just thought it would be very honoring of your mother for it to be a week after symbolizing a new start” he says looking at me, watching, waiting for a reaction but all i can do is cry.

“Oh don't cry sweetheart '' Allysa says rubbing my knee but I just can't take it. I swat her hand away and stand up.

“Dad are you fu” im cut off my a swift slap across the face from my father

“DO NOT use foul language in this house and DO NOT speak back to me in front of your mother boy” he emphasizes the word mother and it all clicks. He wanted the amount of time without my mother to be so slim almost as if she had just left momentarily. He wanted to replace her, acting as if nothing happened.

“She is not my mother” I breathe. I walk away from them making my way to my room. Neither of them stop me and I go to bed more upset than when I woke up if that's even possible.

#salvis #sally face #sal fisher #travis phelps #fanfic

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loverscrossmp3 · 3 years ago

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HI LIV!! HOW IS YOUR DAY HOW ARE YOU!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! for the directors cut thing...i was wondering if you could talk a little bit abt the role of james in and still the fire burns xx because i just loved the sort of part he played there in that its a jily fic but actually its not? because most importantly its a lily fic...its about her growth and her internal conflicts and her identity...and yet james and the romance between them is so wonderfully present...was that always like. the plan? for the fic to be about lily first and foremost and to explore her and james that way? or did it sort of become that over time? do any of these questions make sense? i dont know xx (also anything you can say at all about remus and sirius...you know how i weep and wail when they turn up in your writing...) MWAH!!

HELLO LOVELY!!! I AM WELL - worked all weekend but got out of classes early today so took a well-needed nap! HOW ARE YOU!! how's halloween on the other side of the world!!!

answer under the cut i am. so sorry. i am so sjrry

FANTASTIC question!! the thing with astfb is considering it was my first *actual* canon fic, i wanted it to be... essentially perfect. obviously, it is not, but i am still very pleased with how it came out! anyway, as a result of that it went through several drafts.

when i first began the story, i honestly had no idea where i was going with it. the summary was actually sort of the basis i tried to keep it centered around cause i had that jotted down in my notes since. probably last year. and originally when i had written it, i thought it would be more of a light-hearted, happy fic centered more around the boys and all their shenanigans. but! after lots of re-writing and shifting things around into places that fit or getting rid of them altogether, you can find that that is not exactly what happened!

so, to answer your actual question, it definitely wasn’t my initial intention to focus solely on lily!

to be completely honest, when i first began writing, my ideas on her were still somewhat vague and certainly not as solid as they are now after exploring her character more thoroughly. and actually, i think i did try to sort of fight writing her perspective and do james’ instead but that... would not happen (she’s insistent like that).

as i wrote and slowly got the hang of lily, i realized that, actually, i hadn’t included much of james at all. everything i was writing was a study on her character, and her alone, more than anything else.

once that was put together, from there it was like okay, this is gonna be lily’s story; and then, it’s gonna focus on her and her relationships more than anything else — james is obviously the big one but you’ll see petunia and snape are also scattered throughout, even if it’s only a passing thought (did this especially bc i think it’s these three relationships of hers that really play a significant role in who she is as a character).

over time, i think that subconscious thought had already been there from including smaller scenes that basically gave a small insight into how lily viewed james (and how he was) through the years (unreliable narrator woohoo!!). like, for example, our first introduction of james reveals that he was the one who had the idea of sending lily the book full of condolences after her dad died. and then in the great hall after the first attacks in february, their eyes catch and despite everything that’s going on, lily still has it in her to think about the sweet small moment they had in transfiguration the week prior.

with it being a non-linear timeline, you aren’t exactly given the full story all at once. like, reading that latter example, you won’t know that lily’s actually been noticing james (‘The final, a secret: this one, fresh as potted plants on a windowsill, edges yellowing ... Her eyes flit. The boy with glasses is grinning, saying something wild.’ — this is revealed at nearly the end of the story) or how they sat in the quiet of the common room before christmas hols a few months ago until, sometimes, much later.

SORRY this got so long i am genuinely flushed in embarrassment but the short, redundant answer is: it wasn’t the original plan for the main focus to be on lily, but pretty quickly i realized that - that’s what it was going to be whether i liked it or not. then, once this epiphany struck many drafts later, that’s how i knew i was going to explore lily and james’ relationship: in small bits that don’t overshadow lily’s actual story and character.

and as for remus and sirius!!

so, my personal hc (at least for the sake of this fic) is that sirius and remus don’t officially get together until some time in seventh year (i usually picture the prank taking place the spring of fifth year, so it being sixth year still, i imagine it’s still a bit of a tense topic between the two).

but, obviously, they are pining like fools off screen — which lily does notice btw (they hardly spoke a word in divination until some time in december!! sirius will tilt back on his chair legs and watch remus when he’s engaged in his work!!).

“It sounds very nearly like he’s your lover, the way you go on about him,” Lily interrupts.

James’ head snaps to her and then he is turning back to doodle on his parchment, laughing. “Nah,” he says, “couldn’t handle him, me. He needs someone with a bit more… head.”

“Ah.”

“But he is great. Once you get past the whole… him aspect of it.” He glances up, a grin making its way to his lips. Lily looks away, blinking rapidly.

really wish i could give you more on them but! in this scene, i imagine james isn’t nearly as oblivious as he seems and definitely knows both r and s are absolutely mad for each other. and that, like he said, s needs someone who’s a bit more solemn, who can take him down a notch when needed. once they’re closer, he and lily regularly talk about it. one day they even catch the two of them sitting near the black lake, remus on his back with his arm over his eyes, laughing; oblivious to sirius watching him like it’s his only goal in life to make remus laugh.

director’s cut!

#ridi tag #ask game #astfb #kissing u sloppily if you read the whole thing i am SO SORRY FOR THIS #if someone asked me to be concise and coherent in life or death. well. they would be dead

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samanthadalton · 4 years ago

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Star Crossed Lovers (part 14)

Do my eyes deceive me???? part 14???? we did it. im so sorry its taken forever, i will try my best to be more consistent with my writing. love yall for being patient with me it means the most. thank you, thank you.

warnings: throughout this fic there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide

reader discretion is advised

warnings: angst, swearing (lots of it)

taglist: @drmmyrs @cloud9in @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @stanzoeywade @ognenniyvolk @thepotatobleh @crazzyplays @fall3ngods @helpconfusedpersonhere @clowneryme @dopeyouth @boys-girls-i-cant-help-it-baby @vonda-b-real @uselesslesbianfr @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings @somethindarker (sorry again if ive missed anyone, if you wanna be added on this taglist or my general one just let me know 😊)

word count: 4k (i feel like its short considering how long it took me to write but i still hope you guys enjoy) (also i didnt check for grammatical errors properly so sorry if you find any)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13

The first steps to moving on

“Bea please,” Poppy whispers, a repentant look creeping up to her face as she looks away from her girlfriend. “It can’t wait.”

Bea sighs, her shoulders slumping as the last remains of her anger disseminates from her body. “Okay fine, lead the way babe.”

Poppy stiffens that the pet name but she doesn’t let her awkwardness slip as she leads Bea to a secluded classroom, far away from prying eyes. Both her and Bea turn to look at each other, and both simultaneously open their mouths to talk.

“I know you wanted to tell-”

“We need to talk-”

Both clamp their lips shut, a mutual smile playing on their lips as they look at one another.

“You go first,” Poppy gestures towards Bea, as she moves to sit on the edge of a desk.

Bea inhales softly, her tongue darts out licking her lips as she looks down at the ground, her face calculating. “Why does Chloe hate me?” She looks up to Poppy, her eyes boring into the strawberry blonde’s, sadness swimming inside of them, “I just don’t get what I’ve done for her to hate me.”

Poppy sighs heavily, her eyes awkwardly darting away from Bea’s. “It’s complicated Bea.”

“Complicated?” Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “I almost just went off on Chloe after she gave her condolences for my mom dying because I just felt she wasn’t genuine and you wanna tell me it's complicated?”

Poppy sharply inhales, contemplating for a few moments before saying, “it’s because of your mom.”

Bea scrunches her brows up in confusion, “my mom? What the hell does she have to do with this?”

Poppy ineptly plays with her hands, not being able to look Bea in her eyes, “at first it was just a classist thing. When you first came to Belvoire, she just wanted to make herself feel superior over you, but in the last year you’ve noticed her getting more mean right?”

“Right.” Bea stares at Poppy, her expression emotionless.

“Chloe’s parents have been fighting non stop recently, and it’s been affecting her a lot.”

Bea’s brows furrow in confusion, “what does that have to do with me or my mom?”

“Just let me explain first before you react, please.” Bea’s eyes bore into Poppy’s for a few seconds before she nods understandingly. “Her dad cheated on her mom. A lot of times actually. But he was blackmailed by one of the women he slept with.” Poppy pauses for a few seconds, “your mom.”

Bea lets out a shaky breath, her eyes blinking in disbelief, “no, you’re lying.”

Poppy nervously bites her bottom lip, “look Bea-”

“How long have you known?”

Poppy’s face scrunches up in anger, “this isn’t my fault Bea. I only found out that day I went to talk to Chloe about us. Chloe made me promise not to say anything to you-”

“Poppy! My mom OD and I don’t even know why. And now you’re telling me she was blackmailing the St James family and it doesn’t occur to you that might have had something to do with her death?”

“They’re not the fucking mafia Bea, jesus. They were trying to settle it quietly by giving your mom some money and make her sign some stuff so she couldn't threaten them anymore.”

The devastating ramification of Poppy’s admission hangs in the air as the two girls let the words settle into them. “Chloe really is sorry about your mom Bea, we all are.”

Bea sighs, staring off into space, as a few tears begin to fill up in her eyes. “I just don’t know what to do.” Bea begins sniffling, but Poppy makes no movement to console her girlfriend. Bea notices and her expression sobers, “so, uh what did you wanna tell me?” Bea sniffs a few more times, before looking up at Poppy, giving her a small encouraging smile.

Poppy looks away, guilt creeping up on her face, as she tries her damndest not to catch Bea’s small smile on her face. “Bea…”. Bea carefully assesses her girlfriend’s demeanour, noticing the similar body language during when they first asked to take a break, she thinks back to the last couple of days, she had barely heard from her girlfriend, and now she’s not affectionate, even after she almost had a mental breakdown in the middle of the hallway and her smile drops. “We have to break up,” Poppy says, her tone so monotone and dry as if she didn’t mean the words she was saying at all.

“I don’t understand,” is all Bea can muster, evidently hurt by Poppy’s admission. Poppy winces slightly at Bea’s tone, finally breaking her robotic demeanour as she lets out a few sniffles. “So is that it? We have to break up,” Bea retorts mockingly, “is that all I get after all these years?”

“Bea..” Poppy reaches out but Bea immediately takes a step back, tears flooding in her eyes.

“No,” she holds her hands up, “I don’t get it, things are going good, or at least whatever twisted definition of good we’ve made up. Where the hell did this come from?”

“Bea my dad-”

“Of course! Hayden Min fucking Sinclair had something to do with this. Why do you still live under his shadow? You talk all this shit about breaking out of your father’s prison and wanting to achieve your own goals but he sucks you back in.”

“That’s not fair Bea,” Poppy interjects, balling her hands up into fists in an attempt to subdue her trembling, “my dad has given me so much and he’s threatening to take it all away.”

“Yeah, all you have to do is get rid of me. Me or the Min Sinclair name.”

“Bea this is the life I have, okay I’m not like you, I’m not built like you.”

“So what? I can grow up without a dad and now without a mom but it’s okay because I’m used to pain and disappointment?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, you have a plan, things you can achieve, I need the Min Sinclair name, I’m nothing without it.”

“Wow.” Bea shakes her head, “So I just meant nothing?” Bea wildy throws her arms in the air, anger bubbling under the surface of her demeanour. “We’ve practically been together since we were kids. And you’re just gonna fucking throw that away? And for what? Fuck you Poppy.”

Poppy takes half a step back, dumbfounded by Bea’s outburst. She scrunches her brows, evidently hurt, “you don’t get it Bea. Even though your mom wasn’t the best, she still supported you, even if you didn’t know about it. My dad he- my mom what would she think?”

“Your mom? Poppy what kind of shit is your dad brainwashing you with? Your mom is dead! You have no idea how she would react to having a gay daughter, but I know she’s probably disappointed in you.”

“Fuck you Bea.”Poppy runs out of the classroom, tears streaming down her face, leaving Bea on her own.

“Shit,” Bea whispers to herself before throwing a bunch of punches at the wall, each more cathartic than the last until she can’t physically hold herself up anymore. Bea defeatedly slides into a chair, cradling her head in between her hands, letting the tears free fall, as reality begins setting in that she lost the one thing in the world that was her everything. Poppy Min Sinclair was her rock, the girl who she gave her heart to, the love of her life and just in a matter of moments it was over. Maybe it was too good to be true. The beautiful, perky popular rich girl and the girl who had almost nothing, complete polar opposites, it never should’ve worked. But time and time again when faced against the world they persevered so why was this time different? Poppy had chosen her namesake over the love of her life. She chose the life of glitz and glamour over the girl who gave her her entire heart. Bea feels her entire world crashing down, how much more heartbreak could she take? Was her life always going to be so hard? So full of hurt? Full of pain? She winces at the thought, her head hammering as she comes to the realisation that she understood her mother’s pain more than she thought.

….

