#and then it loops again as if that glimpse into his inner turmoil never happened... or did it?

[beevean]

The Great Ace Attorney

Barok van Zieks ~ The Reaper of the Bailey

[honeyxchoso]

Promise (fuckboy!Satoru Gojo x reader) (college AU)

warnings: Gojo being a fuckboy who knows his effect on women all too well, MC's declining mental health implied

genre: angst? (sfw)

word count: 1.9k

“Please, just hear me out!” Gojo begged, face contorting into a desperate expression you knew all too well by now.

The scene is just like the numerous ones you’ve experienced in the past few months, all consequential to Satoru Gojo asking you out earlier that year. You should have known better. After all, you’ve been a witness of all of his intimate endeavours throughout high school. It was naive to assume that you would be spared of his promiscuous behaviour and that, somehow, this would be different.

“I promise you it won’t happen again!”

The exclamation just fell on deaf ears. That very promise, which he never fails to make in moments like these, has lost all meaning long ago. The sincerity fading more and more each time it was broken. These conversations, which once used to reduce you to tears, have now lost all meaning they once might have possessed.

All you know is the emptiness you feel resulting from your heart being shattered over and over again, your soul reduced to nothingness. You can no longer cry. You can no longer get mad. You are no longer surprised. Just a shell of the person you once were.

No longer are you even aware of your surroundings, lost in your own mind as Gojo spouted endless dubious apologies and false promises, all of which you’ve heard dozens of times before. How many times have you turned a blind eye so far? How many second chances have you given? How much longer will this go on? You do not know.

How did it come to this?

You and Satoru are first years in an honours programme at Jujutsu college, with you majoring in Biology and him in Physical engineering. Although you had known him since your first year of high school, you two have only gotten close in the summer leading up to your first year at college. During that summer, he’s managed to get closer to you than anyone ever has before. It really isn’t that difficult to imagine considering his flamboyant personality and stunning appearance.

Right now, you were at a cafe, waiting for Mr Perfect to show up for your weekly Math and Chem study session. You chuckle looking at a meme he just texted you. The lovely bastard is fashionably late per usual, but you are somehow never annoyed at that nasty habit of his. Five minutes of texting later, you feel a tap on your shoulder alerting you of Satoru’s arrival. Soon after the tap, you can feel his presence on the left side of your head.

“I think you can kiss heaven goodbye, as it must be a sin to look that good,” he proudly stated right next to you. You gazed to the side with widened eyes and your mouth slightly agape. It was just quick enough for you to catch a glimpse of those gorgeous sky blue eyes of his, mischievously peeking up at you from the pitch-black sunglasses the man always adorned. It truly was a sight to behold. To your great misfortune, however, it was gone as soon as it came, with him rising up to ruffle your hair a bit with his enormous hand before going to sit at the other end of your small table.

You focused on regaining your usual composure, as you’ve grown accustomed to his flirty persona during the summer while observing him picking up girls wherever you went. His sense of humour is just atrocious, but it eventually grew on you also. Despite his provocative behaviour and dirty humour implying he’s still very much immature for anything of the sort, you’ve started harbouring hope that one day, just maybe, he’ll give it a shot for you. Yes, as naive as it was, you couldn’t help but fall for the marvellous man sitting across from you.

You sighed at your inner turmoil and slightly irritably ran a hand through your hair. Satoru, of course, interpreted your reaction as you being annoyed at his borderline foul compliment and the thought elicited a deep, alluring chuckle from him. Slightly shaken from the beautiful sound, you plastered on a smile and looked at him, asking to begin your study session already since he was late again.

Two hours of studying later, you two were walking back to the student dorms on the other end of the campus site making small talk on your way.

“Argh! I hate this unit so much. Why do we have to memorise all the functional groups when it would be so much easier to just look them up in the data booklet during exams? It is so unnecessary!” you cried out, pouting while clenching your fists in exasperation. When Satoru didn’t respond, you relaxed your posture and turned to address him, only to blank out upon seeing the way he was staring at you.

He had a tender look on his face the likes of which you’ve never seen before. His lips formed into a small but genuine smile with his eyes relaxed as he just looked at you. You felt as though he was staring right into your soul. At this point, you both stopped walking instinctively and held your eyes locked wishing for the tender moment to last forever. Satoru was the first to speak up.

He called your name, not breaking eye contact. You just barely took notice of his voice, getting lost in his gorgeous blue eyes during your little moment just now. God, does your name sound good coming from his mouth. You barely had the common sense at this point to utter out a small “Hm?” and no notion whatsoever of what was yet to come.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

You were baffled. The person you’ve been crushing on for months now just asked you out. You. Little old insignificant you. Too startled to form a coherent response, you replied with the only concern you had. “Me?”

After all, you were a nobody. You’ve seen the women who talk to him on a daily basis. The perfect height, athletic, well-adorned in all sorts of jewellery and fancy clothes, makeup perfectly done and never a single strand of hair out of place - those were the type of women surrounding Satoru Gojo. Compared to them, you were the lowest of the low. Your face contorted into one of confusion before your eyes started tearing up. This must be a joke...

That was only in the few seconds leading up to Satoru bursting out in a tear-inducing laugh. This did well to break you out of your small trance, sobering up a little before becoming even more confused. He asked you out, and now he’s laughing about it? Is this man in his right senses? You don’t recall him having any alcoholic beverages at the cafe so it can’t be. He stopped laughing soon after and used the tip of his right-hand sleeve to wipe away his tears.

