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The Ultimatum | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! I've been BUSY as fuck with school lately, y'all. It is truly a nightmare. I'm talking tests on tests on tests on finals on finals. But I'm almost done with the semester and I FINALLY finished this fic that I've been working on for-fucking-ever. It's got the angst and the yearning and the pain with a happy ending, which is my fave. Thanks for reading and thanks for being patient while I suffer through school :)

Word count: 9.6k

Warnings: implied emotional abuse, manipulative boyfriend, anxiety, general sad vibes (but happy ending, as always <3)

At this point, Bucky had almost forgotten how to react to a knock at the door. He stood almost frozen, not quite recognizing the sound of knuckles against the wood. It seemed to him like a foreign, otherworldly occurrence. Like something newsworthy, something he’d see on the front page. He didn’t ever get visitors- well, at least not anymore.

It struck him as odd, the thought of an unsolicited visitor dropping by- and so late; it was almost eleven. And though he didn’t feel like making small talk with the old lady who lived across the hall, he figured he should open the door. Maybe his elderly neighbor needed help. Maybe she locked herself out and needed somewhere to wait for the landlord. And who was he to ignore her? She was always sweet. She treated him not like a monster, but a human being. And to Bucky, that was a novel experience- something worthy of backpay. So, if she needed to hang around his apartment for a while until the landlord arrived to unlock her door, he’d let her.

But when he opened the front door, he didn’t find old Mrs. Beverly. A sharp inhale barreled into him at the sight of you waiting on his welcome mat, the same one that you always joked about; you told him time and time again he should’ve called it a “go away mat”.

Everything inside Bucky came screeching to a halt. No heartbeat, no thoughts. Just shock. A rush of goosebumps flashed over his skin at the mere sight of you within arm’s reach once again. An immediate smile splashed across his face- a smile he hadn’t worn since the last time he saw you. Butterflies swarmed inside his stomach and wriggled into his lungs, their wings constricting his breathing. Seeing you again was the first day of spring after a seemingly never-ending winter. The first rays of sun poking through frost riddled branches and dead leaves. This was salvation.

“You said…” This was harder than you expected. Seeing Bucky again warmed parts of you that you didn’t know had gone cold. Just the sight of him helped you breathe easier. He made you lighter, calmer. He brought you a sense of comfort you stopped searching for months ago. Around him, all your sharp edges softened. But you didn’t know how to talk to him- not anymore. At one time, he was your safe place- the safest place you could imagine. During the bitterest of winters, he was your hearth, your home. You shared a secret language spoken only by the two of you.

But not anymore. Not for a while now.

You weren’t the same person you’d been when you knew him. To some, it was an imperceptible change. But you felt it every day. Missing Bucky wormed its way into your cells, tangling itself with your DNA. It became a building block of your very being. Losing him damaged your soul, leaving the edges frayed and torn.

The stark silence of the empty hallway made Bucky’s ears ring. He stared at you, his mouth slightly ajar, a look of bewilderment on his face. He took in the mascara smeared beneath your eyes, the soaking wet clothes hanging from your body. Only the quiet drip drip drip of water leaving your drenched hair dared disturb the silence.

The words you rehearsed on your way over dissolved. They abandoned you without a trace, leaving only one clumsy sentence in their place. “You said I could always come here if I needed you,” you finally said.

All Bucky could do was nod.

“Well… I need you,” you threw him a sheepish smile. “Can I come in?”

Again, Bucky nodded. His thoughts raced and collided with each other, filling his mind with noise. But he managed an “of course”; he needed you to know you were welcome. Of course, you were welcome. You were always welcome. He just hadn’t had the pleasure of inviting you into his home in what felt like a lifetime.

A deep sigh of relief left your chest. Part of you expected him to slam the door in your face. You squeezed past him, careful not to brush against his clothes and get him all wet- though he wouldn’t have minded. He was just happy to see you again.

The sound of your wet sneakers squeaking across the hardwood set your nerves on edge. But being back in his apartment eased them right away. This space used to be your home away from home, the place you felt most comfortable. Sometimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you thought about its worn, wood floors or the orange light that poured through the windows at sunset. Just thinking about the way this place cloaked you in safety and warmth remedied your anxious mind and eased you into a peaceful sleep.

Everything sat in nearly the exact same place as the last time you were here. That was just like Bucky- constant, consistent. But as you let your gaze drift over the room, you noticed a few foreign pieces of décor. He’d gotten some new furnishings since you last visited. A cozy-looking blanket lay strewn across the couch. A large armchair- perfect for reading- sat next to the window.

All this time, you worried about Bucky. You wondered how he was getting along, how he was handling things on his own. But he was okay. He made good on his chance at a new life. You only wished you could’ve been a part of it.

A thousand questions swarmed inside of Bucky’s brain. He had so many things to ask you, so much he wanted to catch up on. But one question sat at the top of his list. It was his first priority, his greatest worry: “Are you okay?”

A large huff left your chest, “I got into a big fight with Alex.” Part of you feared you were being dramatic. Bucky would never judge you- you knew he wouldn’t. But showing up out of the blue, late at night, drenched from head to toe because you argued with your boyfriend felt ridiculous. Maybe even pathetic. “He got mad- he didn’t want me to go out with my friends tonight,” you sighed. “Because I didn’t ask him first.”

“Because you didn’t ask him first?” Bucky nearly scoffed, “What- is he your father?” He checked himself immediately. A soft, “sorry” followed his less than subtle dig at your boyfriend, his attempt to assuage his mistake. He didn’t want you to put you on the defensive or make you regret your decision to reach out. Clearly, you needed him. And Bucky wasn’t about to ruin your attempt at seeking help.

But a quiet laugh pushed its way past your lips, easing Bucky’s worries. He always knew how to validate your feelings. “He was just being so-” you dragged your palms down your damp cheeks and thought back on the argument. “He’s so difficult. Sometimes, I feel like I’m on a leash or something. A short leash.”

Bucky didn’t like the sound of that. He mulled over his next words, careful not to let another outburst escape without his permission. But a pressing thought jumped through his lips without warning. “Wait- why are you all wet?” Bucky said. “Sorry, I- we absolutely need to talk about what happened. But… you’re soaked. What happened?”

With a swipe of your hand, you rid your forehead of a few water droplets that tried to escape your hairline. “Well, it’s pouring,” you gestured toward the rain-spattered window. “And I walked here.”

His eyes went wide, “you walked here? From your place?”

You nodded.

Your demeanor was all too casual for Bucky. With decent weather- in the daylight- the walk wasn’t that bad. But in a torrential downpour at 11pm, it was dangerous. It was far. “Jesus Christ…” Bucky couldn’t believe you did such a thing. It wasn’t safe- not with the rain, and especially not with the suspicious men that lurked the city streets at night. He thanked the universe you hadn’t been preyed upon on your journey to his apartment. “Why’d you walk?”

“Alex wouldn’t give me my purse,” you punctuated your sentence with the crossing of your arms. “We were fighting about me going out with my friends. And then things kinda blew up and he took my fucking purse.” The anger smoldering in your chest scorched through every blood vessel, broiling your cells. “He thought that if I didn’t have my keys or my wallet, he could stop me from going out.”

Bucky matched your eye roll with one of his own. He could practically see the short leash you mentioned only moments ago. He couldn’t believe Alex took your things. Well, he could believe it- he just didn’t want to imagine you in such a situation. It seemed to Bucky that Alex wanted to keep you locked away like a princess in a tower; and Alex played the role of the fire-breathing dragon.

“And then I missed out on dinner and dancing with the girls anyway cause our argument blew up.” A swift sadness snuffed out your sizzling rage. “So, I guess he won after all…” This night out with your friends was the one thing keeping you sane the past few weeks. Every time Alex did something to hurt you, to disrespect or belittle you, you thought about seeing your friends. About having a glass of wine or two and spending a few hours with the women in your life. You wanted to hear about their promotions, their wedding planning, their upcoming vacations. But most of all, you wanted their comfort.

And he stole that from you.

Bucky wanted to wring Alex’s neck. He wanted to make him disappear. He wanted to cut you free from the cement blocks Alex tied to your feet. But the sharp shiver that rocketed through your body put those thoughts on pause.

“Here, let’s get you some dry clothes to change into, alright?”

“Oh… that’s-” You shook your head. Sure, you wanted to change out of your sopping wet clothes and into something cozier. But you didn’t deserve Bucky’s kindness or concern. Not anymore. You couldn’t let him do this for you, not after you showed up unannounced. Not after what you did. “That’s okay. I’m fine. Really.”

But Bucky clocked the shaking in your fingers, the way you fought to keep your teeth from chattering. “Come on, it’s okay.” He reached for your icy hand and gave it a squeeze, only for a brief second. But it was enough to warm you from the inside out. “We both know you’re freezing. Just let me give you something to wear for a while. Okay?” He sensed the trepidation in your expression, the way you avoided eye contact. “It’s not an imposition or anything like that- just a friend helping a friend.” The patience and understanding behind his warm smile was so genuine, so authentic- you couldn’t help but believe him.

And though you knew it wasn’t right to accept his kind gesture, you couldn’t help yourself. The cold pierced through your bones and chilled you to the very soul- you weren’t strong enough to resist his offer. And, selfishly, you wanted to wrap yourself in Bucky’s clothes. They were always cozier, more comfortable than your own. The fabric seemed to hang on to his warm scent; you never realized you could miss a smell so much until it vanished from your own clothes. Your hair.

“Um, okay. Yeah,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

Your acceptance of his offer made Bucky beam- but you were still stuck on him referring to you as a friend. After all this time, after what you did to him, you couldn’t believe he’d still regard you with such affection.

You slipped out of your sneakers and socks and followed Bucky down the familiar hall to his bedroom. The memories embedded in these walls were your favorite days. Your most comfortable nights. Coming back to Bucky’s place allowed you to visit them all once again- something you never permitted anymore. Conjuring those memories brought you the greatest comfort and the sharpest, most soul-crushing pain. Seeking salvation in the past only served to remind you that Bucky was no longer part of your present, nor your future. And that hurt worse than any gunshot wound.

Just to be safe, you secured those happy memories in vault and buried it deep inside your mind, never allowing them to escape or see the light of day.

But it was a crushing loss.

“So, um… why didn’t you call?” Bucky looked over his shoulder for a split second, as though to make sure you were following him. “I would’ve picked you up, that way you wouldn’t have had to walk in the rain…”

Of course, he would’ve. He would’ve given his remaining arm for you.

You pulled at your soaking wet t-shirt, desperate to distract yourself. This was too awkward, too pathetic.

“I was afraid that…” You cleared your throat. “I um, I didn’t think you’d answer. Cause of what I did.” The wet hem of your t-shirt gave you little relief as you picked at its stitching to stem the anxiety. “I thought it was better if I just- you know, if I just came here. If I just showed up.” You rolled your eyes at your own logic, “if I called, there was a chance you wouldn’t answer.”

Bucky shook his head, “I would’ve-”

“I didn’t wanna chance it,” you said. “Cause if you blocked my number and that’s how I found out, I might’ve walked into traffic.”

Bucky knew you too well, knew you were making a joke to hide your very real fear of his rejection. “Well, I didn’t block your number,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know how.” And before you could spiral, Bucky turned to face you. “I would’ve answered. I will always answer.” His words were so genuine, so steadfast, that you nearly stopped breathing.

“I think I knew that…” you said, your voice almost imperceptible. “I think it scared me.”

Even after all this time apart, he remembered the way your voice grew thin when shame got the best of you. If he were being honest, he thought about the sound of your voice every day.

He knew you well enough to know when you were nervous. When you couldn’t stand to make eye contact. And so, he turned his back to you and continued in the direction of his bedroom, giving you a moment to yourself.

“Here we are,” Bucky pushed open his bedroom door and gestured for you to enter, allowing you to go ahead of him. But he sensed your hesitation, your uneasiness. He clocked it in the way your eyes just missed his, the way your fingers pulled at the fabric of your shirt. The two of you stood there in the hallway, stalling outside his bedroom door as though trapped in wet cement. Bucky broke free first.

“Alright, let’s find you something comfortable!” He dipped his words in positivity and

threw a too-cheery affectation on top for good measure. He just wanted to make you feel more at ease, more relaxed. But he knew a dry shirt and some sweatpants couldn’t fix the damage Alex did.

It was more than that, though. Bucky could feel the uncomfortable tension radiating off you like rays of the sun. You didn’t know how to act around him now, didn’t know how to navigate the crumbled ruins of your relationship. It was obvious. You didn’t readily enter his bedroom- how could you? You didn’t feel entitled to that space- or any space of his- anymore. And Bucky was going to change your mind or die trying.

“Okay, so you definitely need a pair of socks…” He rifled through his top drawer until he found a pair thick enough to keep you warm.

“And sweatpants? Yeah?” He looked at you expectantly, awaiting your approval.

You nodded. You’d accept anything he gave you- or didn’t give you. You didn’t have the right to his help, his clothes, or his comforts.

But he pushed on. Happily. He scrounged around the shelves in his closet and in his dresser drawers, searching for a pair that would fit.

And as he dug through seemingly every article of clothing he owned, you gave the room a once over. He’d gotten a small, slightly shabby bookshelf in the time since you last saw the place. An army of novels with cracked spines and distressed covers lined the warped wood like soldiers protecting him from the nightmares. He still only had one pillow, and his sheets were the same dark gray cotton. But his bedspread was new; it was the same one you advised he get for the colder months. At the time, he said he didn’t need anything heavier than the thin blanket that adorned his bed. And you knew it was just another way for him to punish himself, to refuse even the slightest comfort.

But the insulation in his cheap apartment did nothing to provide a reprieve from the biting winter. And clearly, he caved to your recommendation- even after things between you went south. A small smile crept across your face at the thought. At least you’d been able to help him in some way or another. Because of you, he stayed warm. He protected himself from the frigid temperatures. It eased your conscience, no matter how slightly.

“I think these will work…” Bucky held a pair of sweatpants up to your body. “I mean, they’re still gonna be way too big, but they’re the smallest pair I have.” He outstretched his hand and offered them to you, “we can tie the waist really tight and roll ‘em up so they’re not too long- don’t want you to trip.”

You hesitated for only a moment, unable to resist the dry, warm fabric of his worn sweats.

“Oh- you need a top,” he said, making his way toward the closet once again, “I have just the thing…” He reached up toward the top shelf of his closet in search of something; and before he had the chance to show you, you realized just what he was looking for.

It was what you used to wear at Bucky’s as makeshift pajamas or when it got too cold. He used to say it was yours just as much as it was his. Back then, you slept over by accident a few times a week. Sometimes, he needed you late at night. Sometimes, he just needed you to be there while he slept- he was more comfortable that way. You always made him feel safe. But after one too many nights of you struggling to sleep in uncomfortable clothes, Bucky presented you with this very sweatshirt. He wanted to give you something- anything- to make you more comfortable. And so, he dug around his closet for his coziest, most comforting crewneck.

It came in handy every time the heating failed and the shotty insulation left you chilled to the bone. Bucky always pulled it out for you and watched with a smile as you tugged the soft, green fabric over your head. Sure, the heat at your apartment worked great. At home, you didn’t have to dress in layers or drink endless ups of scalding hot tea to keep warm.

But some days, Bucky couldn’t stand to leave the house. And you couldn’t let him rot away all alone. So, you made your way to his place, in rain or snow, and sat with him. Talked with him. Made him tea and brought him food.

He hadn’t been able to touch that sweatshirt ever since you left. Didn’t even want to look at it. But he kept it clean for you- just in case.

“Is this okay?” Memory after memory of you accepting this very sweatshirt flashed through Bucky’s head. It used to be a routine of sorts, but it felt foreign now.

Something in you nearly cracked. This whole thing was too much. It seemed like you’d been dropped into a film about your own life, and someone behind the camera forced you to play out this scene just to hurt you. It made you ache for before. Before you left, before things fell apart, before you made the decision you knew was wrong.

Bucky stared at you, an expectant look on his face. He waited for you to take the relic of the better days you once shared, hoping it would bring them back to life.

But you hesitated. You eyed the garment, fearing the fabric would send you into a spiral. The threads were heavy with memories. And after everything you did, who were you to accept this gesture of goodwill?

“This is- I really appreciate it. But…” you refused the sweatshirt. And instead, tried to hand the sweatpants and socks back to Bucky. “I can’t accept all this. It’s not-”

“Yes, you can.” Bucky’s words were definitive. He allowed no room for arguments. “You’ll be a lot warmer.” He offered you a gentle smile and once again stretched the sweatshirt in your direction. “Get changed and we can put your clothes in the dryer,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.”

A nod and a quiet “thank you” were all you could muster. And as Bucky left the room and shut the door, you wondered how he could possibly treat you so kindly after what happened. Ever since you left, you berated yourself daily. It was part of your routine now, almost like you’d penciled it into your calendar. The guilt kept you up at night and distracted you during the workday.

But Bucky was a good person. And he’d never hate you the way you hated yourself.

Slipping into his sweatshirt felt almost criminal. You saved it for last, choosing first to shimmy into his sweatpants and wrap your feet in his warm socks. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t right- none of this was right. Allowing Bucky to treat you with such hospitality, such care, wasn’t fair to him- not after what you put him through. But as you tugged his sweatshirt over your head, your selfishness eclipsed that feeling of wrongdoing.

It was just as you remembered it- oversized but not massive. Warm but not suffocating. The worn fabric eased over your skin and cloaked you in the kind of comfort you knew you didn’t deserve. And for the first time since you left, you experienced genuine comfort.

“Oh, hey,” Bucky was waiting for you in the hall, just like he said he would. “I’ll take those,” he took your wet clothes and nearly recoiled at just how cold the fabric felt against his skin. You must’ve been miserable- and yet, you’d tried to refuse the dry clothes he offered. His heart broke for you all over again. He tossed the piled of sopping fabric into the dryer and shot you a kind smile.

Bucky stared at you as the machine began to rumble; part of him wondered if this was real. He’d had plenty of dreams about this moment, about your return to his life. But none were ever this real, this believable. And as he observed you standing there in his old sweatshirt, he decided that if this was all some strange, lucid concoction of his psyche, he never wanted to wake up.

But the trembling in your hands caught his attention once again, pulling his smile into a deep frown. The warm, dry clothes did their best to shake the chill, but to no avail.

“Let me make you some tea,” Bucky gestured toward the kitchen. “I have some-”

“Oh, that’s okay.” You tucked your shaking hands into the long sleeves of Bucky’s sweatshirt, flashing him a forced smile. “I’ll warm up in a minute.”

His old, familiar eyeroll brought a real smile to your face with ease. The two of you fell back into your old habits, your old way of relating, far too easily. Before you left, he always tried to give you things or do things for you when you hung out at his place. He knew his apartment was shitty, that you gave up time with your friends and boyfriend for him. And to compensate, he always had an offer in his back pocket: tea, takeout, baked goods from the place down the street. He had to make up for the burden he placed on you. And every time, you refused. The two of you would fake argue and banter until you finally conceded. And, with a smile, he’d make you a cup of tea or braid your hair the way Shuri showed him.

You knew how much it meant to him to be able to give you something in return for your kindness- no matter how many times you told him your friendship wasn’t transactional.

“I’m making you some tea, d-” Bucky caught himself, cutting off the word that rested on the tip of his tongue. He knew he shouldn’t call you ‘doll’ anymore. With a forced clearing of his throat, he pivoted. “I have some jasmine. Is that still your go-to?”

You nodded. Deep within you, an ache for your old nickname stirred.

Bucky busied his hands with mugs and sugar and spoons. He always kept your favorite jasmine tea on hand, just in case. It stayed in the cupboard, front and center, ready for your return. But the box sat untouched. He hadn’t made any- not since you left. Just the smell of it was enough to break his heart all over again.

Every time he opened that cabinet, your tea stared back at him. And though seeing it threw him back in time and punched him in the gut with longing, he couldn’t get rid of it. Throwing it out would mean that you’d never come back, and he couldn’t accept that.

Bucky put the kettle on and tiptoed into rocky territory. “So, can I ask…” he toyed with a spoon, avoiding eye contact, “why didn’t you call an Uber or something?”

A pang of embarrassment jolted through you like lightning. Admitting the truth of your relationship only served to make you feel stupid. You’d lost count of the number of times your friends gasped or booed when you told them about something Alex did or said. And though you knew that the urge to hide his less-than-loving tendencies was a blood red flag in and of itself, you couldn’t help it.

But you didn’t have to hide with Bucky. Ever.

“I deleted my rideshare accounts,” you sighed. “Or- Alex did. He doesn’t like me using them cause he doesn’t trust that I won’t-”

You cut your next thought off at the knees. Months ago, Alex confronted you about your use of ride share apps. He suspected you of cheating, of sneaking away. His words dripped with contempt as he spat accusation after accusation your way, never stopping to listen to the truth. Sometimes, you needed a ride to work. Or to your sister’s house. But he didn’t care. “I know you’ve been going to see him- to see Barnes,” he’d said, “I know you’ve been going to see that psycho.”

That night, while you slept, he deleted your Uber and Lyft accounts and forbade you from ever downloading the apps again.