Bea hops off her bike, parking it in front of her house, as she pulls her phone out to look at the time. ‘It’s lunch time,’ she thinks to herself. After the day she had today, school wasn’t the best option for her right now. She makes her way to her front door but stops in her tracks when she realises her front door is slightly ajar. Her survival instincts kick in as she effortlessly pulls out her pocket knife, carefully pushing the door fully open. As she steps into the living room, her eyes dart to the closed door of her mother’s room, but when she hears a creaking sound coming towards her bedroom, she cautiously moves towards the source of the noise, the grip on her knife tightening. As she creeps up, she sees the door of her room half opened, a hooded figure standing by her bed with their back facing her.

Bea stealthily sneaks up to the figure placing the knife a few inches from their throat before lowering her voice to a threatening tone, “who are you and what the fuck are you doing?” The figure gasps, dropping a bag that’s in their hands with a deafening thud before raising their hands in a sign of surrender.

“It’s me, it’s me,” the voice whimpers out.

“AJ?” Bea raises her eyebrows, retracting the knife from his throat while pulling down his hood with her other hand. “What the fuck are you doing?” Bea takes a step back while AJ scrambles grabbing the bag he just dropped moments before. When he turns to face Bea, his eyes are wide, filled with fear as he clutches the bag closely to his chest.

“I have to go,” he says as he attempts to run out of the room, but Bea pulls him back, her face crumpled in suspicion.

“No we’re not doing this, give me the bag now,” Bea snatches the bag out of his hands before he can protest and opens the zipper to find it filled with cash. She grits her teeth, anger settling into her features as she whips her head up to AJ, “is this my fucking money?”

“Bea, I- I can explain-”

“What the fuck AJ!” Bea throws the bag onto the bed, the cash spilling out as she jabs an accusing finger at AJ’s chest. “You’re stealing from me now? I haven’t seen you in god knows how long, you don’t call, text nothing. Even after everything that’s been happening in the last few weeks but you have the audacity to fucking steal from me? Money that I’ve spent years saving? Money that I’ve bussed my fucking ass off for, are you serious right now?” Bea’s voice is filled with rage as she’s practically screaming, her voice now thundering. AJ winces, guiltily averting his gaze to the ground, unable to meet Bea’s eyes.

“I’m sorry about your mom Bea, I wanted to visit-” AJ croaks out.

“But you didn’t,” Bea interjects, her voice lowered but filled with hurt. “And now you’re taking money- I mean what is so important you had to steal from me.”

AJ paces towards the bed, hanging his head in shame, when he speaks his voice is quiet, full of fear, “I’m in some bad shit Bea. These guys aren’t playing around.”

“I told you not to fall into the wrong crowd, I warned you this shit would happen.”

“Bea please, I’ll pay you back I just need it.”

“No! What the fuck, when will you pay me back huh? This is my college money, I’m not letting you give that away to your crackhead friends.”

“Bea please,” AJ clasps his hands together, his tone pleading, “I don’t know what to do.”

“AJ I have too much shit on my plate right now, I can’t deal with this. You need to find something else, I can’t help you.”

AJ’s face pales but he stands up, and makes his way towards the door, before leaving he turns to look back at Bea, “I’m sorry about everything.”

Bea keeps her eyes trained on her bed where the money is sprawled all over the mattress, “yeah me too,” she replies quietly. Bea hears the front door close and she collapses to the ground, letting the tears flow.

……

A few days later, Bea sits in her dark living room, curtains shut and lights completely off as she wallows in her sadness, drinking from a bottle of cheap beer, as she stares absentmindedly at the ceiling, so drowned in her thoughts she doesn’t hear the resounding knocks on her door until she hears a voice call out, “Bea! Are you there?”

Bea crumples her brows, forcing herself to stand as she makes her way to the door, she wearily makes her way to her front door only slightly opening the door before poking her head out. “Veronica?” Veronica gives the girl a wide smile before pushing the door more open, ushering the figure behind her into the house too, “Carter? What are you guys doing here?’

Veronica looks around the dark room, noticing the pile of empty beer bottles on the floor, “yikes, drinking on your own on a friday night Hughes? That’s really sad.” Carter stands near the edge of the living room, as if he’s an explorer, his eyes darting all over the living room as he assesses this new environment.

Bea on the other hand scowls at Veronica, “what the hell do you want Veronica, I’m not in the mood.”

Veronica frowns slightly, pouting her lips together, “we heard about you and Poppy.”

Bea rolls her eyes, “yeah well I’m trying to forget about her.” Bea picks up her beer bottle from the ground and makes a show by exaggeratingly drinking from the bottle until it's empty. She discards the empty bottle along with the other ones before turning to look at Veronica and Carter, “so if you’ll excuse me.”

Veronica steps towards Bea, wrapping her hand around the brunette’s arm, “we’re not here for Poppy stupid, we’re here for you.”

Bea raises an eyebrow, “for me?”

Veronica turns to look at Carter, beckoning him forward, Carter breaks out of reverie and clears his throat, “yeah uh, we wanted to take you to a party.”

“A party?” Bea looks between them confused, “I’m not that interested guys.”

“Wait, wait, wait Bea,” Veronica pleads, pulling Bea closer to her, “you’ve never been to a Belvoire party and the year is almost over, we thought we should take you to at least.”

“I don’t know guys,” Bea says skeptically, “a lot of people don’t like me.”

“Who gives a shit? You just had your heart broken and you need to let loose.”

Bea sighs, pulling away from Veronica, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Come on, it beats drinking in the dark on your own.”

Bea sighs, dropping her shoulders, “what about uh Poppy?”

“Poppy?” Veronica arches a brow, “her and Chloe are staying in tonight, she said she needed to catch up on homework or something.”

Bea purses her lips together in thought before sighing, “fine.” Veronica cheers, “but,” Bea over enunciates, “only for a few hours and if I don’t like it I’m going home.”

“Okay, deal,” Veronica squeals, wrapping Bea in a big hug. Carter chuckles as Veronica gestures for him to join the hug, he awkwardly wraps his arms around the two girls, before pulling away.

“Okay, I’ll wait in the car while you girls get ready. Just uh don’t take too long.”

Veronica playfully rolls her eyes as she Bea towards her bedroom, yelling back “thanks Carter.” Giddy, she rushes to Bea’s closest, assessing her clothes until she finds a short red dress hidden in the back. “This!”

“No, no, no,” Bea shakes her head, pulling the dress out of the ombre-haired girl’s hands.

“Why not? It would look so hot on you,” Veronica’s eyes trail down Bea’s body, as she sharply inhales. “Bea, you’re single and sexy, stop holding yourself back okay?”

“I’m not,” Bea pushes back defensively, “I just-” she sighs heavily, “no one at Belvoire has ever seen me dressed up, I’m just- I’m nervous I guess.”

“Then we have to show them what they’ve been missing for the last three years,” Veronica gives Bea a devilish smile as she takes the dress from Bea’s hands, sliding the dress off the hanger before handing it over to Bea.

“Uh you gonna stay in the room?” Bea nervously wrings her hands together.

“Why, are you offering a show?” Veronica lifts a teasing brow, noticing Bea’s cheeks redden slightly, which prompts her to let out a small laugh, “I’m kidding, don’t worry I won’t look.” Veronica makes a show of raising her hands to cover her eyes. Bea laughs as she slips out of her clothes and into the dress, she awkwardly clears her throat, grabbing Veronica’s attention.

“Hey, uh help a girl out with her zipper?”

“Sure,” Veronica moves to stand behind Bea, her hands ghosting around Bea’s exposed back, her breath momentarily taken away. She sturdies herself and places one of her hands on the small of the brunette’s back while the other moves towards the zipper, zipping the girl up. Bea smooths the dress down with her hands appreciating herself in the mirror, “you look gorgeous,” Veronica whispers into the shell of her ear.

Bea’s face completely flushes red and slightly jerks at Veronica’s admission, “uhh thanks.”

Veronica notices the awkward shift in the atmosphere, and promptly changes the subject, “so where’s your sister?”

Bea sits in front of her mirror, a comb in her hand as she brushes her long locks, “she’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”

“Cool,” Veronica answers back but her tone falls flat. The girls bask in the awkward silence as Bea continues to get ready but when Veronica notices Bea struggling to do her winged eyeliner she breaks the silence. “Hey do you need help?”

Bea smiles bashfully, “yeah.” She rubs the back of her head with her hand, “sorry Poppy used to help me with my makeup.”

“Right,” Veronica’s face slightly falls but she quickly covers it up, ushering Bea to come and sit on the bed. “Come on, I don’t bite,” Veronica bites the bottom of her lip, “unless you want me too.” Bea laughs but obliges sitting on the edge of the bed. Veronica clambers onto her lap, her thighs settling on the sides of Bea’s legs, and in response, Bea’s eyes widen in surprise but she remains glued in her spot, too shocked to move.

“V, what are you doing?” Bea whispers, her voice attempting to come across as reprimanding but it comes out as breathy.

“Relax, I’m just doing your eyeliner.” Veronica plucks the wand from Bea’s hand and angles herself close to the brunette’s face, as she begins drawing on the wings on Bea’s eyelids. Bea steadies herself, as she feels the heat of Veronica’s body so close to hers and when Veronica is finished with putting the finishing touches on her eyelids, she hops off Bea’s lap, making her way towards the desk, scuffling through Bea’s makeup bag before taking up her place on Bea’s lap once again. “Now I think this colour would look good on you,”

“You don’t think it’s too much red?”

“Oh babe, red means power, dominance, you don’t wanna be thinking about Poppy the entire night, you wanna have all eyes on you Bea Hughes.” Veronica uncaps the lipstick, her eyes burning into Bea’s lips as she carefully applies the red colour to her lips. “Perfect.”

Bea smacks her lips together, evenly spreading the red on her lips. “Thanks V.”

Veronica’s eyes dart to Bea’s lips, her tongue slightly running along her bottom lips before she breaks out of her reverie flashing Bea a smirk, “don’t thank me yet, thank me when you’re having the time of your life at the party.” Veronica slides off Bea’s lap, holding her hand out, “come on let’s finish up because Carter’s been waiting for a while.” Bea smiles up at Veronica, taking her hand as she lets the ombre-haired girl pull her off the bed, as they continue getting ready.

………

Once they arrive at the party, Carter drops the girls off at the front of the huge house before telling them he will park the car. Veronica’s gaze darts to Bea, who’s nervously toying with her hands, looking up at the intimidating house, the lights blaring and as the music echoes throughout, the bass thumping in their ears. Noticing the nerves settling into her, Veronica slips into Bea's, giving her a reassuring squeeze, “hey, it’s okay, it’s just a bunch of drunk, preppy uptight teenagers, nothing you don't usually face everyday.”

Bea lets out a small laugh, “just in a big ass house,” she jests.

“Yeah, just in a big ass house,” she gives Bea a light squeeze as she starts pulling Bea into the house with her. Automatically, they’re met with stares and whispers, as the students look astonished at Bea, some appraising her outfit, while others are confused about her presence. “Hey, just stay with me okay?” Veronica whispers over to Bea. Bea nods, her eyes roaming the room. “I’ll get us drinks.” The ombre-haired girl gives Bea a reassuring pat on her arm and leaves her side and Bea walks into the living room, observing the difference between the vibes of the party between the north and the south. Her thoughts then move to think about Poppy, how Poppy would love going to parties in the north but Bea couldn’t find the appeal in it. Poppy. Poppy, who broke up with her. She’s interrupted from her thoughts by a tap of her shoulder, and Bea turns around to see Veronica offering her a red solo cup, Bea takes a sip and winces.

“What the hell is this crap?”

“Yeah for a bunch of rich kids, their taste in beer isn’t the best,” Veronica jokes, slightly nudging Bea.

“We have way better beer in the south side.”

“That I can agree with.” Veronica looks over to Bea who looks lost in thought, “hey what are you thinking about?”

Bea sighs heavily, “Poppy,” she mutters.

Veronica nods once, “right, yeah.”

“Poppy would’ve loved a party like this, big fancy house an-”

“Bea,” Veronica says, her tone slightly agitated, “this,” she gestures around the room, “is a no Poppy zone. That means we don’t think about Poppy, only about fun.”

Bea nods, “fun. I can do that.” Veronica lifts her cup in the air, “what are we cheering to?”

Veronica gives Bea a smile, “here’s to the first steps in moving on.” The girls tap their cups together before downing their drinks. “Now if we wanna get drunk, we’re gonna need a lot more of these.”

The party is still ongoing, and Bea sits in a circle with a few girls from the volleyball team and a few of the football team and other people she doesn’t recognise while Veronica sits beside her.

“Bea you look so pretty,” one of her teammates says.

“Yeah Bea your makeup is literally gorgeous,” another chimes in.

“Who knew strip tease can clean up well,” Ford jests, but Bea slumps her shoulders a little, remembering that these people are not her friends.

Carter enters the circle slapping Ford on the head as he goes, “shut up, Hughes is cool.” Bea gives Carter a nod of appreciation before looking down at the drink in her hands. Her thoughts move a million miles a minute, but there’s a constant one stuck in her brain, Poppy.

Veronica looks over at Bea, frowning. “Hey come with me.” She stands, excusing herself from the group and Bea follows her close behind.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re gonna play a private game of truth or drink.”

#playchoices #queen b #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #star crossed lovers #thank you for waiting #i promise to be more consistent #love you guys

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murderdaddymayhem · 5 years ago

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Trapped - Mark Hoffman x Reader [NSFW]

Hoffman has feelings for Strahm's fiance. Now that Strahm is dead, you struggle with returning those feelings just for the night.