“Of course it’s you, silly! It’s 10pm. We’re the only ones here right now!” he exclaimed, giggling a bit throughout forming his sentence still. This only served to confuse you even more. It must be a joke, then.

“You’re joking,” you voiced your thoughts. At this, his formerly happy expression fell and formed into one of concern.

“How could I be?” he asked. Seeming genuinely concerned as to why you’d think that. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed an unusual frown. “How could I ever joke about something like that? You have no clue what you mean to me, Y/N.” You could tell from his expression that he was being sincere, making you falter. Your face seemed to be enough of a response for him to continue speaking.

“You are honestly the best person I have ever met. You are strong and independent despite everything life has thrown at you. You are smarter than anyone I know. You have an amazing sense of humour and are a great listener. You’ve always been there for me when I needed you most. Along with being a good person, you also make me a better person myself. You fulfil me. Without you, I feel my very existence would be meaningless.” All the while saying this, he hasn’t broken eye contact once. “So I will ask you once again, Y/N, will you go out with me?

Following that evening, the two of you were in a happy relationship.

So how did it turn into this?

You first noticed something was wrong when you saw him dancing really close with a girl at a college party. He had his left hand low on her waist and his other hand entangled in her hair, bringing her closer so he could lean into her neck. It was just an embrace, right? Perhaps she was his friend who needed comfort of some sort? These are the excuses you made for yourself at the time to console the slight pang of concern and betrayal felt upon witnessing that scene. You never confronted him about that. At the time, you told yourself that was because there was no issue to address but reflecting on that moment now, you know it was the fear of your suspicion being proven right that discouraged you from bringing it up.

This happened about an additional five or six times before you started acting a bit more adverse to Satoru’s usual affection. You would no longer initiate kisses and would become stiff in his embrace. It was mortifying to know he was behaving so naturally around you when you know he’s off with other women when he thinks you aren’t looking. Despite this, the relationship was maintained as your love for him didn’t falter.

After a while, his endeavours would cause arguments. He would argue the women were coming onto him, that he was drunk or anything of the sort, just to get out of the situation, and you would argue he was fully aware of his promiscuous behaviour. These arguments would always end in forgiveness and the movie would rewind yet again. That is what led you where you are now. Your forgiving nature backfired and your feelings for the man were constantly extorted.

Sometimes, enough is enough.

It is time to put a stop to this neverending loop your relationship has turned into.

“Stop,” Satoru was still pleading for forgiveness when you interrupted him mid-sentence. Your simple exclamation seemingly pausing time, as it was the first word you have uttered in this conversation so far. Gojo looked at you anxiously, hope evident in his eyes that you would forgive him. Oh, how you loved those eyes of his, full of deceit.

“I’ve had enough. I’ve given you far too many chances and have been disappointed every time without fail. It is time for both of us to admit to ourselves that this won’t work. Not the way it is now.”

Despite your calm exterior, your previously empty inside now felt a sharp, anxious pain. No one said it was going to be easy. While the fear of change is strong, you know this is the right thing to do. Fear can bring no actual harm, but this relationship has and will continue to do so if you don’t put a stop to it. It is time.

“Goodbye, Satoru Gojo.”

[unfortunatelysirius]

╰☆☆ ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ 𝔾𝕀ℝ𝕃𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 ☆☆╮ [Sirius Black – Marauders Era] [Part 14]

Previous Installments: 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

╰❂╮ prompt ╰❂╮ ☾ ¡Original! ☾ With the perpetrator on their tail, and Sirius’s prejudices no longer something that can be ignored, relationships shatter and a safe way out is near unimaginable. ╰❂╮ author’s note ╰❂╮ Sorry this is so, so late. I hope the installment is to your satisfaction. AND IM SORRY IT’S SO SHORT BUT PLS, FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED AND I’LL BE MORE PROMPT ON UPDATES. Will be updating Chocolate Frogs and Love Notes soon. Tell me if you want added to any of my tag-lists! ╰❂╮ warnings ╰❂╮ Angst, Swearing, Violence ╰❂╮ word count ╰❂╮ 2043 ╰❂╮ tag-list ╰❂╮ @kapolisradomthoughts @rageofcaliban @saucyleftovers @bunnymother93 @siriuslyr5 @apareciumimagines  @random-quartz @ruefulposts @seabasstiantrash @starlightspidey @pinkettepoet @peppermintspecks @jiongyongguk​ @bethanystan​ @raindancer2004​ @where-are-my-gummy-bears​ @cutebutnotinorcent​

           IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT, and a disturbing sort of cold Y/N thought she might never experience in her lifetime, shivers up and down her spine within the dark, suffocating corridor. The stars were like silver dewdrops splattered across the navy sky, visible through each old window’s silhouette littered around the castle; with every passing step, Y/N caught another glimpse of Nature’s finest canvas. She was curled into Sirius’s side, squished between his subtly muscled body and James’s near-identical shape, both Remus and Peter trailing the three of them by seconds. It was reminiscent of times that seemed so far away.

         Y/N thought it was all too good to be true. Everything, from her and Sirius falling back into same-old, same-old routine like they’d never left the honeymoon phase to James looking quite sullen compared to his usual upbeat, enthusiastic self. She wondered if it was all a twist on reality to make her think things were fine when really, Sirius wasn’t anywhere near, James still hated her, and the Marauders were leading her somewhere to hex and discard their latest “conquest.”  It made all the more sense the longer she thought about it, but thoughts of the way Sirius felt—flesh, bone, whole—made her realize she was daft, and just a little bit mad.