“He also cut up my Metro card,” you said, your voice quieter now. Admitting these things felt traitorous. Treasonous. Like giving intel to the opposing side. Alex didn’t like Bucky. And Bucky didn’t like Alex- rightfully so. Spilling your guts supplied Bucky with enough ammo to destroy the man you supposedly loved. But Bucky didn’t fire a single shot.

He, instead, wrangled his negative thoughts about Alex and locked them away for the time being. The strong urge tear your shitty boyfriend apart rattled inside Bucky’s brain. It clawed and thrashed at the bars of the cage in which Bucky trapped it. Talking shit about your boyfriend, while satisfying, wasn’t important. You were Bucky’s top priority. He needed to make sure you were comfortable, that you felt safe. There was something in the way you spoke about Alex; a not-so-subtle tinge of anxiety- of fear- that tarnished every word you said about him. And thinking about the cause turned Bucky’s stomach.

He just wanted to be there for you, whatever that meant. If you needed to vent, Bucky would listen. If you needed to cry, he’d offer you his shoulder. And if you needed to sit in silence, drinking your tea, and pretending your boyfriend didn’t exist for a while, Bucky would join you in the quiet.

“Oh. Um…” Bucky didn’t know what to say. His anger toward your boyfriend boiled under the surface, but he didn’t dare let it overflow. Instead, he pulled the kettle from the stove just as it started to sing. “Well… I’m glad you made it here safely,” he said. It was all he could think of.

You shrugged, “I kinda ruined your Saturday night, though.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave you a laugh, “you could never ruin my night.”

Without a second thought or a moment’s pause, he prepared your tea just the way you liked it. Even after all this time, even after the issues with his memory, he never forgot. He delivered a perfect splash of milk, a flawless dose of sugar. It was as though he’d done this just yesterday- and all the days before.

“Plus, do you really think I had plans tonight?” Bucky said as he handed you your tea.

“Hey, I don’t know…” you sipped your tea; it was even the perfect temperature. “Maybe you’re a real social butterfly now. Maybe you have a weekly poker game or plans with Sam.” You shrugged, “maybe you have a girlfriend.”

Things fell quiet after that. Bucky sipped at his tea. You scratched absentmindedly at the tile counter. Neither of you knew what to say or how to say it. And it crushed you. Before, the conversation between you and Bucky flowed so easily, so smoothly. You read each other’s’ minds and anticipated nearly every word. And in the silences, things were comfortable. Cozy. Content.

This was awkward, tense. It sent a shiver up your spine.

“You’re still freezing.” A worried scowl carved a deep line in Bucky’s forehead. “Come on, let’s get you under a blanket, okay?” He wrapped an arm around you back- loosely- and guided you toward the living room.

The gesture almost made you tear up. Bucky was always so kind. So gentle and soft and warm. It was a warmth you hadn’t experienced in a long time. But part of you almost wanted to distrust his kindness. It seemed to you like an omen, a kind of warning. Or even a trap. At home, sweet gestures like these always meant trouble brewing beneath the surface. They led to shouting and crying. To accusations and fear and distrust.

They came with a catch.

Bucky didn’t.

He simply held your tea while you got comfortable on the couch. He wrapped you in a blanket and asked if you wanted another. And when he was confident that you were, indeed, warming up, he joined you.

“This might sound pathetic,” Bucky said as he settle into his spot on the couch, “this is the best night that I’ve had in a really long time.” He knew you were only in his home due to unfortunate, unkind circumstances. He knew he shouldn’t be celebrating your showing up sopping wet at his apartment late at night, not when he knew what made you do so.

But he so was happy to see you.

Things fell quiet after that. You left all of your peace behind the last time you left Bucky’s apartment. You ripped it from your chest and piled it in a corner, abandoning it for your new life. Sure, it hurt. And it left you feeling empty. But it had to be done, didn’t it?

All your life, people emphasized the importance of marriage. Of settling down. They told you that relationships are always hard, that they aren’t like fairytales. And so, you accepted Alex’s empty promises and twisted definition of love. And even when you expressed to your parents that you weren’t sure about Alex, they talked you into staying with him. They cited your age, how difficult it would be to find a husband as you got even older. They scared you into accepting less than you deserved. They scared you into leaving Bucky behind.

Yes, it was you who ultimately made the decision to end your friendship with the kindest person you’d ever known. But you knew you’d never let go of the grudge you held against those in your life who convinced you to settle for Alex. To cut Bucky out of your life. They robbed you of so much time with him, time you’d never get back. And just the thought of all those lost days sent you into deep, endless grief.

Bucky spoke up after a while, “Do you wanna talk about it?” He didn’t want to pry or come on too strong; something in him feared it would scare you off. If this was where you sought solace, if this was where you felt safest, who was he to disturb your newfound sense of peace?

“You don’t have to,” he said, “but you can if you want.”

You did want to talk to Bucky about what happened. You wanted to spill your guts and vomit every less than blissful detail about your life with Alex. Talking to your girlfriends was nice and of course, your therapist was helpful- but there was something about Bucky. He was the only person who really understood you, who could read between the lines and grasp the feelings you struggled to put into words.

But pulling at that thread was dangerous. You’d already tugged at a few pieces, unraveled some shameful details about how things were at home. And if you gave that frayed thread another yank, you feared that every damaged, knotted strand would fall on full display at Bucky’s feet. The prospect scared you more than your late-night walk to Bucky’s.

And who were you to dump your relationship issues on him, anyway? Who were you to disappear with barely any warning, only to show up and vent on his couch? It wasn’t right- none of this was right. Sure, parts of this night were irreversible. You were already there, wearing his clothes, drinking his tea, and sitting on his couch. But you could stop yourself from burdening him any further. You could sew up your leaky wounds and snap your mouth shut, saving him from any more of your grief.

You sidestepped his offer, “No, it’s okay- catch me up on things with you. I wanna know everything.”

Bucky gave you a look. Even after all your time away, he could still read you like the Sunday paper. He knew how badly you needed to simply let go, to unburden yourself. But he knew you wouldn’t.

Your reluctance to share wasn’t a question of his listening skills or your level of comfort with him; it was the shame. He could practically see the guilt oozing from your pores. You didn’t feel as though you deserved to bare your soul to him. It was obvious, perfectly illustrated in the way you yanked your lips into a tight smile each time he looked at you. Showing up at his place unannounced after a seemingly eternal bout of radio silence was one thing. But dumping your problems in his lap? Burying him under your relationship drama? That was simply not allowed.

And so, he told you all about his life- the version that didn’t include you. He told you about the missions he’d been on and the injuries he sustained. The amends. The shitty, court appointed therapist who treated him more like a criminal than a client. The boat he fixed up with Sam. The old man with whom he ate lunch every week.

He almost seemed happy. Almost. He actually had a life now. A friend who wasn’t also a coworker. He went on a date. Sure, there were things to be desired. He still had nightmares. Anxiety. He still wrestled with the ghosts of his past and the fear of his future. But he was doing better. And while it was all you ever wanted for him, it stung knowing you didn’t get to see him make these strides in real time.

“Wow, you’ve been busy,” you said when he finally finished. “I gotta know more about your lunch dates with this Yori guy- that is adorable.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and laughed his first genuine laugh in months. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I met him as part of my amends, but I-”

A harsh knock at the door cut him off. Both your eyes and Bucky’s slid in the direction of the sound. And though neither of you said a word, the air in the room changed. It grew thick and heavy, weighted down with an almost sickening dread.

Bucky locked eyes with you, his stare tunneling through your skull.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he said, keeping his voice low.

You nodded.

A guttural groan clawed and kicked at your throat, but you refused to set it free.

His voice was low, his volume calculated, “We’ll just be quiet.” Bucky glanced at the door once more, waiting for another round of knocks. “He won’t know we’re here, okay?”

You could barely hear him over the hum of the fridge, the sounds of the city. You gave a slow, subtle nod, fearing the sound even the slightest motion might make.

“I know you’re in there, Barnes,” Alex’s voice punched through the door. “I saw your bike downstairs.” He knocked again, his knuckled booming against the door. Your blood stopped in its tracks. You could’ve sworn you felt it settle in your veins.

Bucky stood from the couch with a nearly silent, “It’s okay”. He hated the way your face dropped, the way your knuckles changed color as you gripped the pillow in your lap.

“Barnes!” Alex practically growled through the door, “open up!”

“Come with me.” Bucky’s voice was barely audible, but still the most comforting sound you’d ever heard. He helped you from the couch, steadying you as the anxiety sent tremors through your every nerve. He guided you to his room with quiet, careful steps. He noted the way you yanked your shoulders upward, the way you kept your eyes on the floor.

Bucky hated the effect Alex had on you. He turned you into a hollow, fragile version of yourself that Bucky found nearly unrecognizable. He chipped away at your confidence and self-esteem, using precise, masterful blows to your weakest points. He reduced you to a pile of dust and shards of your old self.

Bucky wished to turn Alex into nothing but a memory.

“Just stay in here till he’s gone. Don’t come out,” Bucky said once you reached his room. He rested a palm to your cheek for the briefest of seconds, “I’m gonna take care of it, okay?”

And before you had a chance to relish in the warmth of his skin against yours, he vanished.

His footsteps grew more distant as he made his way to the front door. With each centimeter he put between the two of you, you grew more anxious, more uncomfortable. He was your safety blanket, your rock. Without him, you’d learned to cope. You survived. But you never truly thrived. And now that you got your fix of him, being without him for even a second left you unable to breathe.

Bucky opened the door, feigning a look of surprise, “Alex- wow, hey. How are you? Haven’t seen you in-”

“Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood.” Alex’s tone sliced clear through Bucky’s attempt at casual levity. “Where is she?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “What?”

You could practically see Alex rolling his eyes, curling his hands into fists. “Don’t gimme that- you know what I’m talking about.”

Bucky gave pause and shook his head. “I really don’t…” Part of him feared he may be doing too much. He knew he had to perfectly toe the line without overplaying his role of ‘confused ex-best friend’. The last thing he wanted was to fuck this up, to let it slip that he was harboring you in his home. He knew it would be bad for you, that Alex would make your life a living hell if he found out. And he was damn sure not going to let that happen. “Is everything okay, man? It’s pretty late.”

Alex’s glare tunneled through Bucky’s skull, “Where’s my girlfriend, James?”

It wasn’t a question- but an accusation.

“What do you mean?” Bucky coatedhis words in a thick layer of concern. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, she’s-” Alex huffed. He was over it. His paper-thin patience shredded into sharp, tiny pieces. “I know you know where she is. I know she probably called you or something.”

“She didn’t-”

A knowing look crossed Alex’s features and quickly devolved into one of betrayal, of disgust. “Is she here- she’s here isn’t she?”

Bucky’s heart sank into the swirling pit in his stomach. He couldn’t mess this up. He couldn’t ruin the sanctuary you sought in his home. This was your safe place, your peace. And he had to protect it. “Is she here? No. Why would she be here?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I haven’t seen her.” Bucky raised his hands in surrender, “We haven’t spoken in- she hasn’t contacted me in over a year.” Saying the words out loud hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It prodded at him like a fireplace poker, hot from the flames. God, he missed you.

“Right…” Alex rolled his eyes. “Of course. Just fuckin… whatever, man. If you so happen to see her, tell her to get home. Soon.” He turned on his heel and backed out of Bucky’s doorway, a snide look on his face.

Bucky wanted to separate Alex’s head from his body. This man didn’t wish for your homecoming as a concerned boyfriend. He didn’t hope for your safe return or ask for help finding you. Not a sliver of worry even came close to piercing his arrogant, callous surface. He’d let you spill out onto the late-night streets, hurt and distraught, as a torrential downpour drowned the city. He didn’t care that you had no means of transport. No wallet. He didn’t care that your clothes didn’t protect you from the freezing rain.

And he walked away from Bucky cocky. He left threats hanging in the air. He wanted you home as a means of control. Of punishment.

But at least he was gone. He stalked off, mumbling something about you “learning your lesson”. It made Bucky nauseous. He wanted to keep you in his apartment for as long as possible. At least, that way, he’d know you were out of Alex’s reach.

He didn’t want to think about how your return home would play out, how Alex would treat you when you finally walked through the door. Something- a lot of things- about Alex didn’t sit right with Bucky. Alex struck him as a manipulator, a narcissist. Someone to fear. He could understand why you’d walk far too many blocks in the freezing, torrential rain just to get away.

Bucky shut the door and turned the deadbolt. He secured the chain. Even checked through the peephole to make sure Alex hadn’t returned. He couldn’t be too careful- not when you were involved. “Alright, he’s gone,” Bucky called as he headed in your direction. “He’s an intense guy, I didn’t-”

But as Bucky entered his bedroom, he found it empty. “He’s gone, I swear. You don’t have to hide anymore.” Bucky popped his head into the closet and bathroom but found no sign of you. “Hey, where’d you go?”

The sound of the dryer door, however, tipped him off.

He discovered you in his small laundry room, retrieving your clothes from the dryer.

“Oh, I don’t think those are all the way dry yet. You know this thing is kinda old,” he gave the dryer a gentle kick. “You should probably leave your stuff in there a little while longer.”

You didn’t answer.

Bucky watched you fish your underwear out of the bottom of the dryer. He offered to help when your shirt got tangled with your shorts. But you stayed quiet. You kept your back to him and your gaze downcast, focused on the wet fabric in your hands.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Bucky placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know Alex showing up wasn’t exactly ideal, but he’s gone. And I-”

Without a word, you turned to face him; only then did he notice the tears streaming down your face. They met under your chin and curved down your neck, dampening the fabric of Bucky’s sweatshirt. He’d never seen a more sorrowful, gutted expression cross your face- save for the last time he saw you.

Sharp, shallow inhales shook in and out of your chest. And even if you wanted to, you couldn’t force yourself to meet his eyeline.

“Oh no-” Bucky’s heart shattered. His chest tightened and his stomach dropped. He hated seeing you upset, seeing you cry. Immediately, he wondered what he’d done to make you feel this way.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice was gentle, his tone soft. He didn’t demand an answer, like Alex so often did. No, he simply helped guide your words to the surface. He was patient and understanding as you caught your breath, didn’t make any condescending comments about your emotions. Bucky was always kind, always empathetic. He never rushed you. Never forced you to speak before you were ready.

And when you finally found your words, they came out quiet, shameful. “I heard what you said…”

Bucky quickly ran through his conversation with Alex and came up empty. What did he do? What did he say that hurt you like this? But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the answer. “Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I- what did I say?”

“About us not talking-” You lifted your head, showing Bucky your red, glassy eyes. “About me not contacting you for over a year.”

Bucky shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I was just-”

“I shouldn’t be here.” You dropped your damp clothes on top of the washer and tugged at the knots Bucky tied in your sweatpants. “I shouldn’t be wearing your clothes-” You struggled to free yourself from the tightly knotted drawstring. “I shouldn’t be complaining to you. And I shouldn’t- I just shouldn’t be here.”

A low groan rumbled out of your throat as you gave up untying Bucky’s skillful knots. All you wanted was to get out of his clothes, out of his apartment, and out of his hair. A storm of guilt and shame pummeled you, drowning you in regret. Coming here was wrong. Selfish.

“I have no right to be here,” you said, slumping against the dryer and sliding to the floor. “I have no right to come to you for help.”

“What do you- Yes, you do.” Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Of course, you do. You will alwayshave the right to be here.”

Another tidal wave of tears poured down your cheeks. Bucky was so kind- too kind- to you. Too forgiving. Too understanding. Too good. All you could do was shake your head and apologize. Vehemently.

“I’m so sorry…” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky took the spot next to you on the floor, close enough for you to feel his familiar body heat. “You don’t have to be sorry-”

“Yes, I do- I fucked up. I chose him.” You dried your tears with the sleeve of the sweatshirt Bucky held onto just for you. “He gave me an ultimatum and I- I chose wrong.”

Bucky took your hand in one of his but didn’t speak. He simply let you ride out your latest wave of guilt and grief. He swiped this thumb over your knuckles every now and then, keeping you grounded. And when you finally caught your breath, he spoke.

“I don’t think… I don’t think it was ever about you choosing between dating Alex or being friends with me,” he said. “You needed to choose yourself. To choose what was best for you, what would make you happy. And at the time,” Bucky shrugged, “you thought being with him was for the best. So that’s what you did. I can’t fault you for that-”

You scoffed. It came out ugly, bitter, full of the disdain and contempt you held for yourself. “But I knew who he was. Even then.”

Bucky shrugged, “they call ‘em rose colored glasses for a reason-”

“Stop!” Your voice violently bounced off the walls of the small laundry room. “Stop making excuses for me- I want you to be mad at me!” Desperation clawed at your throat. You ripped your hand from Bucky’s, too overwhelmed by the kindness you didn’t deserve. “Be mad at me for abandoning you when I said I never would- be mad at me for being a horrible friend! Be mad at me for being stupid- and selfish!” Your balled up fists landed blows to your legs, your chest. If Bucky wasn’t going to berate you, the least you could do was deliver to yourself a fraction of the pain you deserved.

But two hands- one warm, one cold- wrapped gently around your wrists, stopping the abuse. You locked eyes with Bucky, tears blurring your vision. He’d never seen a look of such intense desperation.

“Just- be mad at me…” you stared at him, pleading. “Please.”

Bucky shook his head, “No.”

“Please… be mad at me. Yell at me. Do something.”

Bucky couldn’t help but think back on the old days. How many times had the two of you sat on the floor of this apartment? How many times had you helped Bucky off the literal and metaphorical ledge when his anxieties grew too strong? How many times had you exorcised the demons Hydra saddled him with? How many times had he tried to punish or hurt himself? And how many times had you stopped him?

Now, it was Bucky’s turn to do the same for you. “I was mad. Does that make you feel better?” He shot you a wink; it pulled the smallest of smiles from deep within you.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, anchoring you to reality, to him. “But I wasn’t mad at you. I was just mad because- because I met you so late in life, you know? And I barely got any time with you. It wasn’t enough for me.” His voice grew thick with longing. He spent so any nights thinking about you, losing sleep over how much he missed you. He often wondered if you missed him, too. Wondered if you thought of him when you took the train or went to the market. Wondered if you ever walked down his street, just because.

“But I was never mad at you. I’ve never been mad at you for pursuing the things with Alex. Or for going along with his ultimatum. I didn’t like it- I didn’t think that it was fair to you, but…” he shrugged. “I wanted- want- you to be happy.”

“But I left you-”

“I’ve lived a long life,” Bucky said. “Too long.”

You squeezed his hand, “I wouldn’t say that- I wouldn’t say ‘too long.’”

You always knew how to make Bucky laugh. “What I mean is… I’m living years that aren’t mine. I was never supposed to have this much time. But these years are meant for you. This is your life. And you’re entitled to go after the things you want.”

“But-”

“No. No ‘but’.” It wasn’t a reprimand, but a reminder. “What kind of friend would I be if I got mad at you for pursuing a relationship with someone you loved?”

“But I didn’t just pursue that relationship-” a harsh flashback of the day you left ripped you apart from the inside out. You remembered refusing Bucky’s invitation inside. Handing him the key he had made for you. You remembered biting back tears as you told him of Alex’s ultimatum, and your subsequent decision to go along with it. You remembered the look of utter heartbreak on Bucky’s face. He was gutted. Torn apart. Seeing him so despondent nearly made you sick. “I cut you off. Completely.”

“I know. But…” he shrugged. “You deserve to go after the things you want. And you wanted him. And I- I just wanted you to be happy.”

A sharp huff left your chest, “But I could’ve been stronger. I should’ve- I should’ve handled things better.” These same words swarmed your mind like angry bees on a daily basis. So many would’ves and could’ves and should’ves launched themselves at you, illustrating everything you did wrong. “I mean, jesus christ, I’m an adult! He gave me an ultimatum- I didn’t have to go along with it. I chose to. I’m in the wrong just as much as he is-”

“Hey- no.” Bucky’s intensity caught you off guard. “Look, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here, but he’s a manipulator. Everything you ever told me about him screamed ‘manipulative’.”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I let him manipulate me-”

Bucky shut you down, “No. No, that’s not how manipulation works. Sure, you chose to be in a relationship with him. But you didn’t choose to be treated like shit. I saw-” Bucky’s free hand scratched at the fabric of his jeans. “I saw the way he acted tonight- if he’s like that all the time, I don’t blame you for going along with his ultimatum.” He grimaced, “I’m sure the consequences would’ve been bad if you chose otherwise.”

Bucky’s level of understanding and empathy almost made you angry. How was he this kind? How could he grant you this much grace? You felt yourself nearly going mad. He sensed the eyeroll, could practically feel your rebuttal bubbling below the surface. And before you could throw another ‘but’ at him, he continued.

“You wanted to be with him. You thought- or hoped- that he was someone better. That’s not a crime. And I’m sure you wish you could go back in time and tell your past self not to get mixed up with him, but-”

“Yeah, but I-” you let loose a deep sigh. “I really just wish I could go back in time and tell past-me to stick with you. Always. To put you first.” A few more tears broke free from your lash line and rolled down your cheeks. “Cause you’re the person I care about most- you’ve always been then one who matters most to me. And I’m sorry I didn’t act like it. I’m sorry I didn’t make that obvious to you.”

“It’s all okay,” he nudged his shoulder with yours, “we’re okay.”

After a few deep breaths, you allowed your body to fall against his. Your head lay on his shoulder, your hands still intertwined. This was always how things were supposed to be: just you and Bucky against the world. No pain, no heartache, no ultimatums. Just trust. Kindness. Empathy.