Set in between Saw V and VI. Please visit the ao3 link for full tags.

“Hey. You left something by the coffee machine.”

You look up, and see Detective Hoffman holding your engagement ring. “Oh,” you smile. “How do you know it’s mine?”

“I guess I look at your fingers a lot,” he jokes, tossing it to you. You slide it back on.

“Do you? How’s this one look?” You playfully flip him off, and he manages as much of a chuckle as the stoic man ever could.

“I’ve sure seen that one more than the others.”

You return the ring to your finger, sliding it on and sitting back down at your desk.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Hoffman mentions, “Wanna come?” You normally wouldn’t join the rest of the officers after hours, but you had been making more of a solid effort to go out and enjoy yourself now that the initial sting of Peter’s death had subsided for you. You tilt your head.

“Is Lindsey gonna be there? Matthews?”

“Yeah. Sing, Tapp. Everyone’s going.”

“Sure. I’ll be there,” you nod.

“Great.” He looks like he wants to say something else, and eventually closes with, “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

You look down to the paperwork on your desk, and back up to return with a quip, but Hoffman’s gone. You spend longer than you should looking out your door, mindlessly counting the number of steps it takes him to get back to his own office as if you hadn’t already memorized it.

Mark sits down at his desk. He’d always had a thing for you. He’d been jealous of Strahm, not only in his stellar reputation with the guys, but of his pretty wife and his perfect life. Mark may have seemed like the handsome hero everyone dreamed of, but in reality, he was a pitiable alcoholic whose sole personality trait was mourning.

If you ever did return his feelings, it would probably be because you pitied him for the loss of his sister, which hurt more than the bindings John had put him in that first day of initiation. He only wanted one thing, really. Maybe two, the first being justice. True justice. As for the second, it's not viable to have you in the position he's in, but his tendency to run from his emotions is being put to the test by your acceptance of his invitation.

When you get to the bar you and everyone at the station frequent after work, Hoffman’s sitting there. Within a half an hour, it’s become apparent the others aren’t coming... and were never coming.

“You invited me out under false pretences,” you say, accepting your drink of choice from the bartender with a nod. “Why?”

“I told you, the others didn’t show.”

“I work for the FBI, and you’re a detective. You’re honestly trying to lie to me?”

Hoffman considers this, purses his lips. “Not very well thought out on my part, I guess.”

“What, did you want to talk to me about a case?” you ask. “Something about today’s paperwork?”

“You know I don’t want to talk about that crap. I wanted to ask you how you were,” he corrects you, taking another generous sip of his second double vodka of the night. “All these months later. Treat you to a night off.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Right.” You’re quiet for a moment. “I’m okay. I haven’t really said it out loud yet, but I think I am.” You debate opening up, but you know he’s also lost someone, so you take a chance. “I feel bad when I forget him.”

“Yeah. I know how it feels to forget. My sister was a huge part of my life, and I never thought I could. And I can’t. Difference is, I try to forget.” You stay quiet, ruminating on the reminder of Mark’s dead sister. He didn’t talk about her often for that reason you suppose, but everyone who knew Hoffman knew he was the way he was because of her death. “You’re not wearing your wedding band,” he mutters, starting in on his third drink.

“I lost it,” you whisper.

“Like you lost it by the coffee machine today?”

You avert your eyes down to your lap. “Maybe you’re not the only one who tries to forget.” Silence passes between you as you explain. “Looking at it opens up old wounds. Keeping the past in the past is my way of dealing with it. He’s gone. If I think about how awfully he died, how scary his last seconds were, it’ll be like it happened yesterday... and I’ll have to start the process again.” You shove your hand down into your pocket, unwilling to study your bare ring finger any longer. “The past is as tangible as the future, detective. If I can’t feel it, it’s not there.”

“You think denying it’s gonna help you in the long run?”

You frown, looking up at him. “Nobody’s denying anything.” Blinking as if in slow motion, Mark gets up and tosses money down for the two of you. He takes your arm and leads you out of the bar, into the cool night air. Confused and more than a little angry, you jerk your arm away. “Why did you invite me for drinks?”

“I wanted to offer my condolences. Again.”

“Bullshit. It’s been 4 months and you haven’t once said you’re sorry he died in one of John Kramer’s sick traps. I know you two weren’t close, but why wait this long? What do you really want?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Look me in the face and tell me one thing tonight that isn’t a lie,” you demand. Mark turns to you fully.

“Okay. I want to fuckin’ kiss you.”

You hesitate. That was the opposite of what you were expecting. You try and find words as Mark stares at you with that dark gaze, those eyes that seemed to linger in your mind now that you were lonely and no longer trapped under the weight of a lacklustre partnership.

“So? What’s stopping you?” You can never tell what’s going on behind those eyes; he guards his feelings and he guards his secrets. You know he has more secrets than the average man, but he’s a detective. How bad can they be?

“You want me to kiss you?” he murmurs. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do.” He advances, walking you back against the brick wall of the alley no doubt filled with the scum John had him abduct for his games. “Huh? You want me to kiss you how you’re used to? Kiss you like it’s an obligation? Like it’s what people expect me to do?” Your eyes start to prick with tears as Hoffman brushes your hair out of your face. “You want me to tell you I love you like a man who’s only true obsession is a serial killer he couldn’t begin to understand?”

“Hoffman, Peter—”

“Don’t say his name,” he mutters, “You’ll cut the wound wide open again, sweetheart.” He presses his lips against yours, and you feel your body release all of its tension. He kisses like Strahm’s antithesis—like he knows what he’s doing. He’s rough and he’s present, nothing like how you’d imagined the cold detective would. Peter had tried, but as much as he wanted to be, he hadn’t loved you as much as that damn case. Hoffman adversely seemed to care about anything but, even though he was in charge of it. You used to think everything was a façade for Hoffman, that appearances were everything. Façades have to crumble sometime.

By the time you had arrived at his apartment with him in the passenger’s seat, the full effects of the detective’s four double vodkas had set in. He tries to maintain his sense of self until the elevator, then down the hall and into his place.

“Shit,” Mark grunts, sliding your jacket off, “I want you.”

“No you don’t.”

He licks his lips. “Wanna bet?”

“You’re drunk, and we’re colleagues,” you mutter. “You’re gonna walk into work tomorrow morning and you’re not going to be able to look me in the eye.”

“What, after taking you on every surface of my apartment?” he mutters, lips dipping dangerously close to your neck. “Your pussy isn’t gonna shock me. Yours isn’t the first I’ve seen, but it’s sure as hell on my list.” You try once more to push him off, and he tries to stand wearily. His brown eyes blink a few times, and he shakes his head. “Fuck. Sorry.” He lets go of you, backs off. You realize your mistake, and take him by his lapels.

“Are you?”

He looks back up at you, and through your shared gaze, he sees his own arousal reflected in your eyes. His lips are back on you, finally touching your skin, and his hands roam under your top, up to cup your breasts and paw for the hooks of your bra.

“Around the back,” you whisper against his lips. In his drunken state, Hoffman misinterprets this to mean you want to be turned around, and you find yourself pressed against the wall as his hands massage your ass. A moan slips from you as you try to reach back. “I meant the bra.”

“Fuck,” he repeats again, slightly slurred, and reaches up to take it off of you. It drops down one arm, and Mark turns you around again to take your top off and release the garment from your sleeve. “This is what I’ve been fuckin’ missing?” he mutters, half to himself. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Tell me more?” you ask coyly, wrapping arms around his neck. He growls, picking you up by the ass so your legs can wrap around his hips.

“You don’t even wanna know the shit I fantasize about with you,” he mumbles, grinding himself between your legs.

“Wanna bet?” you volley back his line with a grin, and he scoffs, working down your panties as you reach a hand forward to tease him through his business casual pants. The feeling of his bulge grounds you in the reality that yes, Mark Hoffman does want you back. He wants to fuck you in his apartment, and he wants to do it now.

“I’m drunk, but I’m not drunk enough to tell you that, honey.” He presses a soft kiss to the curve of your jaw and slides your panties off, dropping them and rubbing his fingers back up your thighs and beneath the plush seat of your ass. His fingertips are oddly rough, for a detective who hasn’t seen field work in three months.

“What’s your secret, Hoffman?” you ask, and he uses one hand to stroke up the column of your neck.

“Gonna have to fuck me to find out.”

The two of you move over to his couch, Hoffman attempting to lift you over. His state tells you this is a bad idea, so you just pull him by his tie over, and push him down on the couch. He seems to like your show of control, eyes roaming up and down your body as you stand over him. “This feels a little unfair,” you whisper, lifting a hand up to squeeze your breast. Hoffman tears his eyes away from the action.

“What does?”

“Look at you,” you gesture to his fully clothed form, “And look at me.”

“Oh, I’m looking,” he nods, reaching down to squeeze himself. You get between his legs on the couch with a huff, and take over, unzipping his pants and giving him a better squeeze through his boxers. You can feel how hard he is, how large his bulge has grown. He grinds up into your hand, makes no move to undress himself any further.

“You’re selfish,” you mutter.

“I never said I was a nice guy,” he replies.

“You’re a detective.”

“Gray area.”

“For what?”

“My hobbies.”

“Which are?” You sit back on your heels for a moment. Hoffman seems to realize he was about to let something big slip, and your curiosity only grows as he cuts himself off.

“Shut up, will you? And kiss me.”

“That’s my line,” you groan, unbuckling his belt and sliding it out.

“I stole it.”

“You steal a lot?” you probe, hoping to uncover that elusive secret.

“Like I said,” he mutters, face still stone cold. “I’m not a nice guy.” You moan as he pulls you down against him, and moves his hand down to uncover his cock in a smooth movement of his hand. He groans as it grazes against your thigh and up to your pussy, and you lean down to kiss him again. His large hands reach up to your smooth naked back, clutching your body to his as he deepens the kiss. Your breath mingles as you pull away, vodka in his and the mint of chewing gum in yours.

“Condoms?” Mark reaches beside him to the coffee table, and pulls open a packet. Reaching between you two and keeping you held up with the ease of a strong bicep, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he rolls one onto his shaft—the feeling alone of his own hand on himself is enough to make him moan, but he keeps it together. You lift up to position yourself. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“I’m ridiculously hard for you,” he replies, eyes half lidded and lips parted. “I think if you left me now, it would be the first time in my life I’ve cried.” You roll your eyes, and he sits you down on his cock. Your eyes roll back. He looked big when he first took himself out, but it was nothing compared to the feeling. He’s stretching you all the way to the base, hands tightening on your arms. He rocks up once, and you whine his name softly. “Can you move?” he whispers, slurring his words.

“Yeah.” You start to rock down, and his breath hitches. After a moment, he reaches his hands further back, feeling your ass and groping it before sliding them up to your lower back to guide your movements.

“So good,” he mumbles, “Never knew I wanted you... this fucking bad.”

“When did you figure it out?” you smirk, gasping as he hits deep.

“Today, at the office.” His eyes slip shut. “I looked at you sitting there, and wished your picture was on my shelf instead of all the bullshit awards I don’t fucking deserve. One thing that means something to me, that I don’t have to tempt fate to get. That’s all I want. That’s all I need. Just someone else. Just someone else.”

You can’t think of a response. To save him embarrassment in the morning if he, by some miracle, remembers this conversation, you don’t reply. You’re afraid you’ll scare him off if you reciprocate the sentiment, and you’re terrified you’ll offend him if you coddle him. Then again, he could mistake your silence for apathy. Even in his impaired state of mind, Mark seems to realize what’s running through your head. He pulls you down against his broad chest again to put all these thoughts you had no business thinking while getting fucked to bed.

Still, he offers no tender explanation of his confession, no further apologies or bashful take-backs. He only increases his pace, grunting as you start to feel your climax build.

“I wanna feel you cum all over me,” he growls, “Fuck. Fuck, let me feel it.”

“Hoffman.”

“Use my name. Use my fucking name—”

“Mark.”

“Ah,” he hisses, trying to make himself last. “Good girl. Good girl...” You squeeze around him, riding him back and forth, your clit grinding against his pelvis and your ass slamming down into his thighs. He lets out sharp puffs of air, wrapping one arm around you and tightening it. You feel as though you’re as close to the distant man as you’ve ever been as he breathes your name into your hair, burying himself in it as he buries his cock the deepest it will go inside of you and stills.

You’re both almost there, and the formality between you dies.

“Mark—I’m gonna cum,” you breathe desperately, “Don’t stop!”

True to character, Hoffman doesn’t offer any verbal encouragement, but his body language is worth a thousand words. He bites your earlobe, reaching down to rub your clit in circles. The action makes you gasp, and you brace yourself on his chest as your orgasm finally hits in waves. His hips convulse inside of you as he finally lets himself finish with you, and your grunts and groans meld together into a harsh symphony of panted out breaths.

“You moan so pretty, babygirl,” he sighs. A warm flush rushes through your body at that, and you’re not sure why. This needs to stay a one night’s stand, not some workplace romance the two of you can giggle about behind closed doors. It would only be a liability to both of your careers in the force, and you know Mark will agree once he sobers up in the morning.

“Stop thinking,” he groans. His voice is gravelly, sated. “Hey. Stop. More importantly, stop guessing what I’m thinking.”

You stare down at him, eyes dancing between his. Your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper. “What are you thinking?”

“Absolutely nothing. Which is what you should be thinking of too, after we both fell into bed together.”