         He was so obviously here, a living, breathing wonder, and she was trying to make it a mirage. She wanted it that way.

         Or maybe she’d just went long enough with things going wrong that miracles seemed far too good to be true.

         “I have to meet with Regulus,” murmured Y/N into the quiet air, after the silence became a tad bit too smothering. She was also alert of her own negligence, from her delirious daze to her angry soul’s demands for an apology, as Sirius’s arm looped around her became a bone-crushing reality. Not so much a reality she craved anymore, but one that needed multiple bandages slapped across it; the Muggle way of rekindling old flames and licked wounds. Y/N was beginning to grow agitated and nervous, as this reality crushed down on her. As her newly-put-together world fell apart in the wake of unanswered questions. “He—wants to help. He thinks I was Obliviated.”

         Sirius glanced down at her, looking unsure, his own face not betraying the inner turmoil running their world ragged. The two of them didn’t know how to approach their current problem, the one that kept them from falling together as happy memories asked them to; Y/N was afraid of what lay in wait, Sirius’s admittance that he thought so lowly of her that for even a millisecond he thought she might have been a slag, and Sirius dreaded the moment he had to let his betrayal out into the open. Neither of them were willing to ruin their reconciliation by simple, trivial ire, the kind that winded up someone alone and heartbroken, the kind that could get anyone and everyone hurt.

         Even the most painful of thoughts were best kept internalized, if it meant staying locked tight in a dream.

         Even now, the two of them were so different. Differences Y/N once overlooked in favor of what made them compatible.  

“Regulus doesn’t care about anyone except for himself,” Sirius snapped at Y/N, the three Marauders looking nervous in anticipation for the argument to come. “He’s a Slytherin. The bloody git is tricking you.”

         “How the fuck would you know?” Y/N was never one for confrontation. This was all new territory. She was tired, and depressed, and dying of questions; she loved Sirius, she did, but he was still the prejudiced, arrogant prat he was before they started dating. He’d always hate Slytherins because he grew up in a world full of snakes that rejected him for being who he was, and maybe that was a drawn line for why they weren’t meant to last. He was the charismatic, hateful railroad tycoon, and she was his subdued wife that tiptoed around his temper. Stupid, foolish—she was letting herself use another goddamned Muggle analogy—Americanized, no less. Maybe Y/N was running low on a lucid mind as much as she was excuses.

         He knows nothing about Regulus, she thought anyway, looking into those silver grey eyes she’d always loved. Sirius didn’t. He refused to talk to his brother; maybe Regulus was growing into himself and losing that part of him that preened and prawned from pleasing his parents. If he was scared, if he was determined to find the truth because he wanted to sabotage dark plans, he never once betrayed it. But deep down, there was nothing else rational to explain his motivations, and Y/N knew he was a scared little boy afraid the monsters would someday catch up to him—

And they’d eat him alive like all wolves just so happen to do.

“Regulus is your brother,” continued Y/N. “He doesn’t want to be part of whatever it is your parents do. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You didn’t grow up with him. You didn’t see him do nothing when his brother was lying on the ground, with their father standing above him,” seethed Sirius. “Don’t act like you know him; you sure as hell don’t.”

Y/N felt like crying, as she wrenched herself away from Sirius’s warm, comforting embrace. “Don’t act like you know me,” she spat. Sirius’s jaw fell downwards, a flicker of hurt flitting across his face. “Go mope in your dorm. I’m getting down to the bottom of this, with or without you.”

Sirius was silent. Y/N continued to watch him, imploring him to say something, wishing he wouldn’t just let her leave. If she left, she could get hurt, and Sirius wouldn’t be her knight in shining armor. They went so long in turmoil that Y/N wanted there to be some sort of compromise; if they could argue and fight for so long, the two a mess with their friends on the fence on how to fix them, then they sure as hell could be soft and melted together, too. Maybe they were different, maybe Sirius couldn’t let his old ways go, but truth be told—Y/N always wanted to show him a new perspective.

She’d tried doing that before things went wrong.

“Really, Sirius?” she said now, staring brokenly at him. “We could finally figure this out, and you’re backing down? Really?”

“Whoever’s done this is dangerous,” Sirius told her. His voice had lost all its shake, all its fury, rendered a new sort of mellow Y/N had hardly ever seen from him. He looked like he itched to hold her and reassure he was just an asshat, but his asshat ways betrayed none of his true love for her, or his need to protect her. None, nada, zilch: right? He was a teenage boy, a prat, but he didn’t mean anything out of his pathetically unfiltered mouth. “I want you safe, Y/N. We should leave this to the professors.”        

Those words were foreign out of his mouth. Y/N took a heavy breath and she said, “Sirius, do you even hear yourself? Merlin, what’s happened to you?”

“What’s happened to me? Me?” Sirius’s laugh was humorless. “You’re bloody mad.”

“Sirius, Y/N, this isn’t the best time,” said Remus, looking between the two with apprehension.

“This is the best time, Remus,” Y/N said, refusing to look at any of them. She knew Peter was fidgeting; she knew James was gap-mouthed like a pufferfish; she knew Remus was trying to hide his trepidation. She knew Sirius was silently seething. All of them, they weren’t clearly thinking. They didn’t have their nerves together. Y/N was terrified that solving the bottom of the mystery would never come if they fell apart before they came together. But Y/N could no longer go on if her experience with the love of her life was only going to be heartache and pain, two things she had felt since coming to this God-awful school.