“I’ve missed you every day,” your voice came out tight, barely audible as your tears made another appearance.

Bucky unwound his hand from yours and opted instead to wrap his arm around your shoulders. “I’ve missed you too.”

“I regretted it, you know?” You lifted your head and looked him in the eye with intense urgency, “I regretted it instantly- I knew I shouldn’t have chosen him.”

He gave a simple shrug, “But it’s okay that you did.”

It was going to take some time for you to accept that Bucky didn’t hold a grudge. That he didn’t fault you. And that journey started there, on the floor of Bucky’s laundry room, with your body resting against his.

“I’m glad that… I’m glad I didn’t wait any longer to come back here.” You nestled closer to him, desperate to make up for lost time. “I’m glad it wasn’t too late.”

He stared down at you, confused. “Too late for what?”

“Well, I’m sure you would’ve written me off after a certain point, you know? If I was gone for… five years, or something.” Just the thought of being away from Bucky that long made you miserable. “If I showed up here after all that time, it would’ve been too late for you to forgive me.”

Bucky shook his head, “First of all, you don’t need to be forgiven- you didn’t do anything wrong.” He hated the way you blamed yourself and dismissed your own difficulties over the last year. And he knew you too well to be able to ignore the heartbreak in your eyes, the pain behind your voice. You suffered in your relationship with Alex. He cut you off from your best friend, isolated you, sabotaged your self-esteem. You were a victim, even if you refused to believe it.

“Second of all- and this is important-” Bucky turned to face you dead on, and pressed his forehead to yours. “There is no ‘too late’ with us, doll. Ever.”

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callmeby-mylastname · 5 months

Text

who’s she?

summary- after your fallout with tara you find comfort in the thing you hated most about her, alcohol.

warnings- some sweet angst, meaningless one night stands and some swears. possible grammar n spelling errors

A/N- thank you anon for the suggestion i hope it lived up to your standards. sorry this took so long i have been so damn busy lately but enjoy🙏

part 1

it had been 3 months since your ‘break up’ with tara and to be completely honest you were doing terrible.

you never liked it when tara drank, she became someone you didn’t recognise.

and now you’re here, you barely recognise yourself. drinking copious amounts of liquor sleeping with a new random girl.

if you kept yourslef sober enough you’d be disgusted by the reputation you had acquitted, the ‘life of the party’ the fuck boy who gets with pretty girls and leaves before they wake up. it didn’t mean anything to you it truly didn’t it clearly meant nothing to the hookups. you both wanted a sexual realsie and that’s what you got.

doing anything to distract yourself from losing the one thing that made your life bright.

Tara had heard of your new found reputation along with glaring looking at you drunkly go upstairs with a girl.

she felt guilty, real guilty. yet too stubborn to talk to you. was she scared you’d end up the way amber did? yeah. did she love you? yeah. was her fear a reasonable excuse to hurt you the way she did? not particularly.

but yet here she is, sat in her apartment wallowing in self pity, contemplating texting you.

she’d spend her nights feeling guilty debating to reach out but never truly had the courage. she hears a ping from her phone and checks the message.

nerdymeeks: have u heard of Y/Ns new girl?

Tgiz: wait what? like gf??

nerdymeeks: i think so? they’ve been seen hanging out at their place couple times

nerdymeeks: told u. u should’ve stopped being stubborn n got ur girl back before it was too late

well if she had a reason to text it was definitely now, so with the surge of confidence that had absolutely nothing to do with the raging jealousy she clicked your contact and let it ring.

“sorry the person you’re trying to contact does not exist” and with that the call ended.

tara was left in disbelief, you blocked her? you got some new girl and blocked her? that made a already very jealous mad tara exceptionally more angry

she didn’t particularly have the right to but she still was.

grabbing her shoes and keys, she was going to confront you, luckily for her you’re a couple doors away. it’s honestly shocking you two haven’t seen eachother since the fallout.

and with three knocks, she was stood at the door left with silince. she raised her fist to knock once more when a beautiful black haird girl opened the door.

logically she was stunning, but to tara? you could do better. and it isn’t at all jealousy

“can i help you?” the girl at the door way asked, recovering from the momentary stun tara replied.

“i-uh. i’m here for Y/N?”

“tara?” your voice rang out behind this new mysterious girl.

this was the first time her eyes met yours after THAT. you looked good, better than you did atleast.

but she would hate to admit how she missed the way her eyes instantly found yours wherever you were.

“we need to talk” tara replied to you

you were stuck, on one side you never wanted to see her again but that little part of ur brain was nagging at you to just hear her out.

and so you went for the latter. “okay”

tara looked back at the girl guarding the entrance to your apartment, she reluctantly moved aside and headed towards your bedroom.

“if you need me Y/N i’ll be right here” and with that she entered the room closing the door.

“so are you and broody over there..together?” she was trying to keep composer (it didn’t work)

“what do you care?” you replied bitterly

“i don’t. i-just..wondering” that composer is definitely working very well. “what do you want tara?” you were getting impatient now

“why did you block me?” she asked getting straight to the point

“it’s not like we were talking” you replied. she really had the nerve to throw you to the cerb then comd to your apartment and ask why you had blocked her?

“maybe because you were too busy getting drunk” she folded her arms across her chest.

“oh? so you’re getting judgemental now?” you walked closer to her.

“i have never once judged you, and now you’re judging me for something you’ve done?”

you were face to face with her now. you were a couple inches taller than tara, so you were looking down on her.

she would be lying if she said seeing you mad wasn’t atleast a little bit attractive.

“i had my reasons for what i did” she stated getting louder now.

“and i didn’t?” you were shouting now, both arguing with one an other.

“we were simply fucking Y/N-“ she started “No!” you cut her off. “don’t even act like what we were doing was ‘just fucking’. i loved you and you know damn well you liked me more than just some side bitch-“

it was her turn to intrupt you now “you loved me?” the tension was softer now.

“of course i did tara? you were everything i ever wanted” you paused

“and now i have everything i need” you looked towards the bedroom door, tara following your line of sight.

she felt the tears in her eyes, but she be dammed if she let you see them fall.

the soft “oh” fell from her lips “i see, well i’ll leave you two to it then” and before you could say more she turned around and left, leaving you stood in your apartment once more.

this time you had something, someone to go to. someone worth it.

tag list

@ortegalvr

@tropicals-things

@jusnough

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara x y/n #tara x reader #tara carpenter #scream

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

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Was i the asshole for "insinuating" my friend's husband attempted to poisoned me?

I 26cisf have always, since I was quite young, had a fear of people tampering with my food and drinks. If I leave a drink or food in a room with others, my immediate thought when I sit back down is to taste test it to see if it tastes different or see if it looks different. If it dose, I immediately throw it away, wash or get a new dish/bowl/glass/etc and get a new serving. This fear isn't unfounded as, when I was 7 or 8, my dad spit in my bowl of soup and I caught him. He hated me so this wasn't unexpected. Later in life I had 2 different abusive partners threaten to drug me and as a result, all food is suspicious the moment it's left alone with anyone. I've done this to my husband on occasion and he understands.

Earlier this month, I, my husband 26tm, a friend of mine 25cf and her husband 53cm all had a nice dinner together at my apartment. Later on in the evening, our husbands went to play on his xbox in the living room while me and my friend had a drink in the kitchen. The kitchen "ends" right where the living room begins so they were on a couch about 15ft away from us, again, its an apartment. I've been friends with her since middle school so I have no reason to suspect her but her husband is creepy towards me and our mutual friends of our age and is much older than her. I put up with him for her sake and never made an ill comment other than a week after they started dating with concerns about their age gap. My friend and her husband dated for about 8 months and have been married for about 4 months. My husband and friend left so he could show her some break time levels from Mario wonder on the switch in our room while her husband sat on his phone on the couch. My husband mentioned it over dinner, my friend showed interest but wasn't sure so he offered to show her.

I felt ackward and had to pee so I went to the bathroom and when I came back, her husband had changed positions on the couch and I'm pretty sure my drink wasn't in the same place I left it by 2 to 4 inches. I was instantly nervous and took a sip and it didn't taste right. As I was pouring out my drink in the sink, my husband and friend came back and she saw me doing it and glanced once quickly at her husband. I barely turned my head so I'm not sure how she realized I suspected him a little. She knows about my fear and knew how I handled it a few times when I feared she had done something however.... Apparently doing this while mildly suspecting her husband was too far and she absolutely exploded on me out of no where.

She said I was implying her husband was a rapist or abuser or creep and that it was two faced of me to invite people over who I thought might poison me or fuss with my food. She said I always take that fear too far in public settings, which isn't true as I've never done this with groups of people bigger than 3 or 4 friends nor do I vocally accuse them. I just reset my food and move on as it eases my anxiety about it. Her husband got super defensive and started getting my face and my husband diffused the situation by sending them both home. My friend blew up my phone that night and eventually she blocked me for a week before coming back to apologize for her actions but asking me to apologize to her husband for making him feel bad. I told her it was her who made it seem like I was accusing him, not me for doing something she's seen me do a million times.

Eventually it went away but every time I see her, she asks if I'm going to apologize soon but I'm just not sure if what I did was really as offensive as she made it seem. I don't genuinely believe that he tried to poison or roofie me but if there's even a 10% chance, my anxiety is through the roof and I pass out if I just try to push through. No one else, after knowing this fear, has taken it personally as it's just the remains of trauma and fundamentally harmless. Once I'm reset, I often totally forget the scare and they've acted like nothing ever happened. Was i the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mikavlcs · 1 year

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Purity Weeps

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You don’t talk about home very often and Tara finds out why.

Warnings: violence, gore, murder, domestic abuse, manipulation, tara is a terrible person, bad parents, repeated words and phrases

Word count: 7.7k (god...)

Notes: this is a request, i changed it up a bit so it could fit with the first part but the general gist is there. i also wrote like half of this with food poisoning so sorry in advance...

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

One thing Tara noticed about you was that you never talked about home.

You had no problem talking about yourself—your various likes and dislikes were something Tara had memorized within weeks of your arrival to Woodsboro—but you never talked about your family.

She only knew the most basic details. You lived with your parents. You had no siblings despite your longing for one. Your house was exactly six and a half blocks away from hers. And recently, you told her that your parents were getting divorced, something you seemed almost relieved about.

That was it. Even her knowledge about your parents was equivocal.

Your mother she’d met a handful of times when she picked you up from school before Tara designated herself your personal chauffeur. A polite woman, if a bit aloof. Never quite meeting Tara’s eyes when she talked, but she liked her well enough.

Your father, on the other hand, remained an enigma to her.

The only time she’d ever seen him was on your first day off school when he dropped you off. In the time since, he hadn’t been present for any school events with you and your mother. Not even a picture. He remained but a silhouette in her memory, and that made the situation all the eerier to her.

And you barely spoke a word about him either, only bringing him up when it was getting late, and you wanted Tara to take you home.

“My dad wants me home by eight,” you’d say and when Tara hesitated, wanting more time alone with you, you would follow it up with a quiet, “Please, Tara, I can’t be late.”

No matter how Tara felt about you having to leave, the tremble in your voice would have her grabbing her keys within seconds.

She always saw the way you shuffled in your seat when you were cutting it just a bit too close, sending anxious glances toward the clock.

There were even times, back when Tara wasn’t taking the situation quite as seriously as she should have been, when you would get out of the car without a goodbye, practically running into your house.

It angered Tara initially, that you had such strict rules being placed on you that were visibly afraid to break them, but with time that anger gave way to concern.

Your overly timid mannerisms when she brought up your family, the tight leash your father had on you, the anxiousness on display when you tugged a little too hard on that leash—it all painted a rather grim picture.

Her concern hit its peak when, after being together for a few months and friends for even longer, Tara realized that she had never been inside your house. She had seen the outside of it countless times when she picked you up and dropped you off throughout the week, but she had never seen the interior.

Why that specific revelation unsettled her so much, she wasn’t sure but it stuck with her.

Tara was used to being able to see her enemies. Amber, Daniel, Rowan, and Jason were all people she knew, people she saw eyeing you in a way they shouldn’t have been, touching you when you weren’t theirs.

Your father was something different. A man she had never once met or seen. Someone she was almost sure was hurting you in some way but without proof, she wasn’t able to confidently act.

This wasn’t a problem she could just stab to death. At least, not without having potentially catastrophic effects on you and your mental health.

So she was going to try something different. She began making plans but every idea she came up with ended up being scrapped. Nothing she came up with felt right.

Tara did not at all care for rules and boundaries. Made up guidelines that served no purpose other than to irritate her. Imaginary lines in the sand that were made to be crossed. She permanently left those behind the moment she donned the Ghostface mase. But when it came to you, she took them very seriously.

The thought of breaking your heart and trust is what made her once again adhere to the made-up rules, what kept her feet firmly planted on the right side of the line in the sand.

It’s what kept her from breaking into your house and surveilling you and your family. What held her back from slitting the elusive man’s throat with no remorse. She couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you or driving you away from her.

But the idea of doing nothing didn’t sit well with her either.

Other, non-violent plans took form. She tried to be more direct, asking you about your father, what he was like, how close the two of you were.

You didn’t shy away from her questions but the answers you gave were always vague. Just enough to qualify as an answer, but not enough to give Tara any real information to work with.

When she realized she wasn’t getting results, she pivoted and decided to put more emphasis on being supportive. Reiterating how she would always be there for you and that if needed, you could tell her anything.

But no matter what she did, the curfew never budged and your avoidant attitude about your home life never changed. It was starting to get to Tara.

She wanted to believe that you trusted her enough to tell her if something was going on at home. But at the same time, if her suspicions were correct, there was much more to it than simply trust.

Sam would likely tell her to call the police, and that might be an option Tara considered if she had a modicum of trust in the Woodsboro police force to handle the situation correctly. But she didn’t. Law enforcement in Woodsboro had become a joke ever since Dewey stepped down as sheriff.

And she knew that if this situation didn’t get handled correctly, then whatever possible abuse you were enduring would get worse in the aftermath.

For the first time in her life, Tara was stuck. She had no idea what to do.

She was frozen in place, stuck in an endless loop of watching and waiting. Watching and waiting. Watching and waiting.

It was maddening.

Part of her, Ghostface she supposed, wanted to just gut him and get it over with. Like she’d done to everyone else that had been in this position. But if she was wrong,

So she was stuck. Suspended in time and space, unable to do anything but her set routine.

Watch and wait.

Until something, or someone, broke the cycle.

Today wasn’t a great day for Tara.

It started it off well enough. You stayed glued to her side all day, your attention completely on her just as she liked it. She didn’t catch anyone staring at you or trying to talk to you.

Hell, not even Wes tried to bug you throughout the day like he usually did.

It really was going so well.

But then at the last second, you canceled your usual Friday movie date with Tara, citing an urgent family issue. She had driven you home after school without complaint because she knew it wasn’t your fault, and you looked just as upset about it as she did, but she was still bitter.

She needed her time alone with you. You were an addiction that she could hardly keep at bay. Withdrawal symptoms began to set in before you were even gone.

Those symptoms were raging within her now, hours later. It was somewhere around midnight. Sam left only a few hours prior because she liked working night shifts for some reason, so Tara took the opportunity to have another Stab marathon.

She was about halfway through Stab 2 and debating whether or not to just call it a night. It wasn’t like she wasn’t enjoying it—Stab movies never got old to Tara, but the fact that you were supposed to be there with her taunted her, sucking the excitement out of her.

At some point near the third act, she allowed her thoughts to stay on you, disregarding the film entirely.

Lately, she hadn’t been able to spend too much time alone with you after school. The newly finalized divorce was your ongoing reasoning. Your father was moving out and you were helping him pack his things.

You seemed both relieved and conflicted but Tara, of course, was overjoyed about this development. The cycle she was in was being broken without her needing to intervene. Soon, both you and her would be free of this.

And once he was gone, you could spend as much time with Tara as you wanted. That was something she needed to constantly remind herself of when you canceled plans because she missed you.

Hopefully whatever issues you were dealing with (having something to do with your father, no doubt) didn’t take all weekend.

If it did, this would be one of the first weekends you spent without her since Amber’s untimely death. And if she missed you now, she couldn’t imagine how much worse it would get over the coming days.

Her rambling thoughts were interrupted by your familiar ringtone.

She hurried to pick up her phone. Maybe she had caught a break. Maybe your family issue wasn’t urgent after all.

She brought the phone up to her ear and answered with her usual, “Hey, baby.”

But instead of being greeted by your sweet “hellos” or melodic laughter, she was met with what sounded like frantic sobbing.

Immediately, Tara was on her feet, searching for her keys while she tried to figure out what was happening.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?!”

You tried to blubber out an answer, but it wasn’t anything she could remotely begin to decipher. Snatching her keys off the kitchen counter, she tried to ask again. “Take a deep breath. Can you repeat that for me?”

She heard you take in and release a shaky breath. “T-Tara, I…i-it’s my dad, he’s…” More cries echoed from the phone speakers, urging Tara to move faster. “Please, I don’t-I didn’t mean to.”

That set off alarm bells in Tara’s head. What did you mean?

“Just stay on the phone with me, ok? Don’t hang up. I’m on my way,” she hurried out as she stepped into her shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces. She was out the door and in the car in seconds, her raw panic nearly driving her to hysteria.

The call dropped as she backed out of her driveway, cutting you off mid-sentence. Tara’s heart stopped and only restarted when she noticed that her phone was dead. She took her own advice and took a deep breath.

She needed to get to you. Now.

Tara made it to your house in record time. She left her keys in the ignition, barely remembering to close the car door before she was running up to the door, grabbing the spare key she knew your mother kept under the potted plant by the doormat, and unlocking it.

The moment she stepped inside she froze.

Whatever she was expecting paled in the face of what she was met with on the other side of your door.

A man, presumably your father, lay limp on the floor. The back of his skull was caved in against the edge of the glass coffee table in front of the couch, staining the table and the carpet beneath it an achingly familiar shade of crimson.

After getting over the shock, Tara’s eyes were drawn to you standing a few feet away, looking unsteady on your feet.

Shamefully, her first thought was how amazing you looked with someone else’s blood on you. A depraved part of her was excited by the sight.

But that excitement was quickly drowned out by her concern at your state. To put it simply, you looked forlorn. Tears cascaded down your face in seemingly endless waves. Your eyes were flitting between your father’s body and your blood-stained hands, breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. You were shaking so vigorously that Tara was afraid your legs would give out, finally prompting her to move.

Slowly, Tara stepped inside and softly closed the door behind her. The sound of it, though quiet, still made you flinch. Your head turned, and once your eyes met hers, she saw some awareness creep back in.

“T-Tara,” you sputtered. She smiled sweetly and cautiously approached you, putting her body between you and your father’s corpse.

From this close, she could see the beginnings of large bruises blooming across your neck and upon closer inspection, she saw how heavily the outlines of the darkening marks resembled fingers.

Red clouded Tara’s vision. The familiar burn of her rage rose within her, but she forced her voice to be soft and soothing. The last thing you needed right now was her anger.

“Hi, sweetheart. Can you tell me what happened?”

“He-he tried to…” Your words broke off into choked sobs. But you didn’t need to finish. The bruises on your neck told her everything she needed to know.

“He-I wanted him off. So I pushed him and h-he…He tripped and…” You trailed off, eyes refocusing on the body over her shoulder. She saw the anguish rising and put a stop to it.

“Hey, no. Don’t look at that.” She brought you into her arms, guiding your face to her neck. You nestled into her instantly, clutching onto her like a lifeline as you wept once more. The blood on your hands was staining her shirt, something she took note of while she wrapped her arms around you.

Tara held you close, softly running one hand up and down your back while the other held your head. On the outside, she made sure she appeared calm and comforting, but on the inside, she was anything but.

Pure, unadulterated fury surged through her. Usually, Tara loved being proven right, loved the satisfaction and vindication that came with it. But this time she could feel nothing but malignancy because he tried to strangle you.

And the fact that you had to be the one to kill him deeply infuriated her.

A death at the hands of an angel was far, far better than he ever deserved.

She wished his heart would somehow restart, just so she could have the pleasure of making his last breath as painful as it should have been.

Better yet, she wished she could have gotten to him before he laid his hands on you.

Tara allowed herself, briefly, to daydream about what she would’ve done. A man like that didn’t even deserve the time it took to plan an intricate murder, so she would have kept it simple. Slow, excruciating exsanguination. Death by a thousand torturously shallow cuts as she forced him to keep his eyes open, so the tears could flow unimpeded. So she could watch the life slowly drain from his eyes.

So she could see the terror on his face when, instead of an angel, he spent his last fleeting moments staring into the eyes of the devil.

Your voice broke her out of her fantasies.

“What am I gonna do, Tara?” you sobbed into her neck. “I-I…he’s dead. And I did that.”

Tara hugged you closer and let you cry for a few minutes. It was painful to listen to, but she needed to put her focus on formulating a plan. Plus, it was probably good for you to let it out anyways.

While you wept, Tara took stock of the situation.

There was one body. Cause of death was a fatal head wound which meant there was lots of blood to clean. Luckily, you had a carpet to soak it up. A quick glance told her that nothing else appeared to have any blood splatter, significantly lessening the amount of cleaning she would need to do.