He seems to grow uncomfortable with the close eye contact, feels as though you’re reading him like a book. He moves your head down, where you lay there on his softly rising and falling chest. His steady breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep, but his eyes are wide open. He stares up at the ceiling as if he was staring up at Peter Strahm again, watching the walls close in on the agent and crush his bones as he himself sunk into the ground safely entombed in glass. He swallows, imagining how your bones must have crunched in on themselves as you crumpled to the floor receiving news of your husband’s death.

His fault.

John’s fault. Jigsaw's fault.

No.

His fault.

He thought acting on his feelings and sleeping with you would make him forget Strahm ever existed. Instead, it felt like Strahm was the one in that box, watching the walls close in on Hoffman as every shitty thing he’d done in his life came closing in on him. Hoffman feels his heartbeat pick up desperately, but talks himself down as he did every night. He listens to the rhythm of your breath, tries to meditate to it.

You don’t have the problem of hyperactive thought at the moment—you had taken Mark’s advice, and calmed down. It’s okay that you had moved on. It’s okay you had found comfort in someone else’s arms, and it’s okay that it’s Hoffman. Despite this, one singular question seems to bounce back and forth in your head as curiosity digs its nails back in.

Your finger traces a pattern in the rug below the couch... the pattern of a puzzle piece.

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #hoffman x reader #detective hoffman #detective hoffman x reader #saw #saw v #saw vi #saw 5 #saw 6 #costas mandylor #saw franchise #saw movies #slasher fandom #slasher fanfic #slasher x reader #saw fanfiction

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sweetmidnights · 4 years ago

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Love While You Can-- Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Summary: Part 2 of Always Starting Over. After running into your-dead-wife-lookalike in a Parisian café, you flee and don’t know what to do with yourself. What happens if that woman tracks you down and it actually is Emily?

Warnings: some nsfw content in the middle

Words: 6.5k

AO3

Part 1

The restaurant you found was quaint and you ordered in broken French. Emily had only been able to teach you so much but you knew enough to get by. Across the street was a cafe that had a tolerable line and you quickly walked across lanes and got in line behind a woman who was taller than you. After a few minutes of the line creeping closer to the register, you noticed her cellphone fall from the pocket of her pants.

You reached out to grab the phone that had slipped and tapped her on the shoulder. As she spun around to address you, your breath caught in your throat mid-greeting and tears pricked at your eyes and your entire world started to spin.

“Hi… Emily?”

No one could have prepared you for what it felt like to be flung from the world as it came skidding to a stop. Standing in this small French cafe, your ears began to ring as your blood pressure spiked, feeling as though someone had punched you in the stomach and knocked the breath from your lungs. As your eyes began to water, you noticed dark hair devoid of its signature bangs, the slope of a pointy nose, and unmistakable umber eyes widened in surprise. It felt like someone had caught your head between a pair of cymbals as they crashed together, shaking your body to the core.

Taking some small steps backward, your entire body trembled as you brought a hand to your mouth, the forgotten cellphone clattering to the floor. This couldn’t be her. You buried your wife seven months ago. You turned away from the woman and ran, feeling suffocated and desperate for fresh air. Your lungs began to heave as you fled the cafe, fingers clawing at your chest while you ran. Down the block you found a park and slid to the ground against a tree, pushing your head between your knees and pulling gently at your hair as you cried. A mantra looped in your head, Emily is dead, you’re okay. Emily is dead, you’re okay.

As your breathing slowed, you sat up a little straighter, watching as some kids ran after a frisbee on the lawn. It was then you felt someone sit down next to you on the ground so you turned away, furiously swiping at your cheeks so that the stranger wouldn’t see that you had been crying. You heard the stranger clear their voice and with a final swipe at your cheeks, you turned to face them.

What you saw next to you was the woman from whom you had just fled and you felt the tears well up in your eyes. You moved to stand but the woman stopped you with a hand on your arm, adorned with the rings you had placed on them exactly one year ago. You once again began to tremble, tears falling furiously down your cheeks.

“No,” you cried into the air. “No, no, this isn’t happening.”

Your name slipped from her lips, reverent and pleading. With that one word, you collapsed into her arms, burying your head in her neck.

“Emily.”

You didn't know how many days had passed since you sat in the cold waiting room of a hospital in a city you didn't know and your whole world was ripped away from you. Penelope and Morgan had taken you home and tucked you into your bed where you laid awake, catatonic until the sun rose again. Sergio came to lay on your chest and that was where he had stayed, day in and day out as you barely managed to breathe.

The boys all took their spots, one strong hand gripped on the metal bars lining your wife’s casket, the other swinging gently at their sides. You walked close behind, Penelope and JJ flanking you on either side. The fabric of your black dress scratched against your knees and your shoes sunk into the grass as you followed along the path set before you. The sun was shining bright and you couldn’t help but think to yourself, of course there isn’t a cloud in the sky on the day I lose my wife forever.

The funeral itself had been a long affair. Elizabeth Prentiss had insisted that Emily be laid to rest with a full Catholic service and you couldn’t find the motivation to tell her that Emily would rather be given a lap dance by a sweaty, smelly man than have anything to do with the Catholic church. Dozens and dozens of people you didn’t know shook your hand and offered their condolences. You couldn’t really understand why someone who didn’t know you or your wife would come and grieve her loss just to uphold their stature as politicians. Your best friend never left your side through the whole thing and ushered you away from the crowds when everything became too much.

The boys placed Emily’s casket on the metal contraption that would be used to lower her into the ground. Everyone gathered around with a single red rose clutched in their hands. The priest did not follow you to the cemetery at JJ’s behest, she knew that Emily would have wanted this to be a familial affair and could see the relief in your eyes when comforting faces were the ones that offered final words. You were able to hold yourself together until Spencer stood in front of the crowd unexpectedly to speak.

“Emily and I spent a lot of time together talking about books and foreign films. I have an eidetic memory, so I remember every word of everything we shared with one another. Not too long ago, I found her scrolling on a poetry website, trying to find one that she once read in a book she gave to her wife. Her face was a little red and her breathing shallow and before she could hide it away from me, I saw this poem and I want to share it with you today.”

Spencer looked at you before he began to recite the words he knew you needed to hear.

“If tomorrow starts without me and I’m not here to see,

If the sun should rise you find your eyes all filled with tears for me;

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry the way you did today,

While thinking of the many things we didn’t get to say

I know how much you love me, as much as I love you

And each time that you think of me, I know you’ll miss me, too.

I had so much to live for, so much left yet to do.

It seemed almost impossible that I was leaving you.

But then I fully realized that this could never be,

For emptiness and memories would take the place of me.

So when tomorrow starts without me, don’t think we’re far apart,

For every time you think of me, I’m right here in your heart.”

Not even two lines into the poem you began to cry and by the end, gut-wrenching sobs were shaking your body. Penelope and JJ each wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you steady. Your knees began to shake, and your head began to spin in wild circles as you thought of all the things you and Emily would never get to do.

She would never take you to Europe and show you where she grew up. She would never get to read the pamphlets on LGBTQ+ adoption that you picked up one day on your way home from the gynecologist. You would never get to dance with her under the light of the stars, giggling boisterously as you crept closer and closer to the edge of the lake where your childhood home sat.

You would never hear her laugh again.

You didn’t know why that particular thought was the one that send you spiraling. Black shadows crept in the edges of your vision as you fought desperately to stay in the moment. You could see in front of you your hands as you placed the first rose onto the box of wood holding what was left of your wife. The world went silent as everyone filtered away and only you were left with the BAU team to watch as Emily was slowly lowered into the ground.

You didn’t know if you would ever be able to get back up.

You didn’t know how long you sat in Emily’s arms and cried, her hand soothing up and down your back and her shoulders gently shaking. Long fingers tangled in your hair as she murmured in your ear.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated like a mantra. When you pulled back, you were met with pink, puffy eyes and flushed cheeks. You took her in, really took her in. There your dead wife was, alive and breathing, holding you in her arms. With a gentle tug, you freed your right hand and slowly traced your fingers on her face, ghosting over her cheekbones that glistened with gentle and slow tears, down the slope of her nose, and onto her lips where you could feel her unsteady breath puff from her nose.

When you finally dared meet her eyes, a question fell from your lips. “How?”

Emily reached up to grasp the hand touching her lip, “Take me to where you’re staying, I will explain everything.”

Still in shock, you let her guide you with a hand on your back to the hotel, instinctively knowing that you would have chosen to stay at the same place you had talked about all that time ago. The ride in the elevator was completely silent and as you approached the door. Your hands were shaking so hard that you couldn’t get it open. Emily reached around you, grabbing the access card and swiping into the room.

A gentle push on the small of your back guided you to the bed and you sat, shifting slightly away from Emily as she joined you. A long silence stretched between the two of you, only broken when you noticed your wife stretch her hand to reach for you but quickly pull it back before she could touch.

“I-- I don’t understand.” You watched your hands as you anxiously clasped your fingers together and rubbed your thumb against your palm. Emily sniffled a little, neither of you able to stop emotions from running rampant through your bodies. Now that the initial shock was starting to wear off, you could feel the anger and hurt bubbling in your chest.

“Y/N, I am so sorry--” Emily began before you quickly cut her off.

“I know, you’ve already said that, Em.” Giving some grace, you looked up from the floor to look at Emily. She seemed to melt, ever so slightly, tension minutely releasing from her jaw. She sucked her lip between her teeth before giving a harsh exhale and fidgeting with her thumbs. The guilt and regret were palpable in the air as her eyes bore into you.

“After I made it out of surgery alive, Hotch made the decision that I needed to be relocated to keep all of us safe. Once I was stable, I was airlifted to Bethesda and stayed there under an alias until I was able to fly out of the country. I flew with JJ here to Paris and she gave me three different identities and enough money to keep me afloat. They needed to fake my death so that Doyle wouldn’t come after the team, wouldn’t come after you.”

You took in the information, overwhelmed by what she was telling you. Your mind was swirling with a hundred questions and thoughts, barely able to slow down enough to comprehend what was going on.

“Hotch knew? JJ knew?” Your words were slow, lilted with disbelief as you found a particular thread in your shirt very interesting, trying your hardest to keep your composure though your heart was hammering from your chest. You screwed your eyes shut and wound your hands tightly into your top.

“Yes.” Emily’s response was simple and tense, almost expecting an explosive response. Instead, you looked back at your wife with watery eyes, a quivering lip, and heartbreak.

“Why-- why didn’t they tell me,” you pleaded as you bit back a sob, feeling betrayed by the only family you had ever really known, ever grown to trust. Your arms started to wrap around your torso as you curled in on yourself, feeling the hurt as it radiated through your bones. “I’m your wife, Emily, why didn’t they tell me!” The words fell from your mouth like it was poison oozing from your veins, fingernails clawing at your sides as you desperately tried to hold yourself together.

Emily’s heart tore out of her chest as she watched you crumble. Not able to restrain herself anymore, she reached out to wrap one arm around your back, pulling you into her side, and used her free hand to gently wipe at your face.

“I’m so sorry, my love. They didn’t have a choice, please, please believe me. None of us wanted this to happen but Doyle and his men are smart. They couldn’t fake your death, too, without tipping him off.”

Her words did very little to soothe your ache, but you were starting to understand. You let yourself relax into her embrace, placing your head on her shoulder. Even with the conflicting feelings racing through your mind, your wife’s presence was just as calming as it ever was.

You sniffled a little as you subconsciously rubbed your head on the shoulder of Emily's blouse at the same time causing you both to freeze. You could feel a slight rumble in her chest as you started to silently giggle. Moving back just a little, you noticed a tiny mark on her shoulder where your head was, obviously caused by tears, but it made you break into a peal of uncontrollable laughter. You gently smacked your hand against Emily's chest and noticed as her face turned from a grimace to barely contained giggles to a euphoric cackle that made her eyes shine in the way that you had missed so much. The two of you laughed until your stomachs hurt, finding catharsis in the absurdity of the situation you had found yourselves in.

When you finally got a good look at Emily, you noticed the dark bags under her eyes. As she sobered from the laughter, you could see the fear and grief swimming in her expression. With a slow, careful motion, you cupped her cheek and for the first time in seven months, you saw the love you had desperately ached for. As you leaned forward, she met you halfway to connect your lips. Emily reached to tangle her fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you tightly against her body. You melted into her as your lips and tongues reunited in a dance they had perfected long ago. Her lips were soft and plush but you could feel the little worry lines on the bottom that perfectly matched her front teeth. The kiss was sensual, conveying the emotion neither of you could verbalize.

Emily pulled away first, taking a deep breath and pressing her forehead against your own. Her eyes remained shut as she breathed you in; you could only imagine that this was nearly as surreal to her as it was to you. As upset as you were with her disappearance, you knew that Emily couldn’t have had an easy time while she was gone. Though you were still alive, you had been effectively removed from her life just as she had been yours.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice was quiet, almost timid, a tone that was foreign coming from your wife. Your heart ached for this woman, knowing her past of never being on the receiving end of lasting, unconditional love. Emily was so afraid that her betrayal would ruin everything, that she would lose you forever.

“Look at me, Emily.” She slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes to look at you. “I love you.” You grabbed both of her hands in yours as she floundered for words.

“We have a lot we need to talk about, I’m still hurting and angry as hell, but I love you so much, Emily. You’re my wife and I trust that every decision has been made to keep you safe. I know you haven’t hurt me on purpose.”