You’re not any better than him, thought Y/N, her brain suddenly going to Ashton. He was dead, and she’d never get to see him again; she’d never get to tell him she was sorry, that she never meant to use him, that he was someone she came to love in her desperation to feel. He taught her about love. He taught her that it was okay to be without for a little while because wholes always regain their lost pieces. Maybe he threw her into an abyss after he broke her heart that left her sad and lost of all hope, but now, with her head on her shoulders again, she could safely say he taught her a lot—yet she gained nothing.

Y/N was happy with Sirius, but he did not teach her anything. He was a fun partner in crime, but when it truly came down to life lessons, he wasn’t a teacher; he was along for the ride, a mere passenger in a bus packed to the brim with faces from the crowd.

Standing in the hallway, letting these thoughts wash over her, Y/N could not do this anymore. She needed to find Regulus and reach the climax of this game. Someone was toying with her and her feelings, and if she didn’t put a stop to it, if she didn’t find a way to draw the villain out and stifle the madness, there was no way for her to get peace—and she’d stay stuck in an endless cycle of being a living ghost.

“I can’t anymore, Sirius,” whispered Y/N. “I can’t.”

She turned around and ran.

The Marauders watched after her, one looking horrified, two looking shocked, and the one this mattered to most—he looked heartbroken.

And none of them even bothered to go after her, as the guilt sunk in and they realized—

Was the love-potion maker truly the villain? Or was it them?

-

Y/N had stopped running after reaching the fourth corridor. She eventually stopped walking altogether. Her pace slowed until it was nonexistent, her harsh, shaking breaths fell into soundless sniffs, her erratic thoughts slowly but surely came to a close. All she could think about now was Regulus, who was waiting at the library for her presence. And that half-blurry, half-familiar memory of a white-haired girl in the very same forest Y/N was in herself

Y/N knew it mattered. She knew she’d been Obliviated, and she was foolish not to go to Headmaster Dumbledore for help in retrieving her memories… but she was a foolish girl, and foolish girls wanted to figure out mysteries by themselves.

“I’m a bloody fool,” mumbled Y/N to herself, clutching her head like that would heal all trace of confusion, as well as her sadness. It wouldn’t, but it felt like it did—so Y/N continued to grope at her temples and scalp. The corridor echoed with spooky creaks and even spookier whistles. Y/N felt regret seep into her bones, as she realized she was still a bit of ways away from the library—and she was totally, utterly, completely alone.

Y/N heard someone laugh.

“You are a bloody fool,” they said.

Out from the end of the corridor emerged a girl, whose entire face and hair were obscured by shadows—but the pretty little patch on her robes had a snake on them. Y/N knew it was a Slytherin. But all she saw was the patch, as her body and face were near invisible—and even then, the patch’s emblazoning was blurry to her. She felt her head grow light, her eyes squinting to see within the darkness. She was so caught in looking at the patch to even pay any regard to the words the stranger spoke or the wand as it lifted, pointing right at Y/N’s chest.

“Who are—”

The girl flicked her wrist. “Stupefy,” she said.

Suddenly Y/N was knocked off her feet by a powerful spell, the backlash sending her head cracking against the corridor wall, rendering her immobile and near-unconscious.

She felt her body crumble, but only half of the way—a steady stream of numbness shooting through her like lightning.

         The stranger walked up, a laugh emptying from her mouth.

“Got you!” the girl sang happily.

That was when things went black.

[sarcasticmesswriting]

WinterHawkWeek Day 3 - Soulbound

Enemies to Lovers with the help of Magic with past canon Hurt. (It’s about 2K, though Day 5 is even longer. Oops.)

All your support blows me away and I am so grateful. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy this one just as much. 

Again, all ficlets from all 7 days can be found collected over at Ao3 here.

“You nearly shot me!”

“You took my fucking kill!” 

“If you hadn’t been so busy dicking around, I wouldn’t have to!”

“I was making sure Natasha wasn’t ambushed by the ones you let through!”

“I had to cover double the ground because of your-”

“ENOUGH,” Loki shouted, hands slapping down onto the conference table.

Surprise cut through the anger and Clint looked at the former supervillain with raised eyebrows. 

Bucky was still scowling, arms crossed over his chest, as he widened the gap between him and Clint and turned a haughty shoulder at Clint. 

“I have been listening to you two bicker like the old weavers in Asgard during my childhood, and I have enough.” Loki straightened up again, magic flickering around his hands. “Everyone has enough of this, though I can’t believe I am the one willing to do something about it.” 

Since Loki had joined the team, Clint hadn’t always been fine with the occasional magic or Loki moving into his personal space, but at that moment Clint was still occupied by his fight with Bucky and didn’t realize what was happening until green magic washed over his vision. 

All his limbs seemed to be attached and working, he didn’t feel like his loyalties had shifted anywhere in the last couple seconds and besides a weird feeling in his chest, everything seemed normal. 

“Brother,” Thor said, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “Was that wise?” 

“If I never have to hear another argument again, yes.” Without another word, Loki turned his nose up at them and left the room before anyone could protest. 

“What the hell did he do?” Bucky growled, eyes too wide, mouth too tight and murderous. 

Thor looked far too timid for Clint’s taste. “There is a practice in Asgard. It is not common and it requires the two individuals involved to think about it long and carefully. They need to be certain and trust each other implicitly.”

“Thor,” Steve prompted, eyebrows pinched, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t the only one worried. Clint’s leg was jiggling up and down and his fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against his hip under the table. 

“It is a bonding of two souls, used to feel what the other is feeling, to hear what the other is thinking. It is done by warriors and lovers for life. Only death can sever it. I do not know what my brother was thinking. It’s not too be taken lightly.” 