But even with all that in mind, she still had to find a way to get rid of the body. And that would be a tall task to undertake on her own.

There was also the matter of your mother’s whereabouts. Her car was in the driveway. Tara’s car was parked right beside it, so she had to be around here somewhere.

She decided to concentrate on locating her first. Both to make sure she wasn’t informing anyone else about the situation and because, as much as Tara hated to admit it, she would need help with disposing of the body in a timely manner.

Your father could wait a bit. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere anytime soon anyways.

With her mind made up, Tara gently pulled you back and cradled your face between your hands. “Do you know where your mother is, sweetheart?”

You blinked then looked away, biting your lip in concentration as you thought about the question. A smile pulled at Tara’s lips at the sight. Even now, you managed to be cute. You looked back a moment later, shaking your head shamefully. Tara just gave you an encouraging smile.

“That’s ok. I’ll find her,” she assured, wiping your tears with her thumbs.

You sniffed. “You will?”

“Yeah.” She looked around, eyes landing on the couch. Gently, she brought you to the back of it, guiding you to sit with your back against it. “Wait here for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

A nod, and you were burying your face in your knees, your shoulders starting to shake again. Tara wanted to comfort you but there was work that needed to be done, so she set her mind to the task at hand and began her search.

It didn’t take very long.

She found your mother in the kitchen, only a room over from where you were. The woman was curled into a ball by the stove, blank eyes staring out into space.

Tara’s brows shot up. Had she been there the entire time?

“Hey,” she called out, staying a healthy distance away.

No reaction. Tara sighed, looked at the clock on the stove.

12:17 a.m.

There was no time for this. Tara knelt down before the woman, getting directly in her line of sight. That worked and her gaze slowly drifted to Tara’s.

“Are you hearing me?” she asked.

Her inquiry was met with a languid nod. Good, Tara thought. She decided to ask her most pressing question next.

“Did you call anyone?”

Sluggishly, the woman shook her head. Tara let out a silent sigh of relief. Not having to worry about police made this a bit easier, but getting rid of a body on such short notice was still going to be a challenge.

“You were in here the entire time?” She couldn’t resist asking, needing to know if your own mother just sat by and listened while you were being attacked.

She averted her eyes away from Tara’s, choosing not to respond. But the silence itself was an answer, and not one that Tara liked. Her muscles tensed instinctively, fingers curling into fists, but she forced herself to relax.

After a breath, she asked, “Are you hurt?”

Another silent shake of her head and Tara had enough of this conversation.

“Then you are going to get up and help me help your daughter. Do you understand?” she gritted out, colder than she probably should have been.

For a long moment, your mother said nothing. The silence made Tara’s jaw clench painfully. Eventually, she gave another painstakingly slow nod, but the tension within Tara still remained.

Realistically, she knew your mother wasn’t entirely to blame for this situation, likely being a victim herself, but she had knowingly allowed you to get hurt. And there was no forgiveness for that. Not for Tara.

Still, she needed the woman’s help right now if she wanted everything taken care of in a timely manner, so she relaxed her jaw and scrubbed away the impatience in her tone.

“Good. Stay here, I need to take care of something real quick.”

Tara was striding out of the room before she had the chance to respond. Rounding the couch, she found you again. You had your knees pressed to your chest, mirroring your mother’s position.

With a sweet smile, she crouched down in front of you.

“Hey, I found your mom.”

Your eyes widened. “Is she ok?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” she affirmed, bringing a hand up to your shoulder. “I need you to listen to me carefully, ok?”

“Ok,” you mumbled.

“Go upstairs and take a shower. Put these clothes in a plastic bag and leave the bag in the bathroom. Then you can go lay down in your bed and rest. I’ll come up when I’m finished.”

“What are you gonna do?” You sounded scared, she wanted to alleviate that fear.

“Your mom and I are going to take care of your dad.”

You still looked hesitant. Tara brought her hand up to trace your jaw, stared deep into your eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately, making Tara smile.

“Then I need you to do as I say right now. Everything is going to be ok.”

“Promise?” you whispered. Your red eyes and quivering form made for a truly heartbreaking sight. One that Tara hoped she would never have to see again.

With a tender smile, she said, “Yeah, baby, I promise.”

She planted a kiss on your forehead then pulled you to your feet. You lingered for a fleeting moment before following Tara’s orders and heading up to the bathroom. Once Tara heard your footsteps upstairs, she went back to the kitchen.

Your mother was exactly where Tara left her. The smaller girl barely spared her a glance as she spoke.

“Alright, I’m going to need you to gather some things for me.”

Finally, she spoke up for the first time, feeble and low. “You have a…plan?”

At the question, the younger girl paused. She definitely didn’t, but she needed to come up with something, and quickly. She began brainstorming.

She had neither the time nor the tools to try the more elaborate methods of disposal that she’d seen in movies over the years. Things like cutting the body up and hiding the pieces, or melting the body with chemicals were off the table.

So she went with the easiest, least time-consuming plan that came to mind.

Turning, she said, “I need the largest bag you have, a shovel, a sheet, a hat, a bandana, a shirt, a pair of gloves, and your car keys.”

Your mother’s brows raised in disbelief. “My car keys?”

“Yes,” Tara answered, an equal amount of disbelief in her tone. There was no way she was going to potentially get your father’s DNA in her car. She wasn’t stupid. “Do you need me to write all of that down for you?”

She stared at Tara with that disconcerting look again before shaking her head and leaving to gather the items Tara asked for. While she was gone, Tara ventured to the kitchen, searching all of the cabinets until she found plastic wrap.

Returning to the body, Tara lifted your dad’s head off the carpet, careful to get as little blood on her as possible, and began wrapping the plastic around it. Layer after layer of plastic wrap was wound around his head as tightly as Tara could make it, using the entire roll to be safe.

She was just finishing up when your mother returned, the various things Tara requested in her arms. All but the shovel, Tara noticed. A large duffel bag was set down beside her, and Tara glanced up just in time to see her still.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing Tara with a queasy look. Tara’s fist clenched. She hated being interrupted while working.

“I’m wrapping his head so his brains don’t leak out inside of your car,” she explained flatly, shifting briefly to give the woman an annoyed look. “Unless you want that in your trunk?”

She paled, shaking her head vigorously. Her complexion was looking a bit green by the time she regained her train of thought. “The uh, t-the shovel is in the basement.”

Tara blinked. “Then go get it.”

A hurried nod and your mother was practically running to the basement. Tara rolled her eyes.

She took a long look at the bag beside her. It was a bit smaller than she would’ve liked, but it could work with the right positioning.

Taking advantage of your mother’s absence, Tara stripped her bloodied shirt off and shrugged the new one on. It was a simple t-shirt, solid black thankfully with no designs. Perfect for what she was going to be doing.

She dropped the bloodied shirt onto the carpet so it could be disposed of along with it and began unfolding the sheet on the floor next to your father. Very carefully, she rolled him over onto the sheet then did it again and again until he was completely wrapped inside of it like a burrito.

Once he was fully wrapped, she slid the hat over her head, tucking her hair up into it, and tied the bandana over the bottom half of her face.

Just as she was slipping the gloves on, footsteps sounded from the basement stairs and her accomplice appeared at the top of the steps, shovel in hand.

“Put that by the door, I need your help with this,” Tara gestured to the wrapped corpse.

Her eyes widened, noticeably avoiding looking at the body Tara was referring to.

“Y-you want me to help with…that?”

Tara bit back the scathing retort on her tongue and took on a pleading tone instead.

“Yes. Please,” she tried, “I can’t lift him into the bag by myself.”

Conflict flashed in her eyes. She swallowed roughly, still unmoving. Tara was about to give up and try putting him in by herself when she finally moved to where the smaller girl was.

Tara opened the duffel bag, and with some initial struggle, they maneuvered him onto his side, pushing his knees to his chest so he could just fit inside. It was a tighter fit than anticipated but they made it work.

Together, they lifted the bag and walked it to the car, placing it in the trunk alongside the shovel. Tara grabbed your mother’s arm before she could go back inside.

“Listen,” she spoke lowly, “while I’m gone, you’re gonna roll up the carpet and burn it in the firepit out back. Get the clothes from the bathroom and burn them as well. If there’s anything else that got blood or DNA on it, then throw that in too. Understand?”

A timid nod was the only response she got from the woman before she walked back toward the house.

“Oh, and clean the table too,” Tara called out as she reached for her own keys in her pocket and popped the trunk.

She was suddenly very thankful that she kept her platforms in her trunk for… spontaneous occasions.

With a practiced ease, she tied the shoes on and unlocked your mother’s car, quietly slipping into the driver’s seat. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and she found that her body was more tense than usual.

The next part of the plan relied entirely on luck, something Tara didn’t particularly like. But she had no choice.

Turning the key in the ignition, Tara pulled out of your driveway and began the drive across town.

Woodsboro was a sleepy little town. Very few were out and about after 10 p.m. and even less were out now, well after midnight. But still, she needed to be as careful as possible.

She drove slow, headlights off, taking as many backroads as possible to avoid any cameras and the sightlines of any major streets or apartment buildings in case anyone was awake and watching.

After about twenty minutes of driving, Tara pulled into one of the two cemeteries in Woodsboro. A slow ten-minute circuit around the place told her that there was nothing of use there. It disheartened her a bit, but she couldn’t give up, so she set off to her next destination.

Thankfully, luck seemed to be on her side because a few minutes into her drive around the second cemetery, she found exactly what she was looking for.

A freshly dug grave.

It had been a real gamble. But considering most funerals were held on Saturday’s and it was a Friday night (or early Saturday morning, now), there was a chance she would find one.

Tara quickly got out and opened the trunk. She grabbed the shovel with one hand and the bag with the other, almost falling over as she tried to lift it out of the car.

Very quickly, she gave up trying to carry the duffel bag and settled for pulling it along by the bag strap with both hands.

“Heavy sack of shit,” she mumbled as she dragged the bag across the grass.

She lugged him over, grumbling, and set him down by the hole. Tara noted the dirt piled around the dug out grave. At least she wouldn’t need to worry about making a mess.

When she checked the time before getting out of the car it was already 12:47.

She had to get this done so she could get back to your house. Back to you.

With a sigh, Tara grabbed the shovel, jumped into the grave, and got to work.

Digging was an arduous process. Aside from how taxing it was on the arms, Tara had no real way of knowing how far down she was digging, so she had to just trust her instincts. She only stopped when she confidently estimated she had dug around two feet down.

Getting back out was a challenge even with platforms on to accentuate her height. Being short was a curse, Tara was convinced. But after a few attempts (and a lot of embarrassment) she managed to haul herself out with the shovel in tow.

Once back on her feet, Tara roughly kicked the duffel bag into the hole and started covering it with dirt.

Trying to gauge how much dirt she was putting in while also attempting to make it perfectly even to not arouse suspicion was difficult with the limited moonlight. She could have used her phone flashlight, but she wasn’t trying to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, so she made it work.

By the time she stumbled back to the car, threw the shovel back in the trunk, and collapsed into the driver’s seat, Tara was exhausted.

Her arms ached with a fierceness and she didn’t even want to think about how they would feel when she woke up in the morning. She sighed.

Why did breaking the law have to be so much goddamn work?

A glance at the clock told her it was 1:56 A.M.

You had probably long since finished your shower by now. She pushed her fatigue aside and got back on the road.

The knowledge that you were waiting for her made her want to slam her foot down on the pedal, but she held back. This was the home stretch, getting caught now would potentially ruin everything.

Tara let out a sigh of relief when she pulled into your driveway. She turned the car off and took the shovel out the trunk, the thought of every step bringing her closer to you driving her forward.

As she stepped inside, she set the shovel by the door and instantly spotted your mother, cleaning the blood off the glass table just as Tara asked. She was also pleasantly surprised to see that the carpet that formerly resided under the table was missing.

It seemed that the feeble woman actually was good for something.

“How is she?” Tara asked while taking the hat and bandana off. Silence followed. Tara threw the garments onto the couch and looked to your mother, who had stopped scrubbing to stare at the floor.

Tara blinked. Hard. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Have you not gone to check on her?” She couldn’t bother to keep her incredulousness in check.

Again, the room lapsed into silence as the older woman kept her head down. Tara couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or rather what she was not hearing.

After sitting by while your own father—her ex-husband was trying to kill you, she couldn’t even be bothered to check in on you. “Angry” didn’t even begin to cover how Tara felt at the flagrant display of cowardice.

She couldn’t help but wonder, was this even the first time something like this happened while your mother hid instead of intervening? Was this the first time she refused to look at you because of her own shame or selfishness or both?

Enough was enough, she decided.

“She’s staying with me.”

That got your mother’s attention. She shot to her feet; eyes trained directly on Tara’s for the first time since she stepped back into the house.

“She absolutely isn’t. Why would you think that?”

“I think it’d be better if she’s away from this house for a while,” Tara gritted out, patience running thin.

“There is still a killer on the loose in this town. I won’t let you take my daughter somewhere where I won’t know if she’s safe or not.”

Indignation burned bright and hot in Tara’s veins. Her lips curled into a distorted smile.

“And you think she’ll be safer here? With you?” she spat, enjoying the way your mother’s eyes widened. “You couldn’t even protect her from your own husband, do you really think you could protect her from a vicious murderer?”

The woman blanched and inched back, but Tara didn’t stop, taking a step into her space as she continued.

“Even tonight, as your husband tried to kill her, what did you do? Did you try to stop him? Or did you cower in the kitchen like you were when I came?”

Tara waited for an answer. None came. She persisted.

“That’s right, you did nothing. You didn’t try to stop him; you didn’t try to save your own child. Hell, you didn’t even try to call the police. Your daughter had to call me for help after he died because you were being too useless to even stand up.”

Your mother had gone completely still, a slight tremble setting in. She was close to crumbling, Tara knew. One more solid push should do it. So Tara leaned in real close, eyes dark, voice but a whisper.

“You couldn’t protect her all these years. What makes you think you can now?”

As predicted, that did it. Tara watched her shatter in one swift motion.

Tears pooled and spilled over as all of the blood drained from her face. The tremble in her limbs became a violent shake, sending her to her knees with a gargled whimper.

Tara just stood, watching the display with distaste. Languidly, she knelt down before your mother and caught her teary gaze.

“If anyone asks where your ex-husband is, you tell them that he moved out west and cut contact with you. Use the divorce as an excuse,” she instructed slowly. Eyes darkening further, Tara leaned forward, dropping her voice. “You will not speak a word about what happened here tonight to anyone. Your daughter will be staying with me until she’s able to feel safe in her own home again. Do you understand?”

It was a statement more than it was a question, the finality in her tone leaving no room for argument. There was only one acceptable answer for Tara. And it seemed that she understood that. Lips trembling, she gave Tara a shaky nod, making the smaller girl smile.

Satisfied, Tara stood, intending on collecting you and leaving, but your mother apparently wasn’t finished annoying her.

“P-please, please tell her that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” she gasped out between miserable sobs, weakly grabbing Tara’s hand.

Tara’s lips curled with disgust. Even now, after everything that had happened, your own mother couldn’t give you the apology you deserved to your face.

How pathetic.

Snatching her hand from the woman’s frail grasp, she began making her way upstairs, letting the pitiful cries fade with distance.

Tara entered the upstairs hallway, scanning it quickly. There were four doors that branched from the hall. The one all the way at the end was partially open. She made her way to it, taking a peek inside the bathroom along the way, pleased to see that the bag you presumably left on the floor was indeed gone.

At least your mother was good at following orders.

Pushing the door open wider, she was greeted by the unfamiliar sight of your room. It was a surprisingly sparse room for someone with so much personality. If Tara didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have even guessed it was yours.

The walls were bare, lacking all the decoration that Tara’s had, and the furniture was more of the same. Plain, brown, and devoid of all the emotion and spirit that she envisioned it having. The only sign of life in the room was on your bed, where you laid unnaturally still.

You rested atop your comforter, your damp hair fanned out on the pillow beneath you, gradually soaking it. But you either didn’t notice or didn’t care, staring resolutely out your window. The bruising on your neck was already darker, a nauseating shade of purple that made Tara’s stomach stir.

She approached quietly, not wanting to startle you in your seemingly fragile state, and sat down on the edge of the bed. You didn’t register the shifting of your bed, so Tara tentatively slipped her hand into yours.

Finally, Tara saw you inhale, and your attention shifted from the outside world to her.

“Tara,” you whispered, voice gravelly, “my dad, w-wha-“

“Don’t worry about him, baby. I took care of everything,” she cooed, stroking her thumb over your cheek.

“Did…you call the police?” you asked. The soft furrow of your brows would be adorable if it weren’t for the worry in your eyes that accompanied it.

Tara shook her head. “No. No police.”

“Wh-“ A harsh cough forced its way from your throat, making Tara wince in sympathy. “What’s gonna happen now?”

The fear in your eyes made her chest ache. To combat it, she put a small, comforting smile on her face. “Actually, that’s what I was coming to tell you. I talked it over with your mom we came to an agreement. You’ll be staying with me for the time being.”

She half expected you to say no, to refuse being uprooted from your home so suddenly. Instead, you asked, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude on you or Sam.”

Tara almost sighed. You had a way of constantly making yourself out to be a burden when you were anything but.

“You could never intrude on us. Sam loves you and so do I. More than you could ever know. If you want to stay, you would be more than welcome,” she paused then posed the question. “Do you want to stay with me?”

She tried to brace herself for whatever you would say but your answer, only one small syllable, was said so fast that she didn’t even have time.

“Please.”

The rush of relief she felt was so powerful it almost knocked the air from her lungs.

Tara went over to your closet and started putting clothes into the overnight bag you used when you stayed with her for the weekend, grabbing your favorites first. The bag wasn’t big enough to fit everything, but it didn’t really matter, she could always come back and pick up more if need be.

Or you could wear her clothes. Tara liked that idea much better.

Once it was as full as she could get it, she turned to you and froze. You were sitting up now, brows drawn together as you stared at nothing.

Concerned, Tara dropped the bag and knelt down in front of you, reaching to cradle one of your hands between hers.

“Hey,” she prompted, voice soft, “what’s going through that head of yours?”

Pursing your lips, you tried to look away, but Tara wasn’t letting you get away that easily. She leaned forward, following your eyes. A sigh was expelled through your nose, voice dropping to a grave whisper.

“Do you think I’m a monster, Tara?”

Tara swore she could feel her heart fracture.

“No,” she asserted, shaking her head. “No, look at me.”

You did. She chose her next words very carefully, trying very hard to steer clear of anything resembling “he deserved it” (even if it was true).

“What you did was an accident,” she started, speaking slowly and clearly. “You didn’t want to hurt him, but he was hurting you and you reacted. You couldn’t have known that he would trip. And if you did know, you probably wouldn’t have done it. Why? Because you’re not a monster. You could never be one, not to me anyways.”

There was a brief silence after her small monologue. You took in her words while she watched you, admired you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. She just smiled, placing a feather-light kiss on your lips.

Tara tried not to dwell on how you would view her if you ever found out about the sins she’s committed without remorse.

She stood on unsteady legs. “Are you ready to leave?”

Thankfully you nodded, seeming just as eager as she was to get the hell out of this house.

She grabbed your bag and escorted you out of the house. Tara didn’t miss the way you barely glanced in your mother’s direction as you passed her.

The ride to her house was silent, as expected. You looked on the verge of either falling asleep or breaking down and nothing Tara could say would change that. Still, she reached over to intertwine your fingers with hers at the first red light.

Sam’s car was in the driveway when Tara pulled in, which made her groan. She was hoping she could at least wait until morning to explain the situation to her sister, that would have given her time to come up with a suitably vague excuse for your indefinite stay.

But her sister surprised her.

She stood from the couch as you both entered and took your shoes off, that irritating look on her face that indicated to Tara that an interrogation was imminent, but the minute she saw you, her mouth clamped shut.

The way her wide eyes trailed over the bruises on your neck didn’t escape Tara’s notice, and she was just about to step up and get defensive when Sam wrapped you in a delicate hug and told you that you could stay as long as you needed to.

Tara was shocked. She didn’t think it would be so easy, but she supposed this fell in line with Sam’s newer personality quirks.

Sam had a recent habit of being… protective of the people she cared for. It annoyed the hell out of Tara but, if it could help her get what she wanted, as it did just now, then she would learn to tolerate it.

So she sent her sister a large, grateful smile and pulled you upstairs, making a mental note to find other ways to take advantage of Sam’s overprotective streak in the future.

Tara debated bringing your things into her room, but she figured you deserved a space of your own that could truly feel like it was yours. She led you to the guest room, conveniently right across the hall from her room, and placed your bag on the edge of the bed.

She paused then, finding herself entirely unsure of what to do next. Part of her wanted to invite you to her room like usual, while the other argued that you may want some space to process what happened earlier.

Discordant words interrupted the beginnings of her internal debate.

“Can I sleep with you?” you rasped, sounding shy despite the fact that you’d shared a bed with her dozens of times before. Tara smiled.

“Of course.” She took your hand in hers again and took you across the hall, gesturing for you to lay down while she changed and put her dirty clothes away. She made another mental note to wash those clothes tomorrow. Just in case.

In the few minutes that took, you were already on the verge of falling asleep when she turned back around.