Relief rolled off of Emily’s shoulders in waves, her posture returning to that of the confident, resilient woman you fell in love with. “I love you, too. So much.” You fell back into each other, this time simply holding each other as you breathed in and out, sliding the missing pieces of yourselves back into the other. Not long after, you slowly and thoroughly kissed, drinking each other in with tenderness, reveling in the intimacy of being in your wife’s arms.

The gentle touches were soon not enough and you shifted to straddle Emily’s lap, her hands instinctively wrapping around your waist and pulling you in close. Your hands pushed into her hair, twisting tightly like you’re afraid that if you let go she will disappear from underneath you. Emily was the first to break the kiss, looking deep into your eyes as her heavy breathing filled the silence between you. She was searching for something and you gave it to her.

“Make love to me, Emily.”

She carefully flipped you onto your back, your head resting on the pile of pillows stacked against the headboard. Emily leaned down gently and pressed a soft kiss to your lips and then across your cheek and to your forehead, her lips barely grazing the skin as if she was afraid you would shatter beneath her touch. You reached up and cradled her jaw, pulling her back to your lips for a tender kiss, pressing insistently, begging for more. Taking your cue, you felt warm hands travel under your blouse, reaching around you to unfasten your bra. Strong arms pulled gently at your waist, helping you to sit and pull the garments over your head.

Your head tipped back as she started to kiss down your neck, leaving a mark on your collarbone. Teeth nipped sharply on your soft skin and lips soothed away each fleeting ache. Hands started to massage your breasts, fingers rolling and tugging at your nipples. When Emily’s warm mouth kissed its way around your breast and wrapped around a nipple, you tangled a hand in her hair and used the other to gently cover the hand still massaging your chest. It wasn’t to halt her movements but to keep the connection you desperately needed with the woman who had become the center of your universe.

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling onto your joined hands. She leaned back, looking to your face and she wiped the tear away with her thumb.

“I’m here, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

Emily kissed you once more and you tugged her shirt out of her pants, quickly pulling it over her head. She was wearing a simple black bra and you could see a clover-shaped scar just above the cup. You gasped as your fingers trailed along the scar on her abdomen, feeling the way the skin puckered in lines of pale pink and white. You couldn’t believe just how close you had come to losing her and that after all of these months she was there, sitting in your lap. Your wife looked apprehensive and almost shy under your gaze and you moved to kiss the four-leafed mark.

“You’re beautiful, Emily.” You freed her from the black fabric and immediately sucked a rosy nipple into your mouth, humming when you felt her hands fall on your shoulders. A gasp fell from her lips with a sharp nip, your tongue immediately soothing the sting. Emily pushed you back onto the bed and undid your pants, pulling them and your panties off, exposing your glistening core.

Before Emily could move, you reached to release her off-center belt from its confines. Smirking at you, Emily quickly hopped off the bed and took the rest of her clothes off before lying parallel to you and hooking a leg over your body to rest in the apex of your thighs. Hands smoothed over soft skin, grabbing and caressing each other in the way only lovers do. Emily’s leg slowly began to press into you before she pulled herself to straddle your thigh.

Long fingers stretched down your belly and circled around your lower lips, teasing until you began to move your hips into her touch.

“Emily, please.” The words were barely out of your mouth when a single finger trailed from your opening to your clit and you gasped, pressing into the touch.

As Emily pulled juices from your core and massaged soft circles on your clit, she started to grind on your thigh and you could feel just how wet she was as she dripped onto your skin. Her motions became firmer and faster with every moan that slipped from your lips and you pulled her down gently by her hair to kiss her desperately. Her free hand moved to brace herself next to your head as your breasts brushed against one another and warmth radiated between your bodies.

After a while of hot breaths and wet kisses, you slipped your free hand from her chest to where she was grinding on your thigh, using your finger to bring her closer to the edge. Simultaneously, you both gently pushed a finger inside, and you moaned into her mouth as she gasped your name.

“More, baby, more.” You slipped a second finger inside and used your thumb to rub against her clit. Emily rode your fingers as she pumped and curled her fingers inside you, expertly stroking the rough patch that made your hips buck wildly.

Together you both rode to climax, you falling first with Emily soon after, her teeth clenching onto your shoulder with a grunt as her hips stuttered above you. She collapsed onto you, wiping her hand on the sheet before wrapping herself tightly around you. You could feel hot tears on your cheeks and where her face was pressed into your neck.

You murmured soothing words into Emily’s hair and trailed your hands up and down her back, occasionally using your fingers to comb raven hair out of your face. Before long, her breathing evened out to a steady in-and-out and you thought that she had fallen asleep. Your mind began to wander as you counted the freckles on her pale back, recommitting them to your memory. Here, in your arms, laid the woman you buried seven months ago. You had spent the last seven months wandering aimlessly through the world, not quite able to see it in full color. Sounds were muffled and laughs were hollow, the edges of your vision blurred, and you spent more time in your own head than out. Even though the woman that haunted you was now alive, the fog wasn't clearing from your mind. Emily had come back from the dead, a true miracle, but nothing felt better. You were so incredibly happy to have her back but true to form, your heart couldn't unbreak itself.

“What are you thinking about, baby?”

Emily’s voice startled you and you wiped at some stray tears that you didn’t know had been falling. “I—”, your voice cracked and you tried to clear your throat of the thick emotion you felt, “Nothing, Em. It’s nothing.”

Emily lifted her head off of your chest and looked at your face, frowning when she saw your flushed cheeks and glistening eyelashes. You could tell that whatever she saw had upset her, so you rubbed the back of your fingers against her cheek, smiling when she nuzzled into your touch. “I’m just so happy to have you back. It’s surreal.”

If she didn’t quite believe you, the only hint as to that was that Emily’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly before she turned her head to kiss your hand and fell next to you so that she could stroke your sides while you laid together.

“Is there anything you want to do today, honey?” Emily’s voice was smooth and resonated deep in her chest, a sound you had missed dearly in your time apart.

“Besides this?” You both giggled. “Well, as much as I have enjoyed my handful of hours here, I would be interested in seeing where you have staying been all this time. Maybe get some dinner. I’m pretty overwhelmed still and I don’t think I could handle much more than that.”

Emily nodded against the pillow under her head, “Yeah, we can do that, love. It would be nice to have you in my space, for however long that is.”

You noticed the wistful look in her eyes but decided to let it go, Emily was here, now, in your arms and you didn’t want to even think about the possibility of her not being there. She trailed a finger lazily around your breast, circling a nipple and sliding down to trace patterns on your stomach. The intimate familiarity of your wife’s unconscious touch warmed your heart. You had grown so used to the way that Emily’s hands constantly drifted to you that when it was gone, you ached for it.

Her love language was physical touch and at the beginning of your relationship, it overwhelmed you. Whenever you were together, a hand was always pressed to your back or a leg was always pressed against yours. She would lock her pinky with yours while you walked and play with your hair without even thinking. After a while, though, you craved her touch nearly as much she craved to touch.

“Would it be okay if we took my things there? I… I don’t want to be without you.” Your voice was small, afraid that she would say no. The thought of leaving Emily for just one hour was terrifying, let alone overnight. You were afraid that if you let her out of sight she would vanish into thin air.

Emily must have heard the implied message in your words because she stretched to press a long kiss to your lips. “We can be wherever you want to be, baby. I would love to have you.”

Emily’s apartment wasn’t far from the hotel you had been staying at. It was nestled at the top of a tall building and while smaller than the one you shared in DC, it was just as elegant. Cream-colored curtains framed the large windows looking out at the city and neutral-colored furniture covered the open-plan floors. You set your bags on the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, wandering to the window to take a look.

Emily set the bag of takeout on the kitchen table with a crinkle of paper and quickly came to stand behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and pressing her nose into your hair. You stood like that for just a few minutes, breathing together and not saying a word. Emily pulled away first but grasped your hand, pulling you with her to the table.

Emily served the food quickly, knowing exactly how much of what you would want without needing to ask. She chattered anxiously about something you weren't quite paying attention to and when she set the plate in front of you, you jumped.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. It wasn’t fair that you weren’t just through the moon to be back with your wife, but you still felt deeply entrenched in the dissociative state you had meandered in and out of for the better part of seven months.

“I will be.” You shrugged but gave Emily your best smile and reached to grab her hand, kissing it gently. “Why don’t you tell me about what it’s been like in Paris?”

Emily pursed her lips before letting it go and carrying on about what Paris is like in the summer. She apparently had been spending a lot of time at the public library brushing up on her French, reading every novel she could get her hands on. She also pointed out a few pieces of art on the walls and sitting on shelves—she had made those, too, and she laughed a little as she said the one silver lining she found in all of this was that she had the time to pick back up her art hobby she abandoned once she started working for the government. You made sure to keep a hand on her thigh for the whole meal, both to ground you and to bring her comfort in the way she loved it the most.

“How about you, how has work been at Georgetown?”

"Oh, it's been okay. Finishing spring semester was pretty rough but my students were absolute gems and made it easy for me to get through. Rossi even offered to come guest lecture on criminal behavior in each of the classes to let me take an additional class off after my bereavement leave ran out."

Emily nodded and encouraged you to keep going, so you did. The conversation between the two of you flowed easily as you finished dinner and cleaned the dishes. You missed this the most, the casual intimacy of being with Emily. You loved the way that she always wiped some bubbles on your nose when she helped you with the dishes and the laughter that always followed. It was an honor to see the intimidating Emily Prentiss giggle like a schoolgirl. The rest of the night went smoothly as you cuddled on the couch and she translated French films for you, never letting you out of her grip. You gracelessly side-stepped her attempts asking you about your feelings, but she just let it go. She knew that you would talk to her in due time.

The walls were slowly caving in as you ran as fast as you could towards a steel door at the end of the hallway. You could hear gut-wrenching shrieks reverberating off of the walls and it only made you run faster. As you approached the door, you frantically pulled at the locks and made your fingers bleed with the effort. Your name was being screeched through the door, someone desperately calling for your help.

“I’m coming! Hold on, I’m coming!”

When you finally wrenched the door open all you could see was Emily laying on the ground, blood profusely running from her body. You could hear the laugh of a man but couldn’t see him.

“I told you she wouldn’t make it in time, Emily. You shouldn’t have lied to her.”

You screamed at the bodiless voice as you ran to Emily’s side, hopelessly pressing against her stomach, trying to find the source of the bleeding. The warm, red liquid pulsed over your hands slower and slower and slower until you saw Emily’s face go slack and her chest deflate further than is humanly possible.

“Emily! No! Emily come back! Please! You can’t leave me!”

When you opened your eyes, you shot straight out of bed completely disoriented. Where were you? How did you get into bed? Panic gripped your features and when you heard quiet words whispering in your ear, you flung yourself from the bed. You searched Emily’s face as she reached for you and you shook your head, running into the adjoined bathroom with a slam of the door followed by the distinct sound of engaging a lock. You sat quietly on the floor as your body shook, desperately trying to control your breathing. This nightmare had plagued you every night since Emily died and you always felt just as helpless and broken every morning when you woke up.

For long minutes you cried while sitting on the side of the tub, head cradled in your hands as they rested on your knees. It felt like you were thrown back into that first week after Emily's death, the pain of grief washing over you in waves. A timid knock resounded through the small bathroom as you stood and leaned over the sink, turning on the cold water. You ignored Emily and splashed the water on your face, dabbing at your cheeks with your fingers. In the mirror was a reflection of a woman with bags under her eyes that hadn't always been there, lines creasing your forehead, and a frown that used to look out of place. Bracing your hands on the sink you let out a deep breath, relaxing the last of your shaky breaths.

“Y/N, honey, can I come in?”

You sighed deeply and hung your head. The thought of being surrounded by Emily was overwhelming and you needed some time to collect yourself. "No. I will be out in a minute."

After a few long minutes, you collected yourself. The tears had stopped and your breathing was back to normal. You were ready to face the music.

What you saw when you exited the bathroom was wholly unexpected. Emily was sitting up against the headboard with a pillow clutched in her arms, pressed to her chest by her knees. Her face was red and splotchy and she anxiously wiped away the tears that were falling down her face, almost as if she was embarrassed to be having them. You frowned and climbed into bed, sitting next to her and placing a hand on her knee.

“What’s wrong, Em? Are you okay?”

She doesn’t look at you as she responds. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure, babe? People don’t usually cry when they’re fine.”

Emily drops her head into the pillow she’s clung to and you rub her back a little. She takes a few deep breaths before looking at you.

“You… You were screaming. You were crying in your sleep and screaming and when I woke up you ran away from me. You’ve never done that before.” Emily’s voice was fragile and shaky as she spoke to you. You let out a deep sigh and pulled your hand away from her back, curling in on yourself a little.

“I… I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Emily quickly shakes her head and grabs one of your hands. “No, please don’t apologize, my love. I’m not upset with you. I think I was just startled.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Startled by what?”

A thoughtful silence passed between the two of you before she continued. “I’ve never seen you so afraid before. It’s like when you woke up and saw me, I was the thing in your nightmare. And then you locked yourself in the bathroom. You’ve never done that before. You’ve never shut me out like that before. And I’m not upset with you but I am upset with myself.”

Your chest panged as you heard Emily’s confession. You didn’t want her to see how much you were still struggling. She was here, your wife was back from the dead in some once-in-a-lifetime miracle and you should have been thrilled, over the moon. But a part of you didn’t trust the woman sitting in front of you. You were convinced that in the morning you would wake up and it would all be a lie and she would be gone. The last 7 months had changed you incredibly and you didn’t know how to just pick up where you left off when she died.