“Death, huh? That can be arranged.” Bucky flashed Clint a menacing smile and Clint glared back, but there was something different in his chest. It felt like fear, but not fear like Clint was used to. 

“So I should feel what Barnes is feeling and vice versa?” 

A prick of panic that faded immediately. 

“It is supposed to strengthen with time, but as I do not have any experience with this I can’t say for certain.” Thor glanced at Bucky and Clint one by one. “I apologize for my brother, but there is really nothing anyone can do to reverse it.” 

Well fuck, Clint thought and saw how Bucky’s eyes widened for a second. “You heard that?”

“If you thought fuck, yeah.” 

“Look, guys, not that I’m condoning non-consensual use of magic, but this is the first time those two have talked to each other without throwing around insults.” Tony quickly raised his hands when Steve, Bucky, and Clint leveled glares at him. “I’m just saying,” he muttered. 

~

For a couple of days, Clint avoided Bucky as much as possible, but that wasn’t really anything new. He still got flashes of emotions that weren’t his own, but they were gone as soon as he noticed them and mostly it was just random things. 

But then one night Clint was shooting his bow on the range to get rid of some restless energy when sheer terror rolled over him. 

Images of grey. Hot. Cold. Pain. A square of light coupled with pressure on his chest and arms. 

Clint’s bow clattered to the ground and he could only think about making it stop. 

Ice. Fear of never opening his eyes again, of remembering what he had done and trying to figure out what it meant. 

There was only one reason for this. 

Without thinking or hesitating Clint started to run. He took the stairs two at a time, up and up and up, until he tore through the hallway with his breath fighting with his lungs. 

Bucky’s door gave way under Clint’s boot and he stumbled through the living room and into the bedroom Clint had never seen before. That didn’t matter though. Not much mattered at that moment.

Twisted in his blue sheets Bucky was throwing his head back and forth, sweat beading on his forehead and his whole face was scrunched up in a grimace. Clint could still feel his fear, the pain. Quickly he got onto the bed, ripping at the sheets until they gave away, though he didn’t care if they came free or he destroyed them. 

Lying down next to Bucky Clint cupped his face in both hands and pressed their foreheads together. He tried to summon up all the memories of the team being together, all the glimpses Clint had gotten of Steve and Bucky acting like brothers, all the feelings of belonging Clint had slowly accumulated since he started working for SHIELD. 

Hands came up to cling to Clint’s shoulders and slowly, very slowly Bucky started to relax, started to feel more of Clint’s emotions in a feedback loop. 

“You are with me, Bucky. You are in the Avengers Tower in your room. It’s like 3 in the morning and I broke into your room to get here. I’ll fix the door. We had pizza for dinner. Or I did? Who knows. I ate a lot of pizza this week. You went for one of your runs with Sam yesterday and he complained to me about it afterward. He said you are even more annoying to run with than Steve.” Clint continued to ramble about whatever came to mind. Stories about Bucky, about fights they had, about missions Clint and Natasha did or even just movies and shows Clint had watched. 

At some point, Bucky had stilled completely and had opened his eyes, though Clint wasn’t sure if it had been during the retelling of his favorite Dog Cops episode or the run through the Mongolian embassy. 

“The bond?” Bucky asked, voice quiet but still rough. 

“Yeah.” Now that their emotions were their own again, this whole situation started to become awkward. It was the first time they hadn’t argued or thrown insults at each other. Clint wasn’t quite sure what happened when they met to get them to be so antagonistic. 

Clint was about to pull away and leave this confusing scenario behind when the lights in the ceiling flashed and the Avenger alarm went off. 

With a groan, he heaved himself off the bed and quickly looked away when he saw that Bucky had gone to bed naked. He quickly left Bucky’s rooms to get himself ready.

~

Clint was settling into the pilot seat of the quinjet and getting it ready to launch as Tony briefed them on a HYDRA compound they were going to hit. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before, but it looked like HYDRA was getting ready to move base, so there wasn’t any time to lose. 

Steve continued to talk about placements and strategies when Clint felt it. 

Barely an echo of what Clint had felt during the nightmare, but it was unmistakably the same fear. Fear of going back, of not being able to fight HYDRA when they start to order him around, of forgetting what he had built here. But overshadowing the fear was the overwhelming urge to exact revenge, to hurt the people responsible for his own pain. 

Turning in his seat Clint looked over at Bucky who sat in his seat like in any other mission briefing. He was relaxed, his expression attentive and none of his inner turmoil was on display. 

Clint had known that Bucky had been used by HYDRA for a long time, but he hadn’t realized what exactly that had meant. Now he understood why Bucky was so irritable during specific times, why he fought like he wasn’t a part of a team. He understood that Bucky was feeling way too much for someone who wasn’t showing a bit of it. 

I didn’t know, Clint thought and Bucky’s head snapped up to look at Clint. Realization of what Clint meant was followed by another wave of fear and the obvious signs of him shutting down. 

So Clint did the only thing he could do. He gathered all the memories and feelings associated with his time under Loki's control and the following recovery. All the sleepless nights and nightmares and panic attacks and times he sobbed in Natasha's arms. The feelings of not being able to protect his people, of being a danger to them. The harsh battle of accepting Loki into the team and especially the tower. 

Even Natasha who knew a lot didn't know everything that Clint went through to get back to being the cocky only human on the team he was now, the only human who was afraid any day Steve would realize having an ex-carnie on the team was a mistake. 

“I didn’t know either.” 