With a small grin, she laid beside you and opened her arms. The tiny smile you gave her in return was blinding. You burrowed into her and buried your face into Tara’s neck like you always did when you slept together. Tara started carding her hand through your hair, knowing it would lull you off faster.

You were asleep within minutes. She couldn’t blame you, it had been an eventful night, and Tara herself should have been passed out instantly with the amount of physical labor she had done not even a few hours prior, but she just couldn’t shut her eyes.

How could she peacefully sleep knowing what she did to you?

This entire situation was her fault. Her inaction led to this moment, her hesitance to possibly hurt you nearly got you killed.

Her hesitance made you kill. That was devastating.

Tara wasn’t oblivious. She wasn’t so naïve as to think that her ultraviolent impulses were normal. No, there was a reason why she hid her true nature.

Whereas she found killing to be exhilarating—as utterly satisfying as scratching an itch you hadn’t been able to reach—you found it to be tormenting. She saw how stricken you were earlier, heard how terribly you thought of yourself for your actions just earlier in your room.

This would torture you. Would be a burden you carried for a long time. Because of her.

Just the thought was agonizing. The knowledge that she had hurt you, intentionally or not, made her want to drive a knife through her own flesh.

It would never happen, that she would make sure of.

With reinvigorated purpose, Tara pulled a blanket over the both of you and pressed a long, firm kiss to the top of your head. A silent promise to do better. A vow that for as long as she had you, she would never let another soul do you harm.

And the next time she even suspected anyone of laying their hands on you, there would no hesitation and absolutely no mercy.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #scream #scream vi #jenna ortega #i still don't know what damn tags to use lmao #shoutout to the mutual that informed me about exsanguination #ur a real one!#hope this isn't too disappointing

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leafostuff · 9 months

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Eyes On me [Ft. IVE's Liz]

Tags: panic attacks comfort, fluff, girlfriend!Liz

Author's note: It's been a while since I wrote for IVE, but I hope this one will do well. Plus, this will be a callback to my wattpad Era, where I used to do more comfort fics.

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there are three kinds of nights in your life.

The first kind is the normal nights, which after hitting the gym, eating dinner, taking a shower, and living overall like a functioning member of society you find yourself falling asleep at 11 PM, maybe 12 AM if you are really not that tired.

The second kind is the nights where you decide to laugh at the concept of sleep, channel your inner shut in and play video games for the whole night, or just goof off with your friends on discord until the sun rises

However, sometimes you have those nights where you find yourself in your bathroom at 3 AM, throwing up all of the food you ate in the entire day and overall being miserable?

Unfortunately, tonight was the third kind of night.

Do you have any idea how you got to this situation? Nope, all you could remember is that around 1 AM, you could only feel your stomach hurting like crazy, your anxiety levels going to the 11 forcing you to go to the bathroom to try and calm yourself

However, even after an hour this was to no avail since still you found yourself throwing up while your eyes were full of tears. "Absolutely fantastic, now the one thing that can fuck me up is-" your thoughts were suddenly stopped by a light touch on your shoulder

As you look up you find your girlfriend Kim Jiwon looking at you, she was wearing a white sweatshirt, which was probably stolen from your closet.

Long black hair just like the night sky and eyes that could show sadness was the only thing you could see from your fully teared eyes as your girlfriend kneeled down before you, letting her arms wrap around your body.

"Another anxiety attack?" She asked since those events were not new to your girlfriend, at least once a month she had to stay up all night with you to try and relax you, to the point it was impressive how she still wanted to stay with you

5 minutes of brushing your teeth and a spare change of pajamas later you walked toward your shared bed with Jiwon as she looked at you with a weak smile, but it was enough to make you feel happy and in the same time: somehow guilty

"Do you know what happened that you are feeling like that?" You simply shook your head in response as she just sighed, "Oh well, it's OK... let's just go to the bed ok? After you brush your teeth" she added, trying to close her nose to block the scent of the puke.

"I don't deserve you." That was the first thing you said while you inched slowly toward Jiwon as she laid her head on your shoulder.

"Ahhhh, so that is what you are anxious about?" She asked while she turned on the TV to a random episode of friends. You could only nod as your girlfriend pulled you into an embrace

"I just..." You hesitated, which in reaction Liz leaned and kissed your forehead. Even after numerous times, she has done that it still surprises you

"Just what?" she asked, he eyes pleading for an answer as you couldn't handle it anymore

"That I am too anxious for you" her reaction could only be puzzled as she tilted her head sideways, letting you explain

"You just... deserve someone who isn't depressed all the time or a scar-" You were shutted by your girlfriend's lips on yours, their sweet taste however was short.

"I. Will. Always. Love. You, " Liz said, each word was spoken clearly as your cheeks turned red from embarrassment. However, as you tried to turn away, both her palms on your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pleading eyes.

"Eyes On me okay baby? I will always love you, say it" she requests as you have no choice but to sigh and comply

"I will always love you" you recited her words as she smiled cutely and pecked your lips.

"Good, now... let's go sleep okay, baby?" She asked, however, as her hands went over to your back she could feel you shake.

"...you are still stressed, right? It's ok, let me help you relax, " she said as her hands reached to your back under your shirt, her fingers lightly tapping on your back, causing you to instinctively let your head find its rest on her chest.

You slowly start to destress yourself by taking deep breaths, "Good baby...I'm here for you," she said while pecking your forehead, "you need this sleep...more than me" she added as you finally close your eyes, the first snore is able to be heard from your unconscious self.

And the last words you manage to hear before fully drifting into dreams.

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#kpop fanfic #kpop #fluff #kpop fluff #ive lockscreens #ive messy moodboard #ive fluff #ive #ive liz

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jpmarvel90 · 11 months

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Coming Home

Masterlist Scarlett Masterlist

Relationship: Natasha x ex-Reader

Summary: Friends most of thier lives and in a relationship from 17 years old, Y/n and Scarlett's relationship deteriorated when Scarlett started her acting career. In contrast Y/n joined the military and has a surprise encounter after many years when she returns from duty.

Word Count: 3881

Y/n's POV:

I have known Scarlett Johansson most of my life. We grew up together and our parents are really close friends. We were best friends for most of our childhood and then we started dating when we were 17. For 3 years we were together, and we had a great relationship. We may have been young, but our love was strong. I adored her and I truly believe that she did in return.

When we turned 20, she started being away more for filming, and because our relationship wasn't public, I wasn't able to travel with her or spend as much time as I'd hoped. Over time, the contact was getting less and less. We used to call everyday regardless of where she was and be texting through the day. But as the months went on, she called less and eventually just stopped messaging me all together.

What was worse was still seeing her family regularly. I loved her parents, especially her mom and I struggled to still spend time with them when I had been completely ghosted by their daughter. So, to protect my already broken heart, I started to distance myself from them. I was in college in New York and just focused on getting to graduation.

Much to my Mom's dismay, when I graduated college, I joined the Army. I commissioned as an Officer and was posted out to Fort Benning in Georgia. I was due to be posted to Afghanistan so my parents decided to throw a huge party to send me off. I was surprised when the Johanssons appeared at the door, but I was grateful to see them before I left.

I needed to take a breather and stood outside in our garden to collect my thoughts of how I ended up here. I hadn't ever really been far from my family. I had stay in New York for College. It was weird at first when I went to Georgia a year ago. Now I was heading to Afghanistan on my first deployment, and I was leading my unit. As I was lost in thought, I felt a hand placed on my shoulder. "You look so grown up in your uniform." I turned around and saw Melanie, Scarlett's mom. "I still remember you running around our back garden playing soldiers with Scarlett as 8 year olds. I never thought you'd actually end up going to fight." She said with a sad look on her face.

I took her hand and pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry I stopped coming to see you. It was just hard." I apologised. "We understood Y/n. I'm sorry that my daughter didn't have the courage to talk to you and not just block you out of her life." She said sincerely. "I've always considered you like a daughter Y/n. I hope you can keep in contact whilst you're away." She said and I instantly felt my guilt grow for shutting them out of my life just because of what Scarlett had done.

"I'll write as often as I can and when I come home to visit, I'll be sure to come by. You and Karsten are family to me." We pulled away from our hug and she gave me a teary smile. "How about a photo before you leave?" She asked and I happily obliged. We went and sought out Karsten and my parents and took a few photos. As I was leaving this evening I was already in my uniform.

Once the party was over, I had a teary goodbye with my parents and made my way to the station for my train to Georgia ready for my flight in the morning. As I put my bag on my back, I turned and saw my dad holding my mom in the doorway as they watched me leave. I turned around and gave them a wave as I turned the corner out of sight. Their words still ringing in my ears. "Please come back to us."

_____________

It had been 4 years since I left, and I had barely been home. I had done one tour of Iraq and was in the middle of my second tour of Afghanistan. I wrote as often as I could as making calls was difficult from the patrol bases, I was stationed at. I had kept my promise and was in regular contact with Melanie. The couple of times I had managed to get home, I always would drop by and see them.

As much as I had tried to avoid any news on Scarlett, I would still see things in the press or online. She was just going through a divorce with Ryan Reynolds and that did nothing for my confidence. No wonder she wanted to stop any contact with me when she had guys like him around. Luckily, I only saw things like this when I was back in the US. Thankfully gossip news wasn't exactly a priority in Afghanistan so it was pretty easy to avoid it whilst I was there.

I was currently sat on the train on my way back home for R&R leave and I was nervous as I hadn't been home in nearly 2 years. I was planning on spending my week off with my parents before I had to fly back out. My parents didn't know that I was coming home so I was excited to surprise them, although I knew that I was going to have to explain the cuts and bruises from an incident I was involved in.

After the long train journey, I jumped in a taxi to head home. My leg was bouncing with nerves at the thought of seeing my parents again. I had really missed them and wished that I had made the effort to come home more often. As the taxi pulled up outside my house, I paid up and found myself just standing on the front step. I could hear music and laughing inside and there was a part of me that didn't want to interrupt. But I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The door swung open, and my Dad was stood there. It took a moment for him to register that it was me before he silently just pulled me into the biggest hug he has ever given me. I could hear small sniffles and as he pulled away, I noticed a few tears had fallen down his cheeks. "I can't believe you're home!" He said through the tears. "Who is it Henry?" I heard my mom call from the dining room. "I think you should come and see for yourself Mary." He replied, never taking his eyes off of me.

I heard her gasp and let out a small scream as she saw me stood in the doorway. "OH MY GOD! My baby!" she ran toward me and launched herself at me, almost knocking me over. "Hi Mom. I missed you." I said into the hug. My dad joined the hug and we stayed like that for what felt like hours. When our hug was done my mom cupped my face and I could see her examining the couple of cuts I had on my face. "You're hurt. What happened?" She stated. I placed my hands on hers and shook my head. "I'm fine. I'll tell you about it another time." I replied, not wanting to get into that story now.

Our little family reunion was interrupted by a voice from behind us. "Little Y/n has really grown up." Karsten said walking forward to give me a quick hug. "I am 27 now." I laughed in response. "Good to see you still look good in your uniform." Melanie added as she now appeared. I couldn't help the wide grin on my face when I saw her. I instinctively opened my arms and we hugged. "I'm glad you're home safe." She whispered.

I nodded and looked around at 4 of the most important people in my life. But I felt my heart completely drop when I heard another shuffle come from the dining room. I looked over and saw a face I hadn't seen in over 5 years. Scarlett. I could feel the air get thicker as our parents all dropped their eye contact. Ignoring her presence, I turned to my mom. "I should have called. I didn't realise you had company. I need a shower, so I'll leave you guys to it." I said, grabbing my bag and making my way towards the stairs.

I was stopped by my mom grabbing my wrist. "Y/n, you are never interrupting us. Please join us for some food." I couldn't stay down here. I know it's been years since I last saw her and I should have moved on already, but seeing her stood there again, I couldn't do it. "I really need a shower mom. I've got sand in places I never wanted sand." I joked and carried on up the stairs to my room. Well, this wasn't how I expected my leave to go.

Scarlett's POV:

(1 year ago)

I was visiting my parents in New York whilst I had a break from filming. Things with Ryan and I weren't going well, and I needed some time away to clear my head and work out what I wanted. I had some work to get done today, so I was in my mom's office and a photo on her desk caught my eye.

It took me a moment to realise who it was. Y/n. She was in an Army uniform and was with both my parents. When was this even taken? I hadn't seen Y/n since I left to film in LA. I hated to admit it, but I had treated her awfully. I was so scared of coming out, that I decided I couldn't be with her anymore. But instead of doing the right thing and talking to her. I was a coward and slowly started to ignore her until she finally stopped messaging me.

I hated doing it as I loved her more than anything. I threw myself into work so I could ignore my feelings and try to get over the love of my life. Eventually I met Ryan and I thought I had managed to succeed in forgetting about Y/n. And I had for a while, but there would be small things in our relationship that would annoy me and I'd find myself thinking that Y/n wouldn't do that. But when I had these thoughts, I would just supress them, I couldn't think of her like that anymore.

I grabbed the photo frame and walked downstairs to my mom who was cooking in the kitchen. "When was this taken?" I asked, placing the photo on the kitchen counter. My mom looked down at the photo and back to me sighing. "3 years ago, the day she left for her first deployment." She answered. "Why didn't you tell me she joined the army." I asked, slightly frustrated. "It was your decision to cut her out of your life. Like I told you every time you would ask about her. If you wanted to know about her, you should have contacted her." She replied harshly.

She was right. At the beginning I was always asking how she was and what she was up to. But every time my mom would shut me down and would tell me that if I cared enough to know about her, I should contact her myself. I never had the courage to do that. "Where is she now?" I asked. Mom put down the knife she had in her hands and gave her full attention to me. "Georgia. She's getting ready to deploy to Afghanistan again." I let her words sink in as she spoke.

I felt a knot in my stomach at the thought of her being in a war zone. "We're all very proud of her. She's the first woman to lead a combat infantry unit. She's done amazingly well in her career." My mom explains with a smile on her face. "Do you keep in contact with her?" I question. She nodded. "She writes as often as she can."

"Does she um. Did she ever ask about me?" I tentatively inquired. Mom dropped her eye contact and instantly knew her answer. "No. I think it hurt her too much. She changed after you left. She put up this wall. You really hurt her Scar." She said. I knew I had hurt her, and I really regretted it. But I knew I wouldn't ever be able to make it up to her. I'd never earn her forgiveness.

_____________

(Night Y/n returns)

We were all having a nice meal with the Y/l/ns. I had recently moved back to New York after my divorce. I was spending a lot of time with my parents as I needed their support. I also started to see more of Henry and Mary so I could feel closer to Y/n. I still hadn't reached out to her. I wanted to more than anything, but I had no idea how I would even start.

We had just started to eat when there was a knock at the door. Henry got up to answer it. We couldn't hear much, just mumbling. Mary then got up to check who it was. My parents and I all had a worried look when we heard a small scream from Mary followed by "Oh my god!". We quickly got up and my parents were first to leave the dining room. As soon as I looked through the doorway, I saw her. She was being smothered by a hug from her parents, but I could tell clear as day that it was her.

I quietly watched as my mom and dad greeted her and it was great to see that they still had a good relationship with her. We grew up together and we were like extended family to each other, and I know how much my parents loved Y/n. I smiled to myself at their interaction and that fate had brought us back together tonight.

After they had all had their reunion, I started to walk into the hallway to join them when Y/n's eyes snapped to mine. I could see the happiness in her eyes disappear and be replaced with hurt. I couldn't get any words out and before I knew it she was walking away. My brain was yelling at me to call after her, but I just stood there watching as she walked up the stairs.

"I should go. I don't want to stop you spending time with Y/n." I said, feeling my heart shatter at the thought that she can't even be in the same room as me. Mary reached over to take my hand and shook her head. "Don't be silly. You're staying. She's just shocked to see you." I still wasn't sure but her dad gave me a reassuring smile so I turned back towards the dining room.

I couldn't take my eyes off the doorway, all I wanted was for her to join us, but I knew she wouldn't. Maybe I should go and see her. Seeing her again made me realise that I'm still in love with her. I'm the one that needs to apologise, I need to make the first move. "Why don't you go up sweetheart?" I heard Mary say. I looked up and was giving me a sympathetic smile.

I stood up and took a deep breath and made my way to her bedroom. The door was slightly opened and as I knocked it opened further to reveal Y/n. She had just taken her shirt off and was stood in a sports bra. Her torso was covered in dark bruising. With no control over my body, I had rushed over to her and placed my hands on her back. "Oh my god Y/n. What happened?" I asked full of concern. She quickly pulled away from me and her face was full of anger.

"What do you want Scarlett?" She asked harshly, ignoring my question. "I uh, I want to talk." I stuttered, still not able to take my eyes away from her injuries. She laughed and pulled away from me. She was still shirtless, and I found my eyes admiring her body. She was in incredible shape. The Army was doing great for her. "Talk? Well so did I, 5 years ago." She said and the anger in her voice made my heart clench. "Please I just want to apologise. How I acted was cowardly and I should have come home to talk to you. I was scared." I tried to explain but she just scoffed.

I watched as she ran her hands through her hair, starting to pace. "Why now? We're both completely different people now. What benefit is there to either of us to have this conversation." Her words were cutting and there was a part of me that was terrified that I would never be able to fix this. "Because I still lov..." "Don't you dare finish that sentence." She spun around on the spot interrupting me with a look of anger. "I loved you with all I had. I gave you everything and put you first time and time again. Yet I clearly meant nothing to you as you could so easily just forget about me." She said, tears starting to fall.

"But I did love you. I still do! It was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I never forgot about you. I tried but I couldn't." I tried to explain but I could tell she wasn't having any of it. "Tell me this Scarlett. If I hadn't seen you tonight, would you have contacted me?" She has stopped pacing now and had stopped right in front of me, her hands on her hips. Words weren't coming out of my mouth and I was cursing at myself for it. "That's what I thought." She said grabbing her towel and shutting herself in the bathroom.

I felt tears falling down my cheeks, my heart breaking. I didn't have the right to feel like this. I was the one that broke her heart. I made my way back downstairs and rejoined our parents. They all gave me a sympathetic look. "Give her time. She never stopped loving you. She's just hurt and protecting herself." Her dad offered which surprised me. I hurt their daughter. I would have thought they wouldn't want me anywhere near her. I gave him a small smile of gratitude and we carried on the dinner.

Over the last week I had tried to see Y/n as often as I could but each time, she would push me away. I knew that if I wanted to mend what I broke, I had to show her what she meant to me. I was making my way over to her parents' house, but my heart sank when I saw Y/n in the doorway in uniform and her bag in hand. Her mom was crying, and her dad had her in a tight embrace.

I ran up their footpath wanting to know where she was going. "Are you leaving?" I asked and she turned around and I could see that she had been crying. "Yeah, my leave is over. I've got to head back." She said and it was the first time she's spoken to me willingly. "To Afghanistan?" I ask and she nods. Not giving her time to react, I pull her into a hug and try to hide the fact that I was crying. "Stay safe." Was all that I could get out and I was shocked when she returned the hug.

Once I released her, she grabbed her bag and turned to give her parents one last hug. "I'll see you in 3 months." She said and started to make her way down the path. The three of us watched her leave and I felt a hand on my shoulder. "She'll come home." Henry said, but I think he was trying to convince himself as much as me.

It had been 2 months since Y/n had gone. I had been writing to her three or four times a week, after getting the address from my mom. I had a couple of short replies from her, which was more than I had expected. Maybe she was starting to warm up to me more. I couldn't wait for her to come home as I had a whole plan to win her back. I knew Y/n better than most people. Yes it may be 5 years and she's changed but I know there are some things that will never change. So, I was going to use all of that knowledge to win her back over.

I was working on some emails when I heard a knock at the door. I got up and was greeted by my mom at the door, but I quickly noticed that her eyes were red and puffy. "Mom, what's wrong? Is dad ok?" I asked panicked as I guided her into the living room. She shook her head and took a deep breath. "It's Y/n." She whispered and, in that moment, I felt my heart tear in two. "I just had a call from Henry. Y/n's unit came under attack, she got hurt and they couldn't get to her. They had to retreat without her. She's been declared missing in action, presumed dead." Her words were like knives to my already wounded heart.

I dropped to my knees and let out a cry. My mom knelt next to me and pulled me into a hug. We both cried together. "But they haven't found a body, so she could still be alive." I said trying to grasp on to any hope. "Sweetheart, her injuries were severe. They said the likelihood of her surviving was extremely small." My mom sobbed. I can't believe, the woman that I love is dead. I never should have left her all those years ago. Maybe she wouldn't have joined the army if we were still together. She'd still be alive, and we'd be together like we were meant to me.

As my sobbing got louder, my mom held me closer. "It's ok sweetheart. We'll get through this together." She said through her own tears. "It won't be ok. I've lost her forever. It's all my fault! I was such a selfish asshole and it's cost me the love of my life." My mom and I held each other, mourning the loss of someone so important in both of our lives.

She died a hero, saving the lives of her men by ordering the retreat whilst she was injured knowing she wouldn't make it. I wouldn't have expected anything less from her. She always put other people first. In this instant it cost her her life. I should have put her first like she had always done to me. I should have never let a day go by where she didn't know how much I loved her. But instead, I'm sat here mourning the loss of the one person I can't live my life without. I was just too late to realise it.