“I’m not afraid of you, Emily,” you began as you rubbed her hand with your thumb. “You’re the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. But I am afraid of me, of this. I’m afraid that this is all just some twisted joke and that you’re going to be gone when I wake up. I’m afraid that I have changed too much since you died and that I won’t be the same wife that you fell in love with. And I am ashamed that I can’t seem to just be happy that you’re back. I’m so relieved to have you in my arms and it gives me incredible anxiety to think about ever letting you out of my sight. But I just… something inside of me doesn't trust you. I don't trust that you're real, that you're mine, that you won't leave me. I don't trust that this ache in my chest will ever go away. I want to trust you, Emily, you're the most important person in my life, but when you died, a part of me died, too. And despite knowing you didn't mean to hurt me, I feel so incredibly betrayed. I love you Emily, and I want to trust you, but I just can’t right now.”

You could hear Emily’s chest hitch and her breathing grow ragged with every sentence that left your mouth. You didn’t have to look at her to know that she was crying. When you did look, you saw the same heartbroken expression that you had been carrying in your soul for the past 7 months. Her lips were sucked into her mouth as she was trying not to cry, trying not to make this about her. You reached your arms out to hold her, bringing her head to your shoulder.

“Can we… Can we fix this? I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. Not after I finally got you back.” Emily’s voice was laced with tears and you felt some of the warmth trail down your collarbone.

You leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “I want to, Emily. I don’t want to feel like this forever. We are going to have to rebuild this from the ground up, but there is no one I would rather do it with than you.”

Emily picked her head up off of your shoulder and cupped your chin with her hand. You looked at each other for a while, her watery eyes piercing into your guarded ones. She flicked her gaze down to your lips and back and you nodded your head once. Slowly, Emily leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, one of rejuvenation and rebirth. There was only one way to go from here and that would be up. When Emily pulled back, she wiped a tear from your face that you didn’t know that you had shed and then pulled you down into the sheets where you curled together and fell back asleep.

Fixing things would take time but all of that could start in the morning. For now, you and Emily succumbed to the rest you both desperately deserved and curled against each other, protecting each other from the world that was threatening to tear you two apart.

tags: @dr-reid-fuck-me-challenge

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #i'm thinking about writing an epilogue lmk if you think i should

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buck-buck-boose · 4 years ago

Text

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, violence

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: I am... so sorry for taking so long. I was not expecting the start of the semester to be so hectic. I can't promise I'll go back to posting as regularly as during the summer, but I can promise that I'm not disappearing. I promise. I WILL SEE THIS FANFIC THROUGH EVEN IF IT KILLS ME. Thank you for the kind words and support while I've been MIA. Enjoy a chunky chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Little Saint Lottie

October 27, 1943

“I’m worried about her, Betty.”

“I know, Gladys. I know.”

Lottie couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a full night’s rest. Days seemed to bleed into each other, with no slumber to distinguish today from tomorrow. It wasn’t long after arriving at Azzano that she realized that he wasn’t waiting for her. Bucky was gone. In his place, dozens of men awaited her arrival with sunken eyes and twitching lips that begged for relief, whether it be through a healing touch or a final blow to the head.

When the realization hit Lottie, there wasn’t much she could do besides throwing herself into her work; if she couldn’t help Bucky, the least she could do was help his brothers in arms. Although anxiety ate her up from the inside out, Lottie had confidence in Bucky’s abilities. He wouldn’t let himself die in some POW camp, he just wouldn’t. Because then who would take care of her and Steve? He’d fight tooth and nail to get back to them, she just knew it.

She threw herself into her work, rarely stopping long enough to have a proper conversation or a full meal; this bad habit of hers came to a halt, though, when she came upon a boisterous redhead in need of stitches. Lottie had been deep in thought while examining the gash above his forehead when the soldier cracked a grin and peered up at her without moving his head too much.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

Lottie shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Private—” she glanced at his dog tags, “—O’Connor.”

“Ever done pinup? Maybe I know you from one of those cheesecakes we’ve got hanging up.” The man— more of a boy really, with his lanky frame and jovial smile —wiggled his eyebrows and ruined her diligent work of cleaning the blood from his wound.

The question left Lottie flustered; the idea of dozens of men gawking at her scantily clad figure left her feeling mortified, “Certainly not! I find that my talents are better suited for healing.”

O’Connor nodded and inspected her face carefully as she went to work on his gash once more. “I’ve got it!” Lottie nearly jumped away from him when he clapped his hands together, “You’re Little Saint Lottie, in the flesh!” The boy crowed his revelation, earning him glares from the other men recovering in the medic tent.

Lottie nearly dropped the needle that she’d been preparing to thread, “Excuse me?”

“Ah, it’s a funny story,” O’Connor chuckled, “Y’see, Sarge had this little photo he’d take everywhere. Always had it in his pocket, tucked in his helmet, you name it. Wouldn’t let the damn thing go. Anyway, we stole it out of his fatigues one day while he was cleaning up in some river ‘cause we wanted to see what the big deal was. Once we saw it was some dame—” Lottie shot him a look, “—lady, we started yanking his chain about it. He was just about as obsessed with that photo as my Ma is with her holy cards, so when he finally told us your name, we dubbed you ‘Little Saint Lottie,’ patron saint of the one hundred and seventh. That kinda pissed him off, but it’s not like you’re his girl, y’know? Though he sure acted like you were.”

Lottie was speechless. About halfway through his story, her mouth had dropped open and her hands had fallen to her lap. Here she was, looking dumb as an ox, while the soldier in front of her chuckled with childish glee.

“Me and the guys would even ask for your intercession whenever the chaplain came by to pray with us. Poor guy had no clue which saint we were talkin’ about. We tried to give it a place of honor in the tent but Sarge made us run laps when he found out we’d nicked it again.”

O’Connor nearly doubled over in laughter as he watched Lottie’s expression grow in horror. “Well as I’m sure Bucky— Sergeant Barnes has told you, I’m no saint. I’m just a nurse. Now hold still, unless you want these stitches to be more painful than they already are.” Before she could stop herself, the question came tumbling out of her mouth, “Speaking of Sergeant Barnes, do you know—” she fumbled with the needle as she made the first stitch, “—is he alright? Did you see him?” The soldier let out a hiss of pain, “Yeah, I got a glimpse of him while they were takin’ him away. He was battered but alright. There’s no man quite like Sarge, I know he’ll be back. He’d fight tooth and nail to get back. That’s what he said at least, ‘cause he always went on and on about how you needed him and all that. He sure talked about you an awful lot for a guy who hasn’t even asked you to go steady.”

Lottie’s breath hitched at the final comment, the mere idea of going steady with Bucky reducing her to a stuttering schoolgirl. She began to tie off his stitches, “We’ve been best friends for over a decade, it’s perfectly normal to care for each other deeply without bringing affection into it.”

O’Connor shrugged, which jostled her arm slightly, “I’ve never heard a guy talk about his best friend like that.”

Lottie didn’t respond. She gave his fully sutured wound one last glance, “Looks like you’re all set. Now don’t do anything stupid to get it infected.”

He gave her a crooked grin and wiggled his eyebrows, Lottie nearly scolded him but held her tongue, “As you wish, Saint Lottie.”

Lottie rolled her eyes and moved along to the next bed, where another soldier waited with a smile just as wide. It seemed that these men had become pleased as punch to know their patroness had come to grace them with her presence.

The USO’s visit to their camp took Lottie completely by surprise. She’d spent so much time floating from one medic tent to the next that she’d ended up completely out of the loop of the camp’s other goings-on. It wasn’t until she saw the fully-erected stage in the middle of camp that she realized. Her heart beat powerfully within her; with Steve here, she would be one step closer to finding Bucky. One step closer to bringing him home. “They say he’s gonna be here in a few hours,” Mary beamed, obviously giddy to see the Star-Spangled Man up close and in the flesh.

Lottie returned her smile, though it was weak. The weariness was starting to catch up to her, making her feel much older than a youthful twenty-three. Her stomach was in knots with anxiety; she needed to get to Steve as soon as possible.

Betty stood with them as they watched the hustle and bustle of preparations, “I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones looking forward to seeing Captain America. All these boys care about is seeing a bunch of girls dancing for them on stage, not some hunk of meat in a red, white, and blue suit.”

Nancy, who had just joined the conversation, scoffed, “It’s quite disappointing how little you think of these men and their patriotism.”

Gladys rolled her eyes, “They’re still men, Nancy. Scantily clad women or a guy singing about war bonds? They’re gonna prefer the women.”

Several hours later, Gladys was indeed proven right. Although he’d been driven off-stage with jeers and taunts, Lottie was waiting for him with a warm embrace.

“Hey, Lottie,” She could hear the smile in his voice, she felt its warm timbre as it surrounded her and reminded her of home.

“Good to see ya, Stevie.”

Steve pulled away from her and gazed around the camp, a grimace growing on his features, “Things don’t look to good around here.”

Lottie nodded, a twin grimace gracing her lips, “The hundred and seventh started out with two hundred men. Now they’ve only got fifty left. They’re barely holding on.”

Steve’s gaze shot to hers the moment she mentioned the one hundred and seventh, “Lottie that’s— this is Bucky’s—” The desperate look in his eyes made her own calm exterior begin to crack.

“Stevie, I know,” she whispered, a lump forming in her throat and tears pricking at her eyes, “I know, and I’m sorry. He’s not here. They— Those bastards took him, damn them!” For the first time since arriving at camp, Lottie cried. She sobbed and clung to Steve once more, feeling every bit like a scared little girl from days gone by.

Steve rested his hand against her back, “I’ll get him out, Lottie. He’s gotta be alive and I’ll get him out.”

She shook her head and wiped the hot tears from her cheeks, “No, Steve. You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”

“Lottie, you know I can’t put you in harm’s way like that—”

“Steve. I’m serious. What do you think I was doing that whole time I was with the SSR? Yes, we were making the serum, but they nearly trained us to death. I can shoot, I can use my knife. I can’t let you go without me.” Her voice was starting to crack, “We have to find Bucky together.”

There was silence between the two of them until Steve finally conceded, a wary gaze in his eyes, “Fine. But you need to be by my side the whole time.” Lottie nodded her chest warming with hope. “C’mon, we need to have a conversation with Colonel Philipps.”

The two of them jogged to his tent with their coats held above their heads to shield them from a sudden shower of rain. They entered the colonel’s tent, looking comical with their wet hair and heaving chests. Around them, soldiers and officials paced to and fro, examining maps or signing off various forms. If Lottie squinted, she could just barely make out the words. Letters of condolences; heartbreakingly clinical letters of regret for the losses of these sons, these brothers, these boys.

“Colonel Phillips,” Steve began, “Are you planning a rescue mission? For the surviving prisoners from the Battle of Azzano?”

The colonel looked back at him with a straight face, “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.”

Steve’s blond eyebrows furrowed, “But if you know where they are why not at least—”

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines. Through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save, but I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl,” before Lottie could protest, he shot her a glance as well, “and you’re just a nurse.”

Steve’s gaze on Colonel Phillips was cool, “I think I understand just fine.”

The colonel pushed past them, “Well then understand it somewhere else. Now if I read the posters correctly, you’ve got someplace to be in thirty minutes.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

Steve grabbed Lottie’s hand and pulled her behind him, “C’mon, we’ve gotta get going. You go get changed.”

Lottie nodded; her medical uniform would impede this mission so she’d need to wear the fatigues that the government had finally issued to them. Her heart raced a mile a minute as she scrambled back to the nurse’s tent to change. She knew that Colonel Philipps would be terribly angry once he found out she’d shirked her night duties, but her loyalties to Bucky took precedence. The recovering soldiers were left in the capable hands of her peers. She swore as she nearly toppled over while yanking her boots on; it was rather hard to get dressed in such a hurry. By the time she was ready and had exited the tent, she was met with the somber faces of Agent Carter and Steve.

“Agent Carter, what are you doing?” For a moment, she feared that they’d already been caught, that the SSR was already putting an end to their mission.

The other woman pursed her lips, “I’m here to help.”

A mere half-hour later and they found themselves in the SSR’s plane, headed to Krausberg, where the POW camp was located. Howard Stark called out to them from the cockpit, “We should be able to drop you right at their doorstep.”

Fear was starting to creep into Lottie’s mind and burrowed itself deep within her gut. She heard the conversation continue all around her, but she was still processing the daunting mission before her. She and Steve up against Hydra. All alone. Even Bucky had struggled against them; he’d lost to them in the Battle of Azzano. Bucky. That’s what worried her most. It’s what filled her with the most fear. If she and Steve got through the Hydra camp safe and sound only to find that he was dead, Lottie wasn’t sure how she’d deal with it. She’d probably go mad, in all honesty. She’d end up in some institution, crying over lucky pennies and charcoal drawings while being molly-coddled by some woman in white. How tragic that would be.

Before her thoughts could become any darker, Lottie was jolted back to reality by the sound of bullets against metal. Steve grabbed his shield and her arm, urging her to join him by the plane’s exit.

Agent Carter shot up from her seat, “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!”

He turned to respond, “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” “You can’t give me orders!”

A smile grew on his face, “The hell I can’t! I’m a captain!”

Steve shifted his goggles and nudged Lottie, “It’s go time. When you see me pull the chute out, you do the same.”

Lottie nodded with a quiet determination, and together, they jumped.

Entering the base was painstakingly quiet; once they’d snuck into a truck and eliminated the guards inside, Steve and Lottie were left to mouth words and offer silent support through unwavering gazes. Once they’d safely passed the gate of the base, they exited the truck and swiftly dealt with any opposition.