Steve paused, blinking at Bucky in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Fuck, Clint thought or Bucky thought? Maybe they both thought it, but thankfully they were approaching the base and the team’s focus shifted. 

Tony and Sam were the only ones staying outside while the rest breached the building. 

Somehow Clint ended up with Bucky in a hallway fighting through shouting guards with machine guns causing a racket. Clint concentrated on fighting like usual, didn’t think about Bucky and their soulbond. Not until he somehow knew he had to duck and bullets dug themselves into the wall where his head had just been. When he turned he saw Bucky breaking a man’s neck with his bare hands. 

There was no time to talk about it. 

They moved forward until they came across a big room with even more people, guards and scientists trying to pack up stuff as fast as possible. There were a chair and an iron maiden type thing against the wall with a tiny window in the front. 

Everything Clint had only gotten flashes of during the nightmare made sudden, disgusting sense and anger took over Clint’s body. 

In minutes Clint was standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving and adrenaline still coursing through his body. There was blood coating his hands and probably his face too. His quiver and gun were both empty and dead bodies littered the ground. 

Bucky was staring at him like he had never seen Clint before and he didn’t look away, even when Steve and Natasha burst into the room, chastising them for not answering on comms. 

“Clint?” Natasha asked, expression as careful as it had been after a bad night and before Clint would have welcomed her, welcomed her tactile reassurances and her logical approach, but right now. Right now Clint needed someone who understood him on a level she never would. 

“Let’s finish this,” Bucky said in his stead and Clint nodded. They headed out side by side and laid waste to anyone still breathing and not on their side. 

No words were needed for smooth fighting and coordination. Instinctively Clint knew what Bucky was going to do and what he needed Clint to do and vice versa. 

Thor’s booming laugh greeted them when they came back to the jet. “My friends, I am joyous to see you two become spectacular warriors together. It seems Loki’s actions were successful.” 

At the mention of the trickster, Bucky’s whole demeanor turned even more murderous. 

“You tell your brother that I’m going to fucking kill him the next time I see him.”

Clint couldn’t help but smile. “That’s sweet, big guy, but you’re a bit late to the party.” 

“You just killed for something that happened even longer ago. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” 

A week ago Clint would have taken offense and lashed out, but today, today he grinned and tapped Bucky’s chest with his bloody knuckles. We could tell each other what to do.

Bucky’s eyes widened. Confusion, surprise, want. 

We could try, Clint thought, letting his own tentativeness and wish for understanding, for some intimacy without anything held back, for trust bleed through. 

We are only going to argue, Bucky protested, but he was giving in. 

Hate sex. Makeup sex. Ganging up on Sam and Steve. 

A smile curled up Bucky’s lips and Clint found it very attractive. 

I am the most good looking Avenger. 

Clint rolled his eyes but reached out to touch Bucky’s hand. 

“This is incredibly creepy,” Tony commented from where he was leaning onto Steve’s shoulders, their height difference non-existent with the armor. 

“Get used to it,” Bucky told him and put a huge grin on Clint’s face. 

Who knew that a little bit of magic and less than a week could flip an antagonistic relationship completely upside down. 

[brightlybound]

In Every Universe: Erased

A/N:  I’m so sick of editing this. Have at it. 

Read on FFN

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: ELASTIC HEART

PART I (Ginny)

Ginny was old enough and smart enough to classify herself under the broad term of bitter. It probably (most definitely) had to do with being cast out of her home at the age of twelve, brain still muddled and fuzzy from an accident she had apparently been coerced into causing. Her whole life up until that point had been the sound of grating metal, water hissing on heat, flashing lights behind her eyelids, and shouting, screeching. She’d begun at the end, pulled from deep darkness, body cold and stiff and aching, into evergreen warmth, life.

Being sent off to Brighton to stay with her mother’s distant cousin hadn’t been terrible; she was right on the sea, and her walks to and from school introduced her to briny air that soothed her scattered nerves better than any cup of chamomile tea ever could. It also helped to restore several memories, mostly embarrassing ones she would’ve rather left behind, like the time she stuffed her elbow in the butter dish in front of Harry, or the night Hermione ignored her in favor of reading a book under a duvet.

Ginny spent a handful of days at the Burrow with her family, a few days during summer holiday here, a Christmas break there. Such visits should have been beneficial, someway, somehow, but she was always held at a proverbial arm’s length, regarded warily by her parents, whispered about behind closed doors. She never quite belonged, felt like an extension of herself when she was around them. Even so, she loved them with everything she had.

And then her sixteenth birthday came and went without a single present, card, letter, or call. Nothing had ever been so hurtful. They’d forgotten her, and yet she was the “miserable, frozen” one.

What a joke.

So, when Harry said, “Your family misses you, by the way,” she huffed out a skeptical breath.

“Right, and I’m the Queen of England.”

“I mean it. You should contact them.”

Ginny turned to look at him as they approached Cranbourn Street. He had both hands stuffed in his robes pockets, and he was looking at her with something akin to pity in his eyes. She had the sudden urge to throw his cloak in his face and get as far away from him as possible. This extended lunchbreak she’d requested was pointless; she should’ve never agreed to attend that stupid New Year’s Eve office party, she hadn’t even found a dress. And now she was arguing with this man from her past, who she’d dreamt of for years and years after last catching a glimpse of him at the age of eleven.

“Exactly who are you to tell me what to do with my life?” she demanded, coming to a complete stop now. Her fingers clenched around the opening of his cloak, hands shaking from a sudden burst of anger.

Several passersby quickened their steps to get around them. Harry grimaced at their retreating backs.