Part 2

#scarlett johansson fanfiction #scarlett johansson x y/n #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson #celebrity fanfic

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eleanore-delphinium · 7 months

Text

For Sauce Weekend: Day 3: "Put This On For Me"

This idea isn’t mine completely, this came from a book in goodnovel (app) titled ‘ Yearning for Her Return’. And it bothered me so this is me amending it to make it make sense.

Also, The Life of A Vampire & A Witch in the Woods, was supposed to be a halloween special. I forgot to say it there and it has bothered me for days.

And A03 link for this fic if you read there (my ff.net is fucked my stats always shows 0 for 3 months now.)

Disclaimer: Modern AU, again not really smut more on domestic fluff. CEO Dami, MATURE.

For Sauce Weekend: Day 3: "Put This On For Me"

Word Count: 10 310 (ish)

~.~.~.~.~.~

"Put This On For Me"

Damian Wayne and Rachel ‘Raven’ Roth were arranged to be married and on the evening of their wedding, Raven was shipped out of Gotham like some unwanted child after a divorce. She didn’t even get to have her long-awaited wedding night, not that she was actually anticipating it.

People had told her such wonderful things about the wedding night, all the bells and whistles you could ever think of. But she was aware that her wedding was nothing but a show and that expecting all those promises was foolish.

She knew they only told her that to comfort her.

It’s been three months since her wedding and she never saw or heard from her husband. But it didn’t matter, she had other things to worry about, like finishing up her university and getting her degree in Metropolis.

She returned to her apartment rather early in the morning, having not slept there because she was out doing a project. When she opened the door, she wasn’t really paying attention as she was tired and closed the door the moment, she opened it. Her back turned to the living room instantly. She leaned against the door as she locked it, sighing aloud.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings.” A male voice came from behind her and she yelped, jumping to the door and hitting her head on the wood.

“God, and I married you?” The voice said and Raven turned to the voice and she gasped taking a step back, her back now pressed on the wooden door.

She’d recognize that face anywhere. Even though she had only seen him once. On their wedding ceremony.

He wore a black suit and a dark green dress shirt underneath. It matched his eyes well. He was the most handsome man Raven had ever had the honor to meet if she'd be honest. His green eyes that were locked on her were nothing less than intoxicating. Or maybe it was his effect on her. He was just that handsome.

“How- how did you get in here?” She asked, trying to breathe normally.

“I’m your husband.” He just answered back and she frowned.

“I should talk to my landlord.” She mumbled under her breath.

“I will deal with that for you, dear wife, but first we have other pressing matters to deal with.” He approached her and she watched him come closer to her.

She nervously gulped, “Like what?”

“Like the fact that you ran off right after our wedding?” There was an edge to his voice and it annoyed Raven.

She frowned and the annoyance became anger, “You were the one who sent me away!”

Damian froze and she watched his jaw tighten and his gaze turned even colder, “What?”

Raven wasn’t dumb, she could see it in his body language that he didn’t send her away. Then he continued making his way to her, she was shaking in her spot against the door. She didn’t know him on a personal level, so being afraid was quite natural.

“How about you changing your number?” He asked, putting a hand beside her head, pinning her to the wall.

She got even angrier, “What are you talking about?” She glared at him then placed both her hands on his chest, pushing him harshly, “You blocked me!” But he didn’t even budge and her hands on his firm chest felt like they were burning.

His chest was really hard underneath all the layers of clothes.

Damian’s face softened a little but not significant enough, even so, she noted how his brows looked less close to one another. His other hand that wasn’t near her head, rummaged inside his blazer pocket and she couldn’t help but look down. He took out his phone and then showed her the screen.

She pulled her head away a bit and blinked as she looked down at the screen. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.

After a few seconds he said, “Isn’t this your number?”

Raven frowned and then nodded.

“Then press the call button for me.” He stated as she looked up at him, looking like she wanted to say no but still did what was asked.

“Sorry, the number you have dialed is out of service.” She looked genuinely shocked hearing the robotic voice of a woman tell her that her number is out of service.

For a moment, the anger subsided, “I never changed my number…” She mumbled to which he raised a brow at her.

Then she tried to push him away again, “But you blocked me!” She countered recalling how many times she tried to reach out to him. And to prove a point, she pulled out her phone and did the same thing he did.

“This is your number, right?” She showed him his phone number on her phone and he nodded. She quickly dialed it and they got the same robotic voice.

Her husband’s angular jaw seemed sharper as he clenched his teeth. “Looks like someone is playing tricks on us.”

Raven pressed her lips, she had nothing to say, and had no idea who would go to such lengths.

“Well, now that that mystery is solved– What are you doing here?” She asked carefully and he studied her.

He smiled, a quite enchanting smile if she may add, “Well, I didn’t get to have my honeymoon.”

Her body stiffened then the words sunk it, “You sent me away!”

“I didn’t.” His smile and gaze were alluring and distracting her.

The next thing she knew, his hands were on her waist as he took one step and now his face was just a breath away. One of his hands caressed her spine.

“I didn’t block you nor did I send you away.” He inhaled deeply. “We were robbed of our own wedding night. As a responsible husband, it seems like I owe you a lot due to your grievances. That includes our first night as a couple.” He whispered and she swallowed her saliva.

Raven only realized now how deep his voice was and how dangerously close he was. His mouth was hovering over hers and, to be honest, she was anticipating the kiss. His eyes locked on her lips and she didn’t notice it but she had licked her dry lips, making the corners of his lips twitch.

The next moment his lips were on hers and the couple continued to explore each other’s mouths.

Eventually, he pulled away, “Tell me where the bedroom is or I am having you on this damn floor.”

She swallowed and raised an arm while her eyes fluttered, pointing at a door almost directly across the entrance.

He nodded and smiled at her then lifted her up by the waist. Her eyes widened as he pulled her to him and she naturally wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her with ease while also groping her ass.

Raven felt embarrassed but they were married.

“I’ve been waiting for this since our wedding ceremony, you can imagine my disappointment when I heard you just left.” There was a tinge of anger in his voice and yet, she just felt even more embarrassed by what he said.

He looked forward to fucking her?

The nervousness couldn’t be controlled, not with his implications.

The next thing she knew, she was placed gently on her bed that had white sheets and he lightly lifted her chin, “I will rectify this issue and I will treat you well, but I expect the same from you.”

She didn’t even know why, she just nodded.

He kissed her neck, “I mean I don’t want you cheating on me, wife.”

Raven snapped out of whatever trance he induced in her. She poked his shoulder harshly, “Shouldn’t I say that to you?”

He lifted his head from her neck and raised a brow at her, “And why is that?”

She frowned, “Business meetings? Women and half their tits out bouncing to get your attention?”

He chuckled casually, “I don’t think that is a business meeting, beloved.”

She choked, oh how easy it was for him to pull out a pet name for her out of thin air.

He stroked her jaw, “Don’t you think it suits you? Beloved?”

She couldn’t answer, she couldn’t even look at him. But she felt that her face was crimson red.

“We will discuss other details later, for now,” His hands found their way under her shirt and to her slim waist. “Let’s have our long-awaited wedding night.”

He was overbearing. She knew this the moment she met him. And as he tossed and turned her for hours, all she could think about was how right she was.

He was so overbearing.

He did make her feel good though. And tired.

Raven sighed as she woke, she remembered that she had a class. She tried to get out but strong arms wrapped around her.

“Where are you going?” He sounded displeased and even though her mind told her to obey, even though she was sore, she knew she had a class. So, she fought through her desire to comply with whatever he would demand of her.

“I have a class.” She mumbled trying not to shy away from his presence. She was her own person before she met him.

The strong arms that she was wrapped around with were starting to feel familiar to her and he easily pulled her back to his chest. He twisted a little, trapping her between his body weight and the bed.

“Skip it.” He just mumbled back, lips finding her neck.

“I have never skipped a class in my life.” She struggled to escape his stronghold as she spoke.

“Well, there is always a first.” He answered back and she sighed loudly. “Your husband came all the way here to Metropolis to see you. We’ve been apart for long enough. You can afford to skip a class.”

She pinched his arm hoping he would let her go, but he didn’t even flinch.

“We didn’t get the chance to get to know each other. Why don’t we take this fine opportunity, dear beloved wife?” He whispered into her ear and she stiffened. She felt him angle her body so that her butt touched his growing erection.

She gulped, “You seem to like giving me a lot of pet names.” She tried to focus on other things and refused to move an inch, but he had other plans.

He pressed himself against her supple ass, rendering her nonmovement useless, “I think ‘beloved’ suits you the most, but I have to get used to the idea of having a wife. With that said, you should call me husband so the idea doesn’t get forgotten, don’t you agree, beloved wife?” He blew against her ear.

Raven’s eyes were swimming, she couldn’t focus, not with the goliath poking at her butt.

“Wife?” He sang grinding against her with one stroke of his hips and she gasped and gripped the sheets. She couldn’t see how his lips curled up cunningly.

He really was overbearing. And she was married to him.

When he was done with prying and probing every inch of her body, yet again, he studied the woman before him. She was laying on her back on the bed, her legs spread before him forming an M, her chest rose and fell carefully with eyes glazed and lips ajar. He was kneeling in front of her between her open legs.

His hand traced her collarbone then went down between her breasts and pressed her lower abdomen as he watched his cum slip out of her slit. A soft moan came out from her lips.

Then his eyes suddenly lit up, not with desire but a sharpness that could not be identified as a good or bad sign.

“Are you on birth control?” The question from his lips made Raven wake up from her trance. She propped herself up quickly with wide eyes.

She gasped, “Oh my god! No!”

The sharpness in his gaze turned dark. “Do you not want children?” His jaws tightened but his companion did not notice this.

“Of course not!” She pulled away from his touch as she twisted and tried to get off the bed. “I have to finish university; I don’t want to be pregnant yet.”

Damian looked pleased with her answer, ‘yet’ was the word that calmed him, not that she noticed his distress. His hand wrapped around her ankle and she was suddenly pulled back to the bed, putting her in the same position she was previously laying.

She looked at him confusedly.

“I will have someone buy you some pills, so don’t worry about it.” He simply stated and all she could do was study him. “But I would like you to decide on what kind of birth control you would prefer in the long run.”

“Okay.” She quietly answered, she didn’t know why but it felt like he was talking to her like a business partner. Although to be fair, their marriage is business for their families.

He leaned down to her, “I don’t mind you getting pregnant, after all, you are my wife and there is nothing wrong with that. But since you want to focus on your studies, I will adhere to your wishes.”

With the way he looked at her, she was really convinced that this was merely business for him.

“Alright. I understand.” She repeated meekly.

Damian felt that she sounded like a schoolgirl being scolded by her teacher and he sighed. He then lifted her chin with his fingers.

“Raven,” He called her name and she looked up surprised, eyes locked onto his lips, “You are my wife, and I respect our union even if this marriage is arranged. I will treat you the way you deserve. Do not doubt that.”

She gulped nervously and nodded and he hovered over her body.

“I will deal with whoever tried to make us have this misunderstanding. You do not have to worry about anything. In the meantime, for now, we have to act as if we have not–” His finger swiped her crotch, putting stray liquid back in her, “finalized this marriage.” His green eyes were firm on her face.

He leaned back into her, his face just above hers, “I will honor this marriage and I hope you can do the same.”

She nodded and he frowned, tugging at her chin and tilting her head closer to his face, “I need words, beloved.”

“I will honor this marriage.” She answered quietly, chest rising from the tension he was causing.

He smiled and it took her breath away.

“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “I will have someone buy us new phones; we shall communicate through them as well as acquire your pills.” He pulled away as he got off the bed.

“It’s best we still keep our old phones and use the new ones to exclusively communicate with one another. We would need to make whoever is behind this plot think we haven’t made contact. And I came here in secret if you are wondering.” He explained as he picked up his phone. He could feel her eyes on him.

Was it bad that Raven kind of felt like she just made a deal with the devil?

Damian then got back onto the bed and pinned her down.

“Why did it sound like you don’t want my kids?” He suddenly asked, his sharp eyes studying her, “Other than school.”

“I’m a virgin.” She just answered instantly and he looked like he got punched.

He pulled away, the confusion on his face clear, “What?” His eyes studied her legs.

“What, looking for blood?” Her voice sounded on edge, “Men are always the same.”

She could feel his annoyance as he said, “It’s not like that.”

There was indeed an absence of blood and there was no complaining about pain. A common idea of how female virgins act when their virginity is taken from them.

He brought his lips against her ear, “You seemed to know what you were doing.” His tongue flickered on her ear.

She had placed a hand on his chest and his hand captured her fist. “It seems like you and I are very sexually compatible.” His teeth tugged at her reddened ear.

She couldn’t answer him, she didn’t know how to. There was a voice in the back of her head agreeing to his words.

And as if to prove their sexual compatibility he fucked her again. Oh and how he did her good.

“Fuck!” She swore, forcing herself to roll off of him after another round of his probing.

He groaned in disapproval. “Where are you going?” He asked her, his belly lying on the bed.

“I told you I had class.” She glared but struggled to get up. And she looked like she was about to cry, she was so sore. Who said having sex with their husband is magical? She pressed her lips as she sat up.

It was magically painful in ways she didn’t think that her body could possibly ache.

Damian honestly enjoyed seeing her struggle and seeing her bare breasts– among the general bareness of such a beautiful body.

“You know you don’t really need to go to classes physically. You can still get your degree while you're in Gotham.” He drawled, flipping over, not attempting to pull her back into bed which she was grateful for.

His words, not so much.

She glared at him as she stood up gasping with wide eyes and finding her balance, “I’m sorry we can’t be like you– graduating uni at age sixteen.” She hissed, “Oh my gosh.” She whispered leaning on her nightstand.

He shifted in the bed and she suddenly added as she turned away from him, “We can’t all have two degrees–”

“Three actually.” He cut her off and she turned to glare at him.

“Besides, I like seeing my classmates and teachers.” She added gently but the discomfort was clear in her face and in the way she moved or lack thereof.

“I didn't. Which was why I finished uni as fast as I could. Father, however, did not enjoy it and kept putting me to school.” He shrugged and pressed his lips when his wife’s face told him to shut up.

“I’m sorry for being dumb.” She muttered and he didn’t know how to respond.

“If you want to go to school, I won’t stop you. I advocate for education.” He propped himself up on the headboard, the blanket covering his lower regions.

He caught the surprise in her eyes and she nodded with a small happy smile.

“I will be right where you left me, wife.” He said with crossed arms, his eyes filled with joy from seeing his wife filled with marks he made.

And what a lovely piece of art he made indeed.

Raven absentmindedly nodded and made her way to a door at the side which he assumed was the bathroom. And indeed, it was the bathroom when he faintly heard the sound of water from a shower.

Once she was out of the bathroom, she shyly changed her clothes with an audience. She supposed she’d have to get used to it eventually. She changed her clothes with her towel still covering her up.

Raven was sore but she endured and had to cover up really well because of what her husband so graciously left on her entire body. She could feel that this relationship would not be easy or convenient.

Damian could tell she was having a hard time changing but she’ll get used to someone being in the same room. And he still enjoyed the little show. It was like peek-a-boo.

“I’ll go to school now.” She awkwardly said, her eyes trying not to look at him. His abdomen looked so goddamn nice. What the fuck!

“I’ll be right here, where you left me.” He smiled, giving her a little salute and wink.

Damian was really true to his words; he really was where she had left him by the time she returned home. He was on the bed shirtless and looking over papers.

She frowned at him, “Don’t you run a multi-million company?”

He glanced up from the paper he was holding, and she didn’t think he’d look even hotter with the eyeglasses he had on. For someone who was a virgin a few hours ago, was it bad that she could feel herself get wet at the sight?

She gulped down her desires as she anticipated his answer.

“That's what this is.” He raised the paper casually.

“Don’t you need to be there?” She tried to clear up.

He looked at her thoughtfully, she was still standing by her door. “I still haven't taken my honeymoon leave.” His eyes for the briefest second locked at a certain part of her body with the slightest hint of displeasure. But she had not noticed the very quick change.

She scrutinized his face and body language, was he serious?

He placed the papers on the side table, “I am all naked underneath waiting for your return, beloved wife.”

It took a moment, but Raven’s face turned crimson when his words sunk into her brain.

Again, he was true to his words, this was starting to feel like a honeymoon– the one filled with nothing but sex. She wasn’t even sure how she reached his side and how they got to grinding against one another’s naked bodies and moaning.

When he was done, and she calmed from her high with his body over hers on the bed. His hand slipped to one of her hands, caressing her knuckles. There was an absence of a ring on either of her hands.

Raven suddenly said, “I used to do gymnastics.”

He looked really taken aback, not understanding where this was coming from. Thankfully his mind was always sharp. He chuckled suddenly to which she frowned.

“Have you been thinking about that this entire time? While you were at school?” He asked after shaking his head. He glanced down at her and saw her serious face and he reeled in his laughter. “I believed you when you said you were a virgin. It doesn’t matter to me if you weren’t either. But now that we are married, again, I expect loyalty and faithfulness.”

“I don’t think I can handle being with another man with your libido.” She muttered, clearly not paying attention to her words and her eyes widened when she realized what she said aloud.

He laughed heartily, “Good.” He kissed her forehead.

She had to be honest, she thought he’d scold her. And then she felt his hand caressing her thigh. Ah, there it was.

Raven was sure she was being punished, but fuck was he doing it so gently and all she could do was moan into his hand. He thrust from behind her with a softness that seeped into her heart.

“I hope you kept some of those leotards, I think we can make good use of them.” He whispered hoarsely against her ear, still pounding at her. His hips hit her plump ass.

He couldn’t tell if the moans into his hand were out of agreement or just pleasure, he was more certain it was the latter, but he had to cover her mouth as she had become rather loud. He didn’t want the neighbors banging on her door.

When they were finished, he wrapped her in his arms and whispered to the exhausted woman, “Which reminds me, I got us our new phones–” He stopped, noticing that she was struggling to keep her eyes open. He kissed her forehead.

“Later then.” He mumbled, closing his eyes.

The fact that she lacked a ring did not escape his mind.

Raven’s husband had been staying with her for three days. And she had no choice but to miss some classes because of him. Much to her dismay.

And every time she went back home from her classes, he’d be propped up on the bed naked, a blanket over his legs while he read papers and with his eyeglasses on. But now it seemed that he had bought a laptop.

“Oh, I noticed you didn’t have a laptop and printer. They are yours, but as of now I am borrowing the laptop.” He nonchalantly said. She absentmindedly nodded.

Raven did need a laptop and printer for school so she was appreciative.

He didn’t look up from reading his report, “Oh, by the way, I talked to your landlord. I told him your contract is invalid.”

“What?” She glanced at him. She was making her way to her closet, used to having company now, and was planning to change. She had gotten used to his domineering personality too.

He glanced up to look at her and she studied his face trying to understand him.

It dawned on her and she replied with an edge on her voice, “Because I wrote Raven on the contract?” He frowned and she continued on, “You are making a big deal over that?”

He sighed, making her stop as she watched him take off his eyeglasses and placed it on the bed. She pressed her lips, the sight was so hot, that she couldn’t help but admit.

Raven tried not to avoid his gaze and tried to glare at him to focus that she was angry at him. The implications of an invalid contract were less than ideal.

“I don’t care if you write Rachel or Raven,” he said carefully and she looked very confused. “But you are a Wayne.”

He heard her gasp from where he was and she blinked.

“Would you rather resign the contract or move?” He asked and saw how she frowned when he suggested moving.

“I like my apartment.” She stated simply and he studied her room. He knew he could give her better.

He sighed aloud, it was clear to her that he didn’t like her answer. He reached out for a stack of paper that had a pen clipped on it as he offered it to her, “Here is the contract and sign in properly. I will give it to your landlord.”

Raven was surprised, she thought he would tell her to move. Her feet moved by themselves as she approached him and sat beside him as she took the papers from him. She signed Raven Wayne on the paper and gave it to him for checking.

She was nervous as she waited for his approval, head cast down. She didn’t even know why she was feeling like this or acting like this. She didn’t see how her husband’s lips twitched seeing her name.

“Alright.” He said and she looked up. She was still expecting him to tell her that she couldn’t stay here. From what she heard of Damian he was the excessive type. And with how he had been handling her in the short time they have been together, she can’t deny the statement.

“Oh, I have something for you.” He said and opened the drawer on the nightstand at his side. She tilted her head at him in confusion.

What else did he have for her?

Damian pulled out a black velvet box and her brows furrowed to show her confusion.

“I noticed you don’t wear your wedding ring.” He said and she stiffened and he opened the box. “I figure it’s too much for school.” He showed her the wedding set inside the box and her eyes twinkled.

“I had this made, I thought this was more to your taste.” He spoke as if they were talking about the weather.

It was a gold set of two thin band rings. One was a half eternity diamond ring and the other was a larger solitaire ring. This set was far smaller than the platinum set she got at their wedding. Being that the two-ring platinum set was filled with big diamonds stacked with another bigger diamond.

The design and appearance of the two sets were similar, an eternity ring with a solitaire diamond on one of the bands. But Raven thought the rings she got at her wedding were so gaudy she was embarrassed to be seen wearing them. And it would be too much for school as Damian pointed out. She was also certain she’d be robbed if she so casually walked around wearing the platinum set.