Steve led her across the base with caution, giving hand signals when it was safe to turn a corner and sprint across a patch of unobstructed space. The two of them traveled with the shadows, avoiding any spotlights that could catch them in the act. Lottie scarcely felt that she could breathe, it was as if one exhale would reveal their presence to the multitude of guards.

Once they entered the main building, the two of them found themselves in what seemed to be a factory. There were giant sheets of metal everywhere and huge bombs seemed to surround them. Amongst them all, Hydra soldiers transported other metal parts and containers of glowing blue material. That did not bode well with Lottie at all.

Lottie spotted some guards walking to a lower level, jangling keys in hand. “Steve, they might be guarding the prisoners.” Her whisper was barely audible, fear keeping her from speaking any louder.

“The blueprints said they were below the manufacturing level. C’mon.”

They followed the guards onto a walkway that had large circular grates that cut into the metal, each forming the ceiling of small cells that the poor prisoners had been separated into. Lottie and Steve knocked the guards out and stole their keys. The two dropped to the same level as the cells and began unlocking their doors.

One of the soldiers gazed at them through the bars of his cell, “Who are you supposed to be?”

Steve panted from stress, “I’m Captain America.” He gave Lottie an expectant look.

“I guess I’m Little Saint Lottie,” she responded somewhat sarcastically, referencing the retrospectively comical nickname that was developed by the one hundred and seventh.

Some of the men cracked grins, “So you’ve heard our prayers, huh?”

“Loud and clear. Now let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

She tried to ignore the growing horror inside of her upon the realization that none of these men had brilliant blue eyes. Not a dimpled chin in sight.

“Is there anybody else? I’m looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.” It seemed that the same horror was growing within Steve.

A man in a scarlet beret responded, his British accent prim and proper, “There’s an isolation ward in the factory, but no one’s ever come back from it.”

“Alright,” Steve nodded, “The tree line is northwest, 80 yards past the gate. Get out fast and give ‘em hell. We’ll meet you guys out in the clearing with anyone else we find.”

“Wait, you know what you’re doing?” “Yeah. I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times.”

Lottie couldn’t help but stare at Steve in amazement. Gone was that awkward boy from Brooklyn. He was a man now, a leader who could do anything he put his mind to. He’d grown so much, not just physically, but in his character.

While the prisoners worked their way out of the base, Steve and Lottie began their search for the isolation wards. Lottie tried to ignore the sounds of explosions and men crying out from below them while they traveled across metal catwalks. She could only hope that the cries of pain were coming from Hydra soldiers.

After turning several corners, they found themselves in an old hallway, surrounded by brick on both sides. They hurried down the corridor out of desperation; they knew they were running out of time. Lottie stopped suddenly when she heard a groan. It was close. She drew her weapon and dragged Steve into the room, her heart stuttering and her palms slick with sweat.

“Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven…” That voice. Oh, how she knew that voice; she loved it so. Lottie heard it whenever she found the time to fall asleep. It crept into her sweetest dreams but tore her apart whenever it wiggled its way into her nightmares.

Bucky lay in front of them, strapped down to a table; his lips moved ever so slightly as he repeated the same phrase over and over again.

She rushed to his side alongside Steve and nearly let out a cry of happiness. Had the situation not been so dire, she would’ve descended upon him with a bone-crushing embrace and great big sobs of joy by that point.

Lottie whispered a quiet, “Bucky?” His eyes were glazed over and his mouth agape, “Is that— is that—”

“It’s us, Buck,” Steve nodded reassuringly as he tore at the straps across Bucky’s chest. Bucky looked up at him, taking his face in,

“Us?”

“Me and Lottie,” he nodded, tugging her closer so that the two of them could be in Bucky’s field of vision.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, finally feeling whole again. She’d gotten her Brooklyn boys back. Bucky only looked back in confusion, “Little Lottie, she— she’s always been here. Always. Stayed with me the whole time.”

It was Lottie and Steve’s turn for confusion. Lottie brushed the hair back from his forehead to calm him down and ground him, “Bucky, I’ve been with the SSR this whole time. We’re here to rescue you.”

Steve nodded and dragged him off the table, “I thought you were dead.”

Bucky was obviously having a hard time processing everything that was happening, “I thought you were smaller.”

Lottie listened as the gunfire intensified, “Come on, we need to move.” Steve threw one of Bucky’s arms over his shoulder and the two fell into step behind her.

“What happened to you?” Bucky grunted out, pain etched into his voice.

“I joined the army.”

“Did it hurt?”

Steve was growing agitated, “A little.”

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.” Lottie huffed, “I’d sure hope so after all that effort I put into it.”

Bucky mustered out a befuddled, “Huh?”

“I helped to create the serum that made him like that.”

“So that’s why you left without saying a word.” Bucky’s tone was only slightly accusatory.

Lottie muttered a weak “Yeah.” They’d need to have a lengthier conversation once he wasn’t struggling to walk five yards.

As they crossed the catwalks to get towards the exit, the factory below them began to combust. Huge flames erupted from the metal contraptions and triggered explosions all around them. They hastily climbed the metal stairs to get to higher ground.

“Captain America, how exciting!” A thick German accent cut through the noise of explosions and gunfire. “I am a great fan of your films!” Before them stood two men; one was a short little fellow clad in a jacket and fedora. The other was tall and wore a distinguished Hydra uniform with its menacing crest emblazoned on his shoulder.

The taller of the two gave Captain America a once over as he strode across the catwalk that separated them, “So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Steve snarled and punched the man in the face. The swift blow caused a blotch of redness to appear near his eye and a sinking feeling of realization settled into Lottie’s stomach. This was Schmidt, the monster who used the serum prototype.

Before she could say anything, Schmidt struck back and left a dent in Steve’s shield, “Haven’t I?”

There was a brief scuffle before Schmidt backed off while the other man pulled a lever, pulling the catwalk apart. With a grin, Schmidt began pulling at the skin of his face and revealed fiery red muscle and tissue beneath, just as Lottie had seen when she first began experimenting with the formula. “You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!”

“Then how come you’re running?”

Steve never got an answer. Schmidt and the other man had already boarded an elevator and left them standing on the catwalk, nearly helpless.

Another explosion went off, cueing the trio to leave, “C’mon, let’s go. Up.” Lottie instructed the men to follow her, though she wasn’t too sure how to escape the factory. All she knew was that they needed to keep ascending the stairs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they were faced with a metal beam that led to a catwalk with an exit. It was terrifyingly slim, with only enough room to place one foot in front of the other.

“Ladies first,” Bucky murmured, “but I’ll be right behind you.” Lottie felt sure of herself knowing that at least she wouldn’t have to cross on her own.

She took a tentative first step, testing how well it would hold her weight. Lottie tried not to look down at the fiery pit below while she carefully moved along the beam. It was a comfort to have Bucky behind her with his chest nearly pressed against her back as he followed her every step. Lottie had just scrambled over the railing of the catwalk when a jarring explosion shifted the beam’s position and sent it careening downwards. She gasped in horror as Bucky leaped to grab onto the catwalk.

“There’s gotta be a rope or something!”

Steve stared at the two of them from across the pit, “Just go! Get out of here!”

Bucky slammed his fist on the railing, desperation tearing at his voice, “No, not without you!”

“Steve, please! We can’t just leave you here!” Lottie pleaded. Steve couldn’t die, not like this.

With a look of determination, Steve backed up and made a running jump to clear the gap between the two catwalks. An explosion threatened to swallow him up, but he made it over safely, although a little worse for wear.

Lottie and Bucky could only stare in amazement. Steve nodded to them both, “Let’s get outta here.”

Several ladders and a whole lot of dodging later, the trio found themselves trudging towards the tree line.

It was silent amongst the three of them; painfully, dreadfully silent. She decided it was time to break the silence, “Bucky, I—”

“Look, Little Lottie, I know you’re sorry, alright? And I forgive you. Even though you lied to my face and left without saying goodbye, I had a whole lotta time to spend forgiving you.”

Now that the fear of being caught by Hydra soldiers had fully subsided, Lottie allowed herself to let out a sob of joy and nearly threw herself at Bucky. She almost apologized for the force of her embrace since it was likely to hurt a man who’d been captured by Hydra, but he didn’t show any sign of pain. She’d need to remember that for later.

“I missed you so much, Bucky. I really did,” Lottie nearly whimpered. Gosh, she sure sounded lovesick. “I missed you too, Little Lottie.” His embrace was sure and strong, and with it, a flood of memories came back to her. Nights on her fire escape. A birthday evening spent swing dancing. A lucky penny slipped into her hand. For the first time in months, Lottie finally felt whole. Her heart that had been splintered into shards of pain and hopelessness had finally begun to mend itself back together. While she found comfort in his arms and forgiveness, she knew there were still so many words left unsaid; words that he needed and deserved to hear.

“Yeah, I missed you guys too,” Steve muttered, obviously peeved that he was being left out of their moment.

“Aw, come on, Stevie,” Lottie grinned and pulled away from Bucky a little to allow Steve to join their hug.

“And if I remember correctly, Bucky, I think it’s actually Little Saint Lottie now,” she grinned. While she couldn’t see his face at the moment, she just knew it was turning a gorgeous shade of scarlet, based on the sputtering coming out of his mouth.

29 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 4 years ago

Note

Does Hanzo ever find out what Genji went through/what he was like during Blackwatch? If so, how does he react?

I think he does eventually, like... Genji lets him know that he was in a very difficult physical and emotional place with Blackwatch, and Hanzo’s able to pick up from Mercy that “Okay no, I don’t think you understand, it was really bad”--but she’s also fairly light on the details mostly for Genji’s sake like “Hey, I’m not going to tell you any more than Genji was comfortable with telling you.” And Zenyatta hangs back for the same reasons, and also he wasn’t there so he doesn’t want to distort the details from what Genji’s told him. So the one person Hanzo can actually get the full story from... is McCree.

Also this fic references the first meeting fic so yeah!

----

“Well?” Hanzo had one elbow resting on the bar. Music was faintly playing but it blended in with the humming murmur of the other patrons. Snowflakes were buffeting the glass of the windowpanes just outside and both of them had shrugged off their heavier coats. The bar itself had a homey, lived-in quality to it. Not dirty, but with a definite age to it that seemed to lend a further brightness to the bodies gliding through it and chatting. The icy Andean wind had heightened the redness of Hanzo’s nose and cheeks well before any alcohol had. It contrasted against the cold discernment of his dark brown eyes.

“I’m gonna answer your question with a question--” McCree started.

“Which isn’t an answer--”

McCree leaned back in his bar seat, folding his arms across himself. He almost looked sagely. “Are you asking this because you genuinely think it will help you get a gauge on your shit and move forward, or are you freaking out because things are going more okay than you think you deserve and feel a need to kick yourself square in the Rocky Mountain oysters?”

“Rocky Mountain--?”

“It’s this fried--I’m talking about--” McCree sighed and sipped his whiskey, “I’m saying you’re doing... you’re doing really well, Hanzo. You’re touching base with the team, reachin’ out, you seem to be sleeping and eating better, hell, you’re clutch on missions, but now you’re asking about this, and it worries me.”

“Why should it worry you?” Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

“Because--y’know... I care about you. You’re a part of this team and I care about you... in a..” McCree cleared his throat, “Team-y way. And... you were stuck in a dark lonely place and I ain’t itchin’ to give you the means to go back there. ”

“But you can understand that the fact that I don’t have the full story distresses me more, can you not?” said Hanzo, “As well as the fact that knowing the more the truth of it is obscured with me, the worse I can assume the situation was.”

McCree scratched at his beard, frowning. “Yeah... yeah I can understand it--but I can also understand Mercy and Zen not spillin’ the beans on Genji’s account.”

“Mm...” Hanzo glanced off and sipped his own drink.

McCree twisted his glass slowly, “Then again, sometimes I think Reyes brought me on the team to begin with because I have a pretty high success rate with the whole, ‘Beg forgiveness before asking permission’ rate.”

Ana called you a charmer, the words almost slipped out of Hanzo but he wasn’t sure how they would land, so he held them in. Instead, Hanzo only mildly gestured at the bartender to refill McCree’s glass.

“Don’t think you’re getting it just because you’re gettin’ me drunk. It ain’t exactly a pretty story,” said McCree.

“I’m prepared,” said Hanzo.

McCree studied him a few moments longer, one hand still wrapped around his glass and one corner of his mouth pulled up with indecision before he closed his eyes and exhaled. “All right,” he said, “If only to keep you from kicking your own ass over what you don’t know.”

“I want you to start at the beginning,” said Hanzo, his stare steady.

“Well t’be fair, Blackwatch was casin’ Hanamura for months, even before your old man passed--er---my condolences--”

Hanzo snorted a little. “It’s... fine,” he said a bit awkwardly. He was more disarmed than really upset at the idea that McCree may have been far better versed in the activities of the Shimada Clan than he had really anticipated.

“Gérard, that is, our UN Attaché, had this whole thing about ‘pulling everything out to the light,’---And the fella was good at it. Could sniff out paper trails and track down dirty money like no other. The initial plan was to get Genji on possession charges and drag the whole clan out behind him. Your old man’s passin’--again, condolences--threw the whole schedule off though. And then we received additional intel that the Shimada dragons might be more.... uh... what’s the word for ‘unusual’ but it’s like... more business-y unusual?”

Hanzo shrugged.