He could not seem to meet her eyes now. “I care about your family. They’ve been nothing but good to me.”

“Lucky you,” she said coolly, removing his cloak and shoving it at him. He just barely caught it in his arms. “Fuck off, and forget you ever saw me.”

And she thought that was the end of it as she walked away from him, head held high. Tears were blurring her vision but whatever. She was fine. Perfectly fine… even though every therapist she’d thrown money at told her quite the opposite. But not a minute later, Harry was grabbing her arm again, pulling her out of foot traffic and up against a storefront.

“I’m sorry,” he said, ducking his head to look at her as she stared down at her worn winter boots. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” she stubbornly replied to her feet.

“You’re crying.”

“Clearly, I have something in my eyes,” she said defiantly, her voice warbling traitorously.

Harry’s tone was laced with amusement. “You know, I didn’t peg you as absurd.”

“You don’t know me at all, so,” was her absurd reply.

“Not anymore.”

She glared at him, bugger her tearstained, blotchy cheeks. “Never, actually.”

“You were shy, but Ron told me you never stopped talking.”

A reluctant laugh bubbled out of her mouth, and she rubbed roughly at her cheeks with the backs of her gloved hands. “The next time you see Ron, tell him to wash out his filthy, lying mouth.”

“Come to lunch with me,” Harry said.

She leaned back, resting her head on the brick wall, and felt her hair catch on the jagged surface.

“Why?” she said.

“Because… I owe you.”

“If this is about throwing me out of that pub-”

“You saved my life.”

Ginny’s breath caught in her throat.

She’d been told, of course, that Harry had been a part of the accident, and that Ron had been there, too, but details were scarcely provided, and Ginny had automatically concluded that her head injury and subsequent amnesia were from a horrible car crash she’d been in, that she’d caused.

“Rumor has it that you saved mine,” she said, watching him through the corner of her eye.

He waved one hand airily, the other still clutching at his crumpled cloak. “Technicalities.”

She hadn’t written her family since she’d moved flats last month, hadn’t wanted them to find her, at least for a little while. She knew, of course, that Harry was trying to cajole her to lunch under the pretense of keeping her in one place long enough to call her family over or getting her to open up and reveal her new address to him, but maybe she could use him, instead. And get a free meal of it, too.  

“I’ll go to lunch with you,” she said. “But only if you pay.”

“Of course, I’ll pay,” Harry said, sounding on the verge of outraged.

“And only if you tell me what happened.”

Instantly, without having to explain herself, Harry knew exactly what she was talking about. His face clouded over, and his lips pulled into a frown.

“That’s not fair, you know I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Ginny-”

“You don’t have to tell me everything.”

She stared him down, and for a moment, it seemed like Harry was going to walk away from her, turning his back to her as he stared out over the street. But then he pivoted to face her, and his mouth was drawn in a thin line.

“Fine. All right. What do you want to know?”

PART II (Harry)

It was extraordinarily fortunate that he’d walked into the Leaky Cauldron from Diagon Alley just as she’d stepped into the Leaky Cauldron off Charing Cross Road.

From what he’d gathered over the years- and he’d kept his ears very much open to any mention of her- Ginny had been living her life as a Muggle after the incident in the Chamber robbed her of her memories, of her magic. He’d been full of guilt about it since it’d happened, no matter what anyone said to him regarding the matter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had not blamed him, and her brothers had called him an idiot, reminded him several times over that she was alive because of him. But he’d said it then, and he’d say it a thousand times over, especially now that the war was over: she had saved him, not the other way around.

If she hadn’t had Riddle’s diary in her possession, he’d still be hunting for one last horcrux with absolutely nothing to go on.

Just the thought made him feel sick.

And now she sat before him, unaware of his near-decade inner turmoil, asking him to tell her the truth. He owed it to her, of that he was sure, but she’d been sent away for more reasons than one.

“Tell me how it started,” she said, all settled at a little table by the window, her bright blue coat and multi-colored scarf draped over the chair beside her. She’d piled her hair into a messy bun on the very top of her head while he’d gone up to order and pay for their meals, and her slender neck was on display, captivating him in a way that was completely unexpected.

Ginny had always been cute- he’d seen her age gracefully in the yearly school pictures Mrs. Weasley kept over the large fireplace mantle- but seeing her today had thrown him for a loop. In the dim pub, she’d stood out like a beacon, and against the dreary London backdrop, she was positively aflame, all blazing eyes and fiery hair as she chewed him out for pulling her so unceremoniously out of the Leaky Cauldron.

Something within him pulled and pushed and struggled for control, and Harry forced himself to concentrate on the bubbles bursting along the top of his Coke bottle.

“What do you remember?”

“A voice, mostly,” she said.

He started, gazed over at her with his mouth slightly unhinged.

She couldn’t mean…

“What kind of voice?” he said, trying to remain impassive even though the hairs on the back of his neck came to stand on end and dread flooded the pit of his stomach.

She shrugged, looking quite uncomfortable as she twirled the straw stuck in her lemonade. “Older, kind of soft. Telling me to ‘do it’, whatever that means.”

A wave of cold washed over him, and it had nothing to do with having shucked off his cloak and robes upon their entrance into the Fish and Chipper.

“Is that… is that all?”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing away from him and then back again, and tucked a non-existent strand of hair behind her ear.

A habit, then, he thought, following the trail of her hand as it curled around the length of her jaw.

“I remember sort of… crunching sounds? Bangs and crashes and… this weird hissing, like water on hot metal maybe?”