With Damian’s free hand stuck out, inviting her to put her hand atop his, he said, “This is just a mere placeholder for now. When I get to the bottom of who is trying to fuck with our relationship and when you are ready, we will go and have something made which fits both our preferences.”

Raven slipped her hand on top of his and watched him slide the two rings onto her finger and she was surprised by the perfect fit. Though, now that she thought about it, was there really something her husband couldn’t do?

“I was rather upset to see that you didn’t wear any kind of a ring as a placeholder to show that you are married.” He sighed putting her hand down and he reached out to his other hand playing with a ring on his ring finger that she didn’t even realize he had one on until now. “I always wear mine.”

His ring was three-toned, mostly black, but had gold and platinum on it. She would like to say it was simple, but with three colors on it, it clearly wasn’t.

“I’m sorry…” She couldn’t help but mumble, finding the new set on her finger with her other hand. “And thank you.”

He smiled thinly, eyes on her fingers brushing her wedding rings.

“Alright, when you figure things out we’ll go to a jeweler.” She mumbled and he nodded.

Just when she was about to stand up, he grabbed her wrist. And he pulled her to him.

“But now I must welcome my wife home.” He smirked as he watched her eyes widen.

Again. This man always gets what he wants. Though, he could have forced her hand and made her move, but he didn’t.

Maybe this time her spreading her legs for him was to show her silent gratitude that he didn’t force her hand and made her move. But maybe not, once his body touched hers it was like her skin was aflame. Memories of how good he fucks her would flash into her mind like a flash flood and she just can’t think straight.

And God, he really fucks her good.

They had finished yet another passionate moment and the two were cuddling in each other’s arms. Her head rested on his chest as she listened to his steady heartbeat. His hand caressed her arm.

“I think I know what I want for my long-term contraceptive.” She whispered, fingers playing with the curves of his abdomen muscles. For a second, she wondered if he really had a desk job as a CEO and all. How does he have time to work out?

“Oh? What is it?” He asked, breaking her chain of thought. He pulled away from her and shifted her in his arms so they could gaze at one another.

“I want an implant.” She stared at his eyes. She had thought about it. With his libido and her studies, this sounded… well sound. The best option so she didn’t have to think about taking contraceptive pills or injections on a regular basis.

She thought that he would say no, but he surprised her again, “Alright, I will arrange a hospital appointment for tomorrow.”

She thought he would say no, but she didn’t expect that he would set an appointment just like that.

Damian saw how his wife frowned and he kissed her forehead, “It is a good choice, beloved, I don’t mind you getting pregnant.” He squeezed her in his arms briefly. “I can take care of you and our child. But we have to pretend like we have not met since our wedding. I’m still looking into who is trying to screw our marriage up. It would be a problem if everyone believed you were fooling around with someone else and that's how you wound up pregnant.” He sighed into her hair.

He made a very reasonable explanation and she nodded her head that was against his firm chest.

Yet still, he didn’t argue with her. She was certain that he could have. He could get what he wanted by force. And yet, he didn’t.

His attitude was starting to become endearing for Raven, even his arrogance.

Damian has been staying in her apartment for almost a week now and every time she arrived home she wished and hoped he would have already left. At this point, it’s what she hoped for because his sexual libido was so high she believed she couldn’t handle it. But every time he made a move she couldn’t say no, like quite literally the word disappeared from her mind. And she winds up in various positions with him.

She was convinced that he was right about their sexual compatibility.

Again, she entered her bedroom to see Damian on the bed. The same way he always was when she got home. But it was clear that he was very upset over something as he read the paper in his hands.

Raven studied her room, she realized that their clothes from their latest rendezvous were still scattered on the floor. Only at this moment did she realize that he cleans up the bedroom by the time she comes back from school or even when she is in the shower, but he’d always be on the bed when she reenters her bedroom.

She picked up his boxers, “Put this on for me.” She tossed it on the bed.

It appeared that he didn’t even realize that she had returned. Whatever troubles he had, it appeared to be deep. But the moment she spoke, his face softened and he glanced at his boxers and scrunched up his face.

He clicked his tongue and she thought he would say no. But she knew better now, she should not approach the bed because he would have her on her back the second, she was in arms reach.

To her surprise, he reached for the boxers and heaved a sigh, likely a show that he didn’t like what she was asking. He got out of the bed and he was indeed naked underneath the sheets like always.

Raven quickly looked away; she still wasn’t sure how that fit in her.

“You act like you weren’t enjoying this just before you left.” He chided pulling his boxers on and her face turned red. She felt even more embarrassed.

“Can’t you learn to put on clothes?” She rebuked helplessly. He just chuckled at her response.

“I don’t have clothes here.” He innocently answered and she glared at him.

“I’ve seen your bodyguards or whatever the hell they are, I know you ask them to bring you boxers.” She crossed her arms as she looked at him. She was thankful he had bottoms on, but that well-toned body was still distracting. “You can ask them to bring you more than just boxers.”

He shrugs at her casually, “It’s not like I plan to leave any time soon.”

Raven’s eyes were starting to stray and so were her thoughts. She quickly turned around and cleared her throat, “I will make us dinner and I would like it if you are there with me.”

She didn’t try to argue with him as she knew it would be useless.

She didn’t need to ask him to join her, truth be told, normally he’d follow her around if she decided to cook or if she went out of the bedroom. But this was the first time that she asked him to go with her to the kitchen. She didn’t see it but there was a very happy smile on Damian’s lips.

“Alright.” He replied after clearing the smile off his face, sounding casual and whatever.

Raven didn’t take a peek at him because she knew she would swoon and if he laid his hand on her she’d jump him. She coughed to clear her throat and her naughty thoughts.

In the kitchen, Raven was cutting a carrot and he sat across the counter watching her in all his shirtless glory. His chest had claw marks from her, but at this point, she was way past being embarrassed. His choice of not wearing clothes for almost a week has trained her eyes and mind to the sight. Thankfully, he would wear his boxers when outside the bedroom, but other than that, he was virtually naked as he stayed in her apartment.

He had a strained smile on his face as he watched her.

“What is it?” She pouted, glancing at him.

“I genuinely enjoy your cooking and the fact that you enjoy cooking for me.” He emphasized each word and she frowned as she stopped chopping. “But I admit my palette is used to world-renowned chefs.”

Raven put down her knife, “So, you’re saying my cooking sucks?”

He approached her, placing a hand on the counter, and genuinely said, “No, your cooking is superb, beloved.” He smiled and she actually believed his sincerity. It felt like he was radiating truthfulness from his very pores.

Or maybe because the sex was so good, she couldn’t get mad at him. He literally just said her cooking sucks by implying he only eats from some classy chef. But they were married and already fucking so she has to endure his attitude, right? Fuck!

Raven was chewing on her lower lip and he placed a thumb against her lip making her stop.

“I am a picky eater; I won’t deny that. If it isn’t a chef I approve of, I don’t eat the dish.” He spoke.

She wanted to bite his thumb. And to think she had been cooking for him out of the goodness of her heart.

“It’s why I learned how to cook.” It felt like Damian had dropped a bomb on Raven. Her feet were unsteady.

“What?” She almost chuckled as she studied him, “You cook?” She raised a brow at him.

He smiled politely, “Yes and I truly love your cooking,” The sincerity in his eyes was something she could not deny. His hands found her waist. “But let me cook for you this time.”

Damian swiftly pulled her to him and their lips were so close to one another that she was expecting a kiss at the back of her mind. Raven gulped as her eyes locked on his mouth.

He turned themselves around, exchanging spots with his lovely wife. Then he pulled away quite easily from their contact.

“Alright?” He smiled at her and took a step back, reaching for the knife. “I can make do with these ingredients, but I will have my men buy better ingredients for you as always.”

Raven hummed a response, having no choice but to watch him. She went and sat down on the seat where he would always sit when he watched her cook. And damn it, she felt so fucking stupid.

Damian was cooking like he himself was some world-renowned chef! How the hell did he let her make him just sit and watch her cook?

She was utterly speechless and embarrassed. She must have looked like a buffoon.

When he was plating the dish he made, adding the last leaf on the plate he said, “Plating matters too, beloved.”

She wished she could make a snarky remark but the dish he put before her was so beautiful. With the same ingredients, she couldn’t possibly make such a beautiful dish.

Damian tilted his head when he placed the plate before her but she did not move.

“Le-let’s see how it tastes then!” She grabbed the plate and turned around from him. He could tell that she was embarrassed by how red her ears were, but he didn’t point it out.

“How is it?” He instead asked as he walked around the counter and slipped a hand on her lower back.

“Oh, God and I cooked for you?” She looked up at him with her back arched forward, eyes watery.

His Adam’s Apple bobbed at the sight. A similar image of how she looked right now overlapped in his mind, and it was a very very different kind of image, that of when he would confine her in her bedroom to have some fun.

He cleared his throat, “Sit up properly.” He gently told her and rubbed her back upward briefly. She instantly did what was told and he withdrew his hand from her back.

Raven was temptation incarnate for him. A seductress.

And what's worse is that she doesn't know how much she could ignite his desire for her with one flick of her wrist.

“I feel so embarrassed cooking for you.” She admitted in a soft voice and he was surprised.

“What? No.” He stood in front of her and pinned her by placing his hands on the counter that was behind her. “Your cooking is world-class.”

She pressed her lips as she looked up at him. God, his sincerity was intoxicating.

“I should know. I have expensive tastes.” He stated nonchalantly.

He watched her glance down at her plate with a soft smile.

The next thing she knew, her head was lifted up and they shared a kiss. A rather chaste kiss.

Maybe even the first chaste kiss since their wedding. Honestly, quite comparable to the chaste kiss at their wedding.

“I wish I could stay longer, beloved, but I am needed back in Gotham.” He confessed softly.

“Oh.” She grabbed her fork and tried to prepare a bite of the food he made. “Well, I can finally take a break from you.”

He wished he could get mad or laugh, but he felt neither emotion at her words. He did wish he could just be with her.

“Oh, don’t go celebrating yet.” He leaned to her, bringing his mouth near her ear. “When I return, you and I both know I will make you regret being happy that I’m leaving right now.”

Damian felt her body stiffen and he smirked. “But for now, let us enjoy our remaining time together.”

And they did. They enjoyed their time together, laughing a little. His hands strayed on her body but never did more. He had texted his men to bring him a fresh suit complete with all his accessories.

He showered in her bathroom and used her things. He smelled like her and it made her blush. He was adjusting the cuff of his white shirt from under his dark blue suit’s jacket cuff.

This was the third time she had seen him in a suit. He looked colder, yet still hot. He smelled of her and yet looked like the boss that he was.

Oh my God. She was gushing.

And so was her pussy.

“Oh, before I forget.” He looked up at her and she stared at him with wide eyes and a smile trying to think of anything but how he made her feel. “I will pay you back for the rent you paid on the apartment.”

She looked confusedly at him and was about to argue but he raised a hand and she pressed her lips shut.

“It’s my responsibility, and besides, I want to do it.” He looked at her as if he was inspecting a product for his company, at least that is what Raven felt like he was doing. He then pulled out his wallet and handed her two cards. “One is a credit card, buy whatever the hell you want, it doesn’t have a limit. The other is an ATM card. Your allowance from me will be deposited every month on the same date as our wedding day. I placed the money you paid for the rent of this apartment in there along with the allowance I owe you since you've been staying here since our wedding.”

She sucked in her lips and stared at the items he was holding out for her. She licked her lips and he patiently waited for her to accept it.

Raven wanted to reject it, but with one quiet glance at his calm face she knew he wouldn’t allow it. And the thing was, she was surprised that he even remembered their wedding day and was going to give her an allowance on the same date every month.

After a minute or two passed she nodded her head and sighed as she took a step forward and reached out for the cards. “Thank you…” She mumbled.

Damian was pleased that she took the cards and she could tell.

His hand reached out and cupped her face and she looked at him. He kissed the top of her head.

"Rachel Wayne." She mumbled reading the names on the cards.

"Rachel is your legal name. Unless you want to change it to Raven, in that case, tell me and I will have it arranged." Everything that came out of Damian's mouth was factual. It's just how he always talked.

"Wayne. I'm a Wayne." She muttered and he pressed his lips atop her ear.

"Yes, that's right." He whispered with a sigh.

FIN.

~.~.~.~.~.~

BONUS SCENE:

Damian and Raven's relationship was pretty good. She was still in Metropolis over a year later and he'd visit her often since they reunited.

"Augh, I hate this city," Damian said, glaring at the city by the ceiling to the floor window in their apartment.

Raven rolled her eyes, she had known him long enough, he was baiting her.

"You'd rather I finish uni in Gotham?" She asked, of course, she'd still bite.

He turned to look at her thoughtfully, "I suppose it's safer here." He answered as he always does when she asks him if she should go back to Gotham.

He placed her safety a priority, something she noticed fairly quickly since they started a relationship with one another.

She no longer lived in the apartment where they reunited after their wedding; due to the frequency of his visits her former apartment became too small. You’d think he’d respect her space, but somehow, he started taking up so much space in her apartment that she had no choice but to suggest moving.

Damian of course moved her to a high-rise with a great view and space that was way too big for just them. He had come by to help her move and had stayed ever since, helping her adjust and arrange their apartment.

She was convinced he purposely took up so much space in her previous apartment so she would move to a bigger ‘safer’ apartment that he of course chose and showed her just as fast as when she suggested moving.

It seemed planned is what she was saying. But still, he had wormed his way to her heart that she could not find a flaw to what he did, that is if he really did it.

"You always say you hate it here." She mumbled as she reached out for his waist with both arms and embraced him.

"It's bright." He answered, enjoying her warmth.

She never understood what he meant by that.

"Well, anyway," She pulled her head away and glanced up at him, "I have to go, I need to meet some classmates for a project."

He studied her and said, "Why don't I join you?"

She laughed, shaking her head, "Your face is rather well known, I wouldn't want my classmates to be intimidated by you."

She pulled away from his hold turning around.

"I can wear a hat and sunglasses." He followed her and she paused then turned to him.

"Hmm… Alright." She agreed with a soft smile on her lips.

"I won't be a bother." He promised.

And as always, he was true to his words. When he went to the bathroom and was about to return to her side, Damian heard her friend ask why her husband was wearing a beanie that covered his ears and dark sunglasses.

"Oh, he is sensitive about his hair and he got a terrible eye infection..." He frowned at her lie.

He stepped out from his hiding spot and kissed his wife, "Oh, what are you talking about, beloved?"

"Oh, you know, how best to do this paper," Raven answered calmly.

He just smiled. But the moment they got back home, he pinned her to the door and whispered hoarsely.

"So, I'm balding?" He asked as he pulled the beanie off his head and to the floor. His black thick and luscious hair shone against the light coming from their windows.

Quite the opposite of what she had just made her classmate believe.

Her eyes widened in realization and she pressed her lips as she reached out to remove his sunglasses. "And with an eye infection." She whispered back seriously, tossing the shades away too.

"I will have to punish you." He said, pressing her by the arch of her ass against his hips.

"I know, for being caught." She sighed, and she could feel his erection on her lower abdomen.

He chuckled, "Well, for lying." His tongue licked the curve of her ear.

When the punishment was done and she was sprawled on the bed, lying on her belly, he caressed her hair.

"I hope you don't lie often." He told her with a dark tone in his voice.

She understood his implications. With how the two grew closer even if it was just a glance she could tell what he wanted to convey to her. He was the same with her.

"I don't lie about being married." She whispered, and his face softened. The answer to the question that was never truly asked.

"Good." He scooched over to her side, his crotch pressed against the side of her hip as he littered her shoulder with kisses.

She sighed, closing her eyes, but also refusing to move. If she moved the thing pressed on her side would wake up instantly and she'd be done for. Not that she couldn't tell that it was starting to stir. But if she didn't move, her husband wouldn't either.

"Which reminds me," He pulled his head away from her shoulder and her skin was relieved of the pressure pressing on her thigh. He laid on his side and she turned her head towards him with curious eyes. "I'm transferring to Metropolis."

"What?" Raven propped herself up a little with her confusion clear in her face and voice. He never talked about this before.

He should feel some form of displeasure with her reaction. At least he thought he should because it would seem like she wasn't happy with the news. But he felt calm.

"With how frequently I visit it seems impractical to stay in Gotham." He explained gently and he watched her eyes widen as a soft blush appeared on her cheeks. Maybe this was why he didn't feel upset, he knew her like the back of his hand. Unconsciously he must have known that her confusion was not because she didn't want him here.

"I made plans with Father, and I will be stationed here for the time being as you finish uni. Thank God Wi-Fi exists, it will make this transfer seamless." He smiled at her and she cupped his face.

"You'll be here every day?" She whispered, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. The excitement on her face was clear.

"Yes." He whispered back, snuggling near her.

Then suddenly her eyes widened in fear, "Then you need to control yourself." She poked his shoulder and he chuckled.

At first, he was afraid that she didn't want him here but then understood why she was scared. The fear wasn’t unfounded.

"Oh, whatever do you mean." Damian blinked innocently.

"I'm serious, Dami, if you expect me to spread my legs every day– I'm moving." She stared at him and the smile on his lips was wiped off his face.

"Do not threaten me, beloved." He responded, darkness brewing in his aura.

"I'm serious. I have school." She did not back down. She knew him and she knew he almost always followed her lead no matter what.

He sighed aloud, and then again while he looked away and then one more time. "We'll arrange something."

Damian reached for his wife's waist and buried his face on the side of her shoulder. But she could tell he was pouting. He had actually stuck his lower lip but she couldn't see that.

His libido was really something even after a year he didn't show any signs of not being turned on by her. Though, to be honest, she was the same.

The moment he'd pin her down and the desire was clear in his eyes, she got so wet. It didn't matter if she was exhausted from school, she'd strip without him even asking.

She recalled what he told her so long ago, "We really are sexually compatible."

He looked up from her side with wide eyes gazing at her and his eyes sparkled as a smile bloom.

"I have to agree, beloved." His love for her is clear in those beautiful green eyes.

"We'll make it work; we always do."

Put This On Me: Graduation Gift

Raven had no regrets about the birth control that she chose. Sometimes she'd wake up the next day after their midnight sessions thinking that she forgot to take the pill.

Then she remembers that she has an implant.

Her burst of fear of an unexpected pregnancy always came after several rounds of fucking from her husband especially when he goes all out for a couple of days straight.

Currently, she was looking out at the city through their apartment window in their living room. When she woke up this morning she had a little burst of fear, yet again. Which was why she was thinking about her birth control.

They've been together for almost four years but gosh was he built differently.

Strong arms wrapped around her body from behind.

"You're graduating soon." He mumbled against her shoulder and she leaned back to him.

"In a few months." She reminded him.

One of his hands was now on one of her shoulders and the other snaking down to her lower abdomen. "What do you think of a baby for your graduation gift?"

She froze. She knew there was a reason for her unreasonable pregnancy scare. She swatted his hands and stepped away from him. "Not yet."

He sighed and studied her back.

"I want to work first." She turned to look at him.

"You can work for me." He answered immediately and she rolled her eyes. Her eyes locked at his dress shirt collar and she took a step closer and fixed his collar for him.

"If you had your way, you would just have me on your desk panting and moaning, I'm sure." She clicked her tongue and noticed how he bit his bottom lip lustfully and she shook her head but still smoothened his shirt of invisible wrinkles. He had strong pecs.

One of his hands slipped onto her upper spine and slid down to her lower waist pulling her closer to him and she gasped, "Well, then what would my beloved wife want for her graduation gift?"

His eyes looked down at her softly.

"Hmm, I don't know." She admitted.

"Really a no to having a baby?" He asked again with a boyish smile. She giggled at him.

"Hmm, I will have to think about that." Her hand reached out for his black tie, then suddenly tugged at it bringing his face closer to her, "But while I do, you can use it for some sexy dirty talk." She licked her lips.

"Well, don't mind if I do…" He leaned down and captured her lips.

"Doesn't the thought of you pregnant as you get your hard-earned diploma hot, beloved?" He whispered to her kissing her neck and she smiled. She didn't mean for him to do it at this very instant, but God was this man insatiable. "Or maybe– imagine, you accepting your diploma with my cum tightly clenched inside you? Considering how often you are taking in my cock in your tight pussy.”

She choked at the visuals he was painting for her. She felt his teeth tug at her ear as he continued on, “How many times did you fuck me before going to school? Or how many times you went to your classes with my fresh cum still in that naughty pussy? Or when your first meal is my dick.”

Raven’s face was red. She was now regretting telling him to use it for dirty talk.

“Tell me beloved, what would be written in your diploma, Master’s Degree of sucking cock?” His voice had become hoarse and Raven was breathless, “Masters of my dick?” His lips sucking on her ear.

She regrets it. But she also felt the need to fight him back. She was also very embarrassed by his words. She tugged at his tie, making him pull away from her ear. She stared at him seriously.

“On the note of graduation day,” Her free hand brushed the buttons on his shirt. “Should I be completely naked underneath the graduation gown?” This time it was her turn to whisper in his ear.

She felt his body tense up.

This was something she knew to be a fact. Damian was the jealous type.

“In that case, I will buy you the gown and we can use it in the bedroom.” She thought she could hear his teeth grinding. The flirtiness disappeared from his voice.

Raven smirked; it was her win.