“Un... Im... Uhhh.... Anomalous! That’s the word! Might be more anomalous than we thought and ‘warranting further investigation’ or whatever,” McCree seemed to be easing into the story now, plucking up details from debriefings, “SEP and all its affiliates had been more or less shut down post-Crisis, but there were still worries about human experimentation... strange abilities, and the like. And the dragon stories had been floating around your family for decades, but only when things got destabilized did we consider they might be more than stories. Then we got word that the wheels had been set in motion that the clan would kill Genji before we could get our hands on him--Arrest mission became extraction mission, and extraction mission became rescue mission. The time frame was so sudden we had to bring the Doc along because we thought she would be our best chance at saving him--She wasn’t in Blackwatch, you understand. Wasn’t too keen on undermining the Japanese government either. But... it turns out bringing her along was the right choice.”

Hanzo seemed to be maintaining a veneer of calm, but there was an unmistakeable new undercurrent of tension in his movements and expression as he sipped his own drink.

“You know what he looked like when you left him,” said McCree, “Do you really want me to go into the details there?”

“Yes,” said Hanzo.

McCree huffed and took another gulp of whiskey. The burn of alcohol rasped the first few words of his next sentence. “So it was me, Reyes, the Doc, and a handful of Blackwatch extraction medics touching down in Hanamura that night. Apparently the Shimada clan’s forces were decentralized from the castle. We infiltrated the castle grounds. Found a handful of your security already dead. Took out one more... left his body with the others. Didn’t have time to run a full investigation, or lock anything down. Finding Genji was the top priority. And we found him. Three limbs gone. Puddle of his own blood. Looked midway between... someone had dropped him in a garbage disposal but at the same time... not right--just... gone. The limbs were gone. The wounds were too clean but still bleedin’ out.”

Hanzo’s knuckles curled in, white and shaking as he took a steadying breath. “Consumed,” Hanzo said quietly, “The dragon consumed them.”

“I can stop--” McCree started.

“Finish what you start, Cowboy,” Hanzo’s voice was steady.

McCree swallowed. “I’d seen some fucked up shit under Reyes, but this... yeah, it was new. I kind of froze up, not quite scared, but just trying to make sense of it. But then I snapped out of it as the Doc rushed to him first. I had a vantage point in case other castle security showed up. Reyes was at the opening to that big-ass balcony so he could flag down our evac. So uh, what you need to understand here is that we uh... we actually had very little solid intel as to what the Shimada dragons were capable of.”

“...but I had left the scene well before this,” said Hanzo, trying to puzzle out the timeline of his own fleeing the castle grounds.

“Yeah it... wasn’t your dragon we saw,” said McCree, “See, the Doc, she had to do this... staff... defibrillation thing? I didn’t get a good look at it but Genji, he uh...started thrashin’ and this light sprang out of him. Bright green. Never seen anything like it. He was screaming. Next thing I know he’s grabbing Mercy’s neck.”

Hanzo flinched with some alertness. “What?”

“I mean--first instinct, I’m saying to Reyes, ‘Boss, I got a shot’--like, I know the mission was asset acquisition, but light show or not I wasn’t about to let him kill Angela, but then she hollers out ‘Don’t shoot him!’ And I’m stuck there looking to Reyes like, ‘You’re gonna override that, right?’ And... and Reyes was so calm... I--I could see him doing the math. Breaking people down to resources... breaking their deaths down to trade-offs...”

“You... thought you had to shoot Genji--” Hanzo’s brow was crinkling.

“If Reyes gave me the word,” McCree shrugged, then itched at the brim of his hat, “I never thought someone would hesitate on saving the doc like he was doing right there, though. But.... then she said something to Genji. Never asked what it was, but it seemed to calm him down before he passed out.”

“And you’re saying he grabbed her neck when they first met,” Hanzo’s eyes were narrowed, “But they’re...”

“Well, he was only half-conscious and in this full-on survival mode and she had just... jammed a huge amount of biotic-whatever into his chest. He didn’t know if she was helping or trying to... y’know it was like those times you nearly punched me in the face when I was trying to wake you up from those night terrors.”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Hanzo.

“Psh. If I had a nickel for every time someone took a swing at me out of some kind of traumatic reflex...” he smiled to try and make this seem more lighthearted than it actually was, but Hanzo seemed to still be processing everything, so McCree cleared his throat. “Word of advice, though, don’t make any ‘I guess you’re into that’ jokes with the doc,” he said with a nervous laugh, “No it uh... it took them both a while. I mean, there was this thing there, definitely, but yeah, they were both neck-deep in a whole bunch of shit for a while before they really acknowledged anything.”

“Did Genji take a swing at you?” asked Hanzo.

“Not outside of a Blackwatch sparring ring,” said McCree, “But Jesus, he was scary on the training floor. Still is, sometimes.” McCree paused for a few seconds. “He was obsessed with killing you, y’know. Taking down the whole clan and killing you. Every mission where he got a sniff of you, every mission he thought you might be there and you weren’t, he’d come back snarling.”

Hanzo blinked a few times and glanced down. He knew it made sense, given the idea of justice their family had ingrained in them, but there was still an odd sting to the idea. But I’m his brother, he thought, but then he thought, But that didn’t stop me.

McCree seemed to take Hanzo’s silence as permission to go on. “ I’d try to distract him... try to get his head out of his ass sometimes, but a lot of the time... you see any living thing in a state like that, all you can do is give it space. Genji did give us a decent amount of intel on the Shimada clan’s bigger operations... but when it came to actually getting in there... he was always the first one on the ground. As you can imagine, it was personal for him. There were a handful of bullshit ‘stakeouts’ in Japan where Genji would ditch me... I knew Reyes wasn’t telling me the whole story, then again, it wasn’t my job to know the whole story.” McCree sipped his drink. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t know what he was doing, though.”

“...killing heads of the clan,” Hanzo said quietly.

“Can’t exactly confirm or deny that but... yeah,” said McCree. A prickle of alarm seemed to go through him. “Look, I don’t want to kick off any more brother-killing fuckery--”

“You’re not, Jesse,” Hanzo’s voice was subdued, “I was the right hand of the clan... and the destruction wrought by Genji was, if anything, a product of my own actions.”

“Also his actions--He was fucking nightmare--I mean I liked him, but he was a fucking nightmare, sometimes. Lashed out--like... you didn’t really think of him as giving a shit about you with all that seething over the Shimada clan--- but then he’d know how to say something that hurts, and he knows exactly how it hurts, and you wouldn’t know if he learned how to hurt that bad from your family or just because he was hurtin’ that bad and---” McCree seemed to catch the alarmed look in Hanzo’s eyes, then took a steadying breath before sipping his drink again, “Look... this stuff... it’s all in the past. And he is a lot better now. And he is one of my best friends. Kind of wild how someone who hurt you that deeply can be a best friend like that, but... that’s kind of how life works. Kind of how this shit works when you don’t know if you’re coming back from that next mission. We’re all fucked up here. It’s about learning to take the fucked up parts of yourself and trying to make it into something that helps the people that mean something to you. ”

“The people that mean something to me...” Hanzo repeated quietly. He remembered McCree’s words from his second night on the watchpoint. ‘We’re all just background noise to you. You’re just here so you can stop kicking your own ass after Genji.’ Then he remembered Genji’s words. ‘Well... you’ve been traveling the world for a decade... has there... been anyone? Anyone special? Anyone you loved?’

“...I feel like I’ve let that part of me atrophy,” Hanzo said quietly. Answering Genji’s question, not McCree’s words.

“Atrophy?” McCree repeated.

“When you don’t use a muscle for a long time and... it ceases to be able to functi--”

“I know what ‘Atrophy’ means--” McCree wasn’t making eye contact, “You let... caring about other people... atrophy,” he parsed, trying to trace out Hanzo’s thought process.

“Mm,” Hanzo took a sip of his own drink, “So while I was wandering in grief, Genji was consumed by pain and rage.”

“Which... he’s told you,” said McCree.

“Well, yes, but he didn’t go into details,” said Hanzo, “I know, this might be difficult or painful to talk about, but I really do appreciate getting a more complete picture of what happened to him after my actions.”

McCree tilted his own glass back and forth on the bar counter, letting the whiskey rock around the interior.“I know, but...don’t heap all this on yourself. Reyes always said he wanted the cockroach motherfuckers, and he was more than happy to let Genji snap and swear and lash out and burn the house down because that suited Blackwatch’s agenda better than, I dunno, therapy? Only when we got benched after the Venice incident did he yank in Genji’s leash, because hey, it turned out having a PTSD cyborg tearin’ around the base cussin’ people out wasn’t a good look for Blackwatch.”

Hanzo huffed a little. There was an odd comfort in that. But then he paused, running over the course of McCree’s words in his mind. “...you keep bringing up Reyes,” Hanzo said, fixing his eyes on McCree.

“Sorry--I--I know this should be about Genji,” said McCree.

“No it... it gives some perspective,” said Hanzo, “You trusted Reyes, didn’t you?”

McCree’s mouth tightened for a few seconds before he drew in a short breath through his nostrils. “Yeah... yeah, I did. He just... I mean I’d keep telling myself I was my own person, that I did things with my own style, but so did he. So like... whether it’s ‘your own style’ from fuckin’ Santa Fe or Los Angeles... is there really that much of a difference? If you still picture yourself in their boots, give or take a decade or so?”

“Hm,” Hanzo was thoughtful at this, “I imagined myself in my father’s position so long that when everything came apart and I found myself wandering the world, dodging the clan’s assassins I felt... like a stranger.”

“Kind of liked being a stranger,” said McCree with slight shrug, “Stranger’s from nowhere. Got nothing to prove.... guess it probably hits different if you got a whole... magical crime lord prince destiny thing, huh?”

“The dragon is not magical,” said Hanzo flatly, but a smile was tugging at his lips.

“Debatable,” said McCree, “First of all: It’s a dragon.”

Hanzo snorted and a quiet pause passed between them. Not uncomfortable, but definitely tired, letting McCree’s words and all the pain and memory that came with them drift and dissipate into the warm air of the bar.

“...I could tell you more if you want,” said McCree, after a few beats. “I do have funnier stories... wasn’t all... ‘he was fucked up.’ And--Genji did seem to be getting better-ish towards the end there, once they put him on Tracer’s strike team... but by then Overwatch itself was coming apart.” He snorted. “I guess that’s kind of a running theme with this stuff.”

“I appreciate the offer,” said Hanzo with a slight chuckle. He paused. “Tracer’s strike team?”

“Well, she and Winston probably got more stories there than I do,” said McCree, “And maybe the doc, if it’s in good faith.” He sipped his drink. “You’re welcome to run off to try and ask them about it.”

“I think... this is enough for now,” said Hanzo. After a few beats he said, “You’re not... all background noise to me.”

“What?” said McCree.

“That... you said that on the second night,” said Hanzo, “It’s... it’s not that I don’t value life, or other people--I’m just... it’s been a very long time since I’ve worked with other people, since I’ve talked to other people on a regular basis like this, since I’ve stayed in one place this long, and...” he trailed off, then took a sip of his own drink with some resolve, “I’m afraid,” he said, letting those words sit in the air for a few seconds, “I’m afraid of lending my abilities to another organization that’s used people to hurt other people and then tossed them aside. When your only connection to other people for most of your life was this twisted blood loyalty...” Hanzo trailed off.

“I’m scared of makin’ the same mistakes too, for what it’s worth,” said McCree, “I don’t think fear like that ever goes away.”

“Redemption’s a bitch?” said Hanzo with a slight smile.

McCree broke into chuckles. “You should swear more often. I feel like that’ll help.”

“You’ve sworn plenty for the both of us, tonight,” said Hanzo crisply, sipping his own drink.

“Still, I’m gonna make it a mission to get a ‘fuck’ out of you,” said McCree and Hanzo choked and sputtered. “I didn’t mean it like that! You know what I mean!” McCree was laughing as Hanzo’s attention was split between choking and laughing and desperately looking around for a napkin after spitting his drink. The bartender swooped by with a napkin and the laughs boiled down into chuckles as Hanzo cleaned up a bit. There was another pause then, that same settling of understanding.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said after a few beats.

“You already thanked me--don’t know what’s worth thanking about saying ‘hey your brother was fucked up and so were we.’”

“Honesty. I appreciate honesty.”

McCree smiled and then shrugged.“Hey--y’know, for all the shit I give you,” McCree started and trailed off, “What I said that night about... all of us being background noise... I know that.. that wasn’t really fair. You really didn’t know any of us and, y’know, as far as the general public is concerned, we’re a whole bunch of mercenary weirdoes doing vigilante shit.”

“And Genji was the only person here I knew, and was really...” Hanzo sighed, “I suppose, I fixed him in my mind to be my last chance at humanity--and made myself out to be a monster to all of you in pursuing that.”

“Well... you’re doing better, I can tell you that much. And... y’know folks are warming up to you.”

“Except Angela,” said Hanzo, with a weary smile.

“She needs time on that... I wouldn’t try to force it,” said McCree, “Baby steps and all that.”

Hanzo huffed a little.

“Hey,” McCree lifted his glass, “To baby steps and runnin’ the hell away from all our old role models.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo clinked his glass against Genji’s. Both sipped their drinks and another pause passed over them. Hanzo felt McCree’s eyes on him and looked over at him.l

“Hey just so we’re clear,” McCree’s chin was in his hand, “I didn’t accidentally kick off some huge new bloody vengeance thing by telling you all this, right?”

“You did not,” said Hanzo with a wry smile.

“Oh thank god.”

#mchanzo #gency

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