Harry stared at her beautiful face, pale in the recollection of her traumatic experience, but in his mind’s eye he saw the battle between himself and Riddle play out as if it were yesterday, felt the skeletons of the Basilisk’s meals cracking beneath his feet, heard the serpent’s tail slapping against stone like clapping thunder, and Parseltongue, the language he’d lost upon Voldemort’s death, rang in his ears.

“I was in a car crash, right?”

Her voice sounded far off. Harry shook off the vestiges of their unkind past and focused on her doe-like brown eyes.

“Yes,” he heard himself say.

It was a very logical, Muggle explanation, and he hated himself for agreeing with her, for lying to her.

“How? Why?”

“It was Tom.”

“Who?”

“Tom Riddle. He… he was an older student, and he manipulated you. Because you were lonely.”

Ginny sat back in her chair, looking ill, petrified. They descended into a deep silence as their server made an appearance, dropping off two baskets of freshly fried fish and chips and a stack of napkins on the way to another table. They made no move to touch their food.

“My parents told me- told me someone had died, that you and multiple people were hurt, that it wasn’t my fault,” she whispered. “But how could it not have been? I agreed to whatever he’d suggested. It was me-”

Harry reached across the table, nearly knocking over the malt vinegar. He wasn’t sure what overcame him, why he hadn’t even hesitated in comforting her in what felt like such an intimate way, but he took her hands in his own, small and soft and cold, and vehemently shook his head.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course, it was-”

“Ginny,” he said, voice hard, and squeezed her fingers. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Look, I can’t help it,” she said.

Harry found himself very nearly laughing, and she smiled at him in a gentle yet sad way that made his heart ache. When it came time to let go of her hands, he found himself regretfully untangling his fingers from hers.

She did not ask any more from him. Instead, she opened up to him, trusted him enough to tell him about her job writing for the sports section of a small newspaper, where she was one of two women in the whole department. She painted a mental picture for him of the flat she’d recently moved into: small, bare living room with a telly sat atop a cardboard box, a kitchen with nigh five feet of white cabinetry, and a bedroom with a shoddy view of the London skyline. Also, he learned that she was saving up to buy a cat, even though she’d killed two succulents in the past month alone.

“Does that make me a bad person,” she said, looking gravely concerned as she added another glob of ketchup beside her chips, “wanting a living, breathing animal when I can barely take care of a fucking cactus?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was never much of a herbologist.”

“You mean botanist?”

Harry paused with a bite of food hovering before his mouth. “Er, yeah. That.”

They chattered away for a while, and he tried to keep his answers to her questions short and to the point: he lived in London with Ron and Hermione; he worked in law enforcement; yes, he liked it well enough, though the paperwork was a nightmare; no, he hadn’t seen The Lord of the Rings film yet (this drew a horrified gasp out of her).

It was when he’d finished eating and was taking a pull from his drink that Ginny, tearing at her last strip of battered cod, divulged nonchalantly, “I’m thinking about taking flying lessons.”

He almost sprayed her with his cola.

“What?” he choked.

“Flying lessons,” she reiterated, handing him a napkin. “What, you think I can’t fly an aircraft?”

“No, no. Of course you can,” Harry said, mopping at his chin. “You just surprised me, is all.”

“I’ve always wanted to fly. My dad would be so thrilled. Can you imagine?”

Harry took the opportunity. “He’s always reading about planes. Maybe you could talk to him about it.”

“Maybe,” she said, and turned to stare out the window.

He smiled to himself, triumphant.

Soon, they were pulling on their winter garb. Harry was very aware of the stares he received upon donning his robes and cloak; he had to get out of Muggle London soon, and back to work, too, before he was missed. Ginny seemed a little antsy, as well, as she peered at her wristwatch and grimaced.

“This was nice,” she said when they stepped outside, her breath fogging the air between them, “catching up.”

The thought of breathing the air that had once been in her very lungs left him feeling lightheaded, and dumbly, Harry wondered what to do with his hands. He must look very stupid, standing there. How did one normally stand?

“But I’m really, really late now,” she finished.

“Me too.”

She paused, glanced up at him, bit her lip. “Do you want to, I dunno, do this again sometime?”

Harry’s heart stuttered to a stop, then kickstarted and ran.

“Again?” he blurted in surprise, and instantly felt the need to strangle himself for sounding like a prick.

“Oh, um, that’s all right, then, if you’d rather not-”

“No, I do,” he said hurriedly. His right hand had a mind of its own and jumped to land gently on her arm. He reeled it back quickly, as if she’d burned him. “Um, when are you free?”

Ginny’s cheeks looked pink as she rooted in her purse. “Here,” she said, and took out a biro and a notepad. She scribbled on it and ripped a page out. “Here. My number.”

“Oh,” he said. He took the piece of paper and stared at it.

When Harry looked up at Ginny again, she was running a hand through her hair, trying to tame the windblown locks. He wished she’d stop. She looked perfectly ruffled.

“Just, call me?” she said, taking a few backwards steps. “Whenever. I mean, after six is preferable. Work and all.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Harry’s mind was going a mile a minute, and one of the many thoughts that continuously hurled itself against the forefront of his brain was where the hell am I going to call her from? But everything went hazy when Ginny decided to throw herself into his arms and hug him.

She pulled away, and he stood there with his arms outstretched, paralyzed.

“And can you maybe do me a huge favor?” she said, her hand in her hair again.

He barely managed a nod.

“Don’t tell my family you’ve seen me.”

.

.

.

.

“And I know that I can survive, I walked through fire to save my life.”

Elastic heart- Sia