Another thing she noticed about her husband, he didn’t even like the thought of someone possibly seeing her in any potentially suggestive way. He rarely vocally object, sometimes he’d make a face, but she could always tell when he didn't like it when someone looked at her in the wrong way for even just a second.

She would notice how his cold face would change on a micro level when she purposely wore a dangerously short skirt or a really revealing outfit. But he had only told her to change clothes a couple of times since they'd been married. All of which were outfits she wore on purpose to see his bottom line. Still, he rarely says his objections but often she can tell when he doesn't like something.

She looped his tie around her hand, “In that case, we can pretend you're the professor, and I, your naughty student.”

It was clear that he wasn’t happy, “Is there a hot professor I didn’t know about?”

He knows her classmates and her teachers but Raven thinks this is the first time he sounded threatened by a teacher she randomly mentioned.

She studied her husband’s face, it seemed that he was riding his jealousy. “Hmm, hotter than my husband? Quite impossible.” She let go of his tie and placed both her hands on his chest as she rubbed his torso soothingly.

“Then why the professor suggestion?” He quietly asked and she sighed.

“I was thinking you were my hot professor.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he still wasn’t convinced.

In all the years that they had been together, he was often cockier than not, but very rarely he would show her this side of him. Uncertain and unsure, so opposite from how the whole world perceived him.

A man who knows what he wants and gets it without fail.

Damian was often gentle towards her. The only time he'd be rough was during sex. But unsure of himself? Rarely.

“About the baby…” She watched him carefully and it seemed to have caught his attention. He stared at her as he waited for her to continue. “In a few more years, I promise.”

She saw the small smile on his face as the uncertainty disappeared which turned to a gentleness in his demeanor that honestly made her swoon.

“A baby?” He smiled as his hands found her waist. “Then I’ll have to start looking for our future home with our children.” He said dreamily, there was this softness on his face that tugged at her heart. How could he easily make her swoon and wet in mere seconds?

“Children?” She ventured, eyes carefully observing his face.

“One is not enough.” He answered back in a quieter voice. No hint of doubt on his face but the volume of his voice might say otherwise. Yet, it was just factual to him, that much she could tell.

She smiled and leaned her forehead against his jaw, “Hmm, you’re always right, beloved.” Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he hugged her back with his muscled arms around her waist.

There was clear surprise in his eyes at her words but he smiled and pressed his upturned lips against her temple.

He was going to have a family with her. Even if their marriage was arranged, he was happy and excited for their future. He was glad he married her.

"Our fifth wedding anniversary is coming around the corner too. How about another wedding as your graduation gift?" He whispered and Raven pulled away looking up at him with wide eyes. "One where we profess our love and where we plan the wedding the way we actually want it."

She smiled brightly. "I don't think that's a graduation gift." And she saw how his lips were about to frown, she quickly added. "It's a gift for a lifetime."

She watched her husband's tan cheeks flush at her words.

"I love you."

FIN.

~.~.~.~.~.~

A/N:

Well, in the book I read the couple got married, she got shipped out on their wedding night and they never met for like 3-5 years. Apparently, they tried calling each other but only to hear that the number is out of service. And the two knew each other since childhood tho still arranged (and forced) marriage, but still you’d think someone would go find the other. So, this is me coping.

And I still don’t know why they were getting ‘out of service’ when they called each other.

And then the image of Damian naked but with a blanket over his legs working on the bed with eyeglasses on was stuck in my mind and so I decided to use it here. It also makes sense to me in modern AUs that Damian is cocky. On Modern AU notes, I have like 3 on my drafts with cocky Dami because I was inspired.

I didn’t even think I would participate too, I wrote this in a few hours in a span of a couple of days. I am impressed but this is also rushed. And I do have some other bonus scene ideas floating currently in my head. But this is already quite long so, maybe I might dump it somewhere, one day. (11/16/23, I do not remember what I had planned, but I will keep this here, so I know that I did at one point. I think one was about the wedding.)

I thought that using the line “Put This On For Me” in this manner would be unique. Which also drove me to write, but it took a while to get there. I think the common thing people would think when they see this line is some sexy outfit. So doing the opposite really called to me.

And if someone is going to ask why the sexy is like that, I am still traumatized from writing smut. There was a time I was writing 5 different smut scenes back-to-back… it left an impression. I can write it if I don’t think about it, but it’s something I have to think about most of the time to write so…it’s hard… anyway…

Before I forget, the end of the bonus scene and the graduation gift, who said it is up for your interpretation, maybe even they said it both.

And to add, in my head this Raven attended college or uni later than normal.

Hope you guys enjoyed it.

Ciao.

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tunastime · 2 months

Text

Inbound, Outbound

The first submas fic I ever wrote! LOL I decided I needed one final thing for april fools so you get this fic from. about a month and a half ago! I think a lot has changed since I wrote this and I'd love to come back to the reuniting :3 maybe making it longer or what have you. but for now. here you go!

Sometimes when you wait for things, they come back to you. Sometimes they don't. Emmet continues life as normal as he can until the point in which the thing he's been waiting for the most finally does come back. Today just happens to be that day. (6745 words)

Ingo comes back on a winter day that Emmet would’ve otherwise forgotten.

It’s a pervasive winter in Nimbasa this year, the sky a white-blue, grey where it touches the edges of the buildings high above his morning train into the city center. Today is just as slow as usual, fifteen stretching into thirty, stretching in to forty-five minutes as people crush their way into the train car number eleven, Emmet’s favorite car on the six-in-the-morning inbound to Nimbasa commercial district. This train doesn’t go direct to Gear Station—it’s about four blocks from the city center. Which means that the train car is filled with grey and black suits, small children, and people in coats too thin or too bright for the weather. It’s his favorite car because if he looks over the few heads currently standing in front of him, he can see a poster with Elesa on it, advertising the Nimbasa Gym in bright, yellow and black letters. He doesn’t mind the length of the ride, really, even with the extra twenty minutes of walking. It gives him enough time to think, whether that be better or worse.

Emmet sniffles, pushing the scarf further up his nose, trying to keep in the heat. He can feel his face starting to red with the cold, and the subpar heat of the train car isn’t doing much help. He likes this car—he likes the whole system, because it runs so efficiently even with the stops, but he would like it a bit more if it were properly heated. He once bore Elesa to sleep talking about the rail system near their apartment complex in the city suburbs and art district, and after that he kind of kept it to himself and the engineers on shift.

The train car is still cold, and his scarf slips down his nose again as he adjusts his grip on the handle above him. Scrunching his face, he burrows into the collar of his coat and shrinks his shoulders to make space, shutting his eyes. He moves with the train car, as he does every morning, and sighs into the fabric of his coat. He files the cold away in the back of his mind. The train ride becomes routine, which means it fades into the background of his life, where everything rests mutely.

He might be somewhat of a celebrity, but the 6am is too crowded and too tired to notice him, or Ingo, or Elesa, for that matter. Elesa could live in the city center—running a gym is a lucrative business, and her clothing line, her brand deal, the posters with her face on them, even here in this train, raked in enough money to more than sustain on. Instead, Elesa lives two streets down from him (them) in a large apartment and she holds the crook of his arm on the train to keep steady. She didn’t this morning, though, which means Emmet has a little more stability where he stands, and a little less company. Not being recognized this morning means that he slips effortlessly from the train as the doors slide open, spilling out with other shoppers and business folk. He ducks through the exit as someone holds it open, and the smile on their face lingers a bit too long when they catch his eye. He thinks the words I’m sorry for your loss might come and hit him across the face, but they only nod. Emmet moves through the crowd alone again.

He makes his way carefully up the steps and onto the sidewalks of inner-Nimbasa, stepping with purpose as he stares down at his shoes. There’s a fine layer of ice and slush on the ground, but no snow. Anything that did fall just added to the grey slush on the side of the sidewalk, crunching under his boots as he walked. The cold still bites at his face as he makes his way down the block and across the street. He can still feel his fingers, though, which is a good sign. A few more streets of cold and slushy snow and trying to block the wind with his coat and he would be in the relative warmth of Gear Station, all tan marble and smooth floors.

Winter. Of course the winter lingered. It was still winter when Emmet got off the train alone and it was still winter and cold and breezy and dark, now, as Emmet stood in his (their) office, watching the clock.

5:45pm. He realizes he hasn’t eaten all day as a hard pang stabs through his stomach. Emmet takes a breath. It’s easy to fall into routine when nothing else seems to fit. It’s what he tells himself. He finds a way to make the day go faster, maybe looking for something at the end that wasn’t just the next day. He never had this issue before, waiting for the day to pass only for it to bleed into the next, and the next, and the next, and for the weekend to stutter and pause that blissful continuing trend. Work, go home, sleep, repeat. It gave no time to think about anything else—especially not Ingo.

It took longer the first year. Everything constantly pressed hard on the wound still open. He still remembers when everything shut down around him. It wasn’t winter then. It was spring, where the air still twinged cool, but he wasn’t kicking snow off his shoes before he entered the engineer’s office and ducked down the hall and to his and Ingo’s space. It was an almost instant halt, like throwing the emergency break. Emmet’s whole life screeched and threw up smoke.

He remembers the first time someone questioned him that wasn’t the city police, staring up at him, mouth moving with words he didn’t understand. He stuttered, unable to form an answer to what do you think happened? How was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to put pieces together when he felt like he had been smashed into star fragments?

The subway shut down for three months straight. He could barely pick himself out of bed, and when he did, he couldn’t make it out of the door. He remembers lying in the dark for far too long, turning off his phone so no calls came through. The day bled into night and into the next day, with no routine, no operating procedure. Everything in his life revolved around Ingo—and now there was a distinctly Ingo shaped hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. He remembers crawling his way out of the comforters and making it to the threshold of his bedroom door, sinking to the ground and staying there. It was only when Elesa made her way in that he moved, coaxed onto the couch to drink a glass of water. There were days where neither of them spoke. Elesa would set a duffel in the corner of Emmet’s room and a toothbrush in his bathroom and wordlessly, the space became hers too. Half asleep one night, she mumbled, very quietly, that it had been days since she’d had the energy to battle. The Nimbasa gym waitlist had grown to fifteen people. He said he was sorry. She laughed like she meant it. Tired. They were tired. Life moved on without them for a while. He held Elesa’s hand.

Every dark coat had been him, every set of stripes, every loud and hearty laugh. The space in their fridge, in their bathroom, on their couch, the spaces Elesa subconsciously left when she visited, all stayed like he might appear and fill them. At some point the spaces became memories, and the memories became a dull ache. The dull ache let him work, and the work became an ache instead. And then he started looking for answers. When he found none, he just kept looking.

He hangs up his white coat, noise from Gear Station trickling into the background. He puts his hat on the hook next to it.

He is Emmet. He feels okay today.

He combs his hair back with his fingers, stepping back to navigate around to his desk, shutting off the computer screen and moving through the familiar motions of packing away his day. Eelektross snuffs, sleeping curled around his chair, still nursing a singe from their last battle. The rest of his team are tucked away in pokeballs, neatly set into the bag still resting on the desk. He runs a hand over the scales on Eelektross’ head, listening to the snort turn into a purr, long and rumbly. At least someone’s enjoying themselves. He leans against his desk.

“Excellent job today, Eelektross,” he says. “Too good.”

Eelektross rumbles out an affirmative sound Emmet’s learned to recognize over the years. Tired and comfortable and thoroughly pleased. He’ll be sleeping under a huge eel weight tonight, most likely, which would be good for them both.

From the corner, Chandelure chirps. He glances up, watching her tilt lazily back and forth, flame flickering under the office’s lamplight. He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head at her.

“Ah—” he says. “I forgot, Chandelure. Is it time for the rounds, then?”

She chirps again, twirling in place. She nearly bumps the wall, moving out of the way as she remembers how much space she actually takes up. Emmet snorts, shaking his head. He rises from his leaning on the desk, shaking the feeling back into his right leg.

Gathering his coat and hat again, he pulls it over his shoulders, and opens the office door for Chandelure.

The two wander out into the filling-full train station. It’s busy now that so many are leaving work, Gear Station echoing with his footsteps and the tired laughter and voices of patrons filing in and out of the turnstiles. As he steps out, the noise is almost instant. Ah—he caught departing crowds at the wrong time, as the battle subway came to a close at the days end and people were busy reassigning themselves and marking their places for tomorrow. The energy in the station is bright and cheery. He lifts his hat, waving one hand, smiling with just his mouth. Chandelure spins, singing to herself. He offers a little bow as he departs, listening to cheers of his name until he manages to slip into the service stairs and away from the light and the noise.

He follows the familiar service corridor where it diverges from the central station, staring up into the rafters and eyes tracking across the windows high above him. Night trickles in, noise obscured by layers of stone and brick and marble. The stretch of granite towers above him, echoing the flicker of pride he feels swirling in his chest. Chandelure twirls ahead of him, leading him down to the closed lines as his eyes drag away from pidove in the rafters, cooing to themselves.

It’s important to walk the lines at night—mostly for the host of patrat and joltik and the occasional drilbur that liked to make the tunnels their home, but also to check that each car remained stationary, that light still flooded the dim tunnels, that someone wasn’t trapped. It wasn’t always his job—not with so many that staffed Gear Station, both above and below him. Maintenance often fell to him when it was needed, where he lingered in the office long after his scheduled shift end, when the last outbound train returned.

The stairs down are quieter and darker than the rush of energy and light and cold air above him in Gear Station.

Emmet starts his way toward the platform. Whatever he couldn’t find in the tunnels today, Eelektross would find later tomorrow morning, well before the first battle train. It was good he didn’t have to worry about the main tracks as often—not for checks and not for maintenance. He would mourn his sleep schedule much more than he already did if that were the case. Walking those initial tunnels would take him hours, knowing how far the service platform stretched.

Emmet doesn’t like this part of his job. It was always Ingo’s job. Everything seemed like it was Ingo’s job, now that it rested on his shoulders. When they’d first pitched the idea of the subway to the head of Gear Station at the time, it had been a risk Ingo automatically assumed. When he ran the night shift, safety checks were his duty, as much as they were Emmet’s in the morning. They’d assist with repair and management of the rest of the station as needed, falling into step alongside fellow engineers. There’s a small group in this tunnel now—voices echoing down the small corridor as he travels its length, a drilbur perched on their feet, warily inspecting a section of track. He supposed he considered himself lucky—any scheduled repairs to the Battle Subway could be completed shortly after the subway retired for the day, meaning he could be present if anything went wrong. This bit of maintenance was purely preventative—making sure nothing would be jostled loose by a rogue Earthquake.

Emmet ducks passed the group, nodding along as they toss bits of information his way, wishing him a good night.

Fetching the flashlight from his pocket, Emmet smacks it against his hand. The beam flickers to life, illuminating the tunnel in front of him far more than the stretch of yellow floodlights above his head. He sweeps the beam around the tunnel, listening for anything or anyone.

Emmet makes his way off the main platform and into the tunnel proper, along the service grate, eyes following the tracks. He stands at the edge of the platform for a moment, gazing into an empty car, light shining through. It reflects off the posters and signage inside, dull yellow where the lights inside don’t shine. He shivers. The air feels cold and charged, like a stray joltik had crawled up his neck and now rested in the collar of his coat. He turns the collar out, sweeping with one hand. No joltik. Rolling his shoulders back, Emmet steps back from the car and continues onward. A few feet ahead of him, Chandelure twirls idly, like she’s waiting for him to catch up. He waves the beam of the flashlight at her and she startles, chirring out, annoyed.

“You can check on your own if you don’t want to wait,” he tells her.

She warbles, waving her arms back and forth. He makes an affirmative noise.

“That’s what I thought.”

The large loop stretches further on to his left, where he can’t see, blocked by the stretch of railcar. He follows Chandelure through the space between the cars, ducking his head as they step onto the opposing platform, and continue their way back up. He pauses for a moment as they do, feeling his body go light as his head spins. He reaches out to the side wall, hand against the cold stone as he takes a long breath. Emmet blinks back spots for a moment, shaking his head gently. His stomach feels like its in knots, rolling over itself as he seems to settle from his moment of vertigo. No lunch will do that to you, he supposes.

Chandelure flickers. They’re almost done, which is good. It means he’ll be able to sit down for a second before he has to run to the train. They won’t need to check the two-team tunnel tonight—not only has Emmet not been able to run it, he checked it two weeks ago. He lingered a very long time in there, didn’t he? It had put a terrible ache in his chest enough to call Elesa to walk him home. Emmet frowns—Chandelure flickers again, dimming, brightening, dimming, brightening again. There’s that rush of dizziness again. He breathes out. He’s too far in his head, today, isn't he?

“Chandelure,” he says, in a way that almost reminds him of Ingo—a little out of breath from walking, but mostly just curious. “Is something wrong?”

She chimes, wobbling in place, eyes narrowing. It feels hesitant. Emmet shudders. After a beat, he reaches up, placing a hand on the near-glass surface of Chandelure’s body. She moves back toward him, chiming again.

“Right,” he says. “It’s different, right? Something’s changed.”

Another chirp.

Something tugs at his mind. Wasn’t there something he read about clairvoyance in pokemon? Future-telling, future-seeing, or whatever. But Chandelure’s behavior isn’t indicative of anything. That would just be odd. He can feel for just a moment the way his heart thumps a little faster against the line of his jaw. It couldn’t be that. It’s just what Elesa always said—he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

“Yyyyep-yep,” he says, mostly under his breath, voice thick. “But it should be fine, Chandelure. Let’s keep going, our track moves forward.”

She tilts back and forth, like a wave of a hand. Emmet snorts as they start forward.

“You know I’m always one for a battle,” he says plainly. She chirrs, moving around to his right side, putting herself between the train car and Emmet. He follows her movement only for a second as they walk up the tracks, eyes still fixed on the steps up to the station.

The city subway still rumbles through the ground and the walls around him, the noise soft and consistent as train cars move past. He pauses, listening in, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was late, now. He could feel a tired ache seeping into the creases of his elbows and right under his knees from standing all day. His head was starting to hurt, spinning as he stood completely still. He sighs roughly, squeezing his eyes tightly for just a moment. He’s lucky the pain didn’t extend to his feet—he would have to do quite the jog to catch the outbound train toward home, unless Elesa happened to be staying late again and could walk him back.

They start together toward the entrance as Emmet does his final scan of the furthest-out platform, satisfied nothing is out of place. The same cold air of the train tunnels permeates even here, despite the warm wash of yellow light across the walls and marble pillars. Emmet breathes in, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders as he stretches over his head, screwing up his face as his back pulls. He nearly complains—he feels much too old for this—but he can feel the sharp poke of Ingo’s voice in his mind—well, I’m two minutes older, so you can imagine how I feel—and it stops him pretty quickly. He’s not even thirty-five. What can he do but complain, right? Emmet fishes his keys from his pocket prematurely, ducking between the cars as he steps onto the loading platform.

Chandelure stops ahead of him. Her trill is quiet as Emmet reaches her side.

There is a man standing on the platform.

Emmet is very good at telling cosplayers from the real thing. You would think that would be some sort of a joke, but they really like to be authentic. Ingo and him never sold any merchandise of their coats or hats for fear of, well, that. This. Whatever this person was doing, standing on the closed platform in a ruined coat that looked like Ingo’s.

Emmet swallows. Looks like and not is, right? Looks like and not. Not. Certainly not. Not when he turns and catches his eye. The breath lodges itself in Emmet’s throat, burning hot. Certainly not. Because he is very good at telling illusions from real life, and there are no dark types in the tunnels that can use copycat, and copycat can’t extend the likeness of himself onto another person who looks. Like. Who looks like his brother. And isn’t. Emmet tries to breathe. The breath is sharp on his teeth. His hands are shaking when his vision blurs, and he smears tears across his face.

Ingo looks frightened for a moment. When he looks into Emmet’s eyes, the grey looks washed out. Emmet breathes out, feeling it catch as he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. There’s. It’s like nothing moves behind his eyes. Not a faint light of understanding. Not a spark of clarity. Ingo places a foot behind him. The line of Emmet’s spine goes cold all at once.

He stands still as he watches a slow realization pass over his brother’s face like a red flush, some flicker in his expression, before he sees his chest seize and breath stutter. Ingo blinks hard and fast, like it might be helping something, eyes flicking over Ingo’s face. He reaches forward, as if he’s expecting to push through Emmet and into air instead, and not the solid body he stands there with. It’s like his body moves before he realizes what’s actually happening. Emmet watches his movements, still calculated in the same way as they’ve always been. Emmet drags in a breath, sniffling hard.

The lines of Ingo’s face pull. Emmet reaches out to him, copying. It’s what he’s always done—what they’ve always done. He steps forward, lurching to meet him.

The mirror image of himself, his brother, his Ingo, collides with him hard. Emmet feels him crumple into his arms as he drags him forward, arms locking around his ribcage. He squeezes Ingo tight to him. They buckle, Ingo leaning into him for support as his body is wracked with sobs. Emmet struggles to breathe as he sinks to his knees, smearing dirt and dark grime over his white pant-knees and boots.

Ingo’s hands fist in his coat as they fall. He squeezes Emmet in his arms, fighting for breath as he presses his face into his shoulder. Emmet laughs and it morphs into sobs. He turns his face into the tattered collar of Ingo’s coat and squeezes his eyes shut. Ingo. Ingo. Always Ingo. The bony joints of his elbows digging into his ribs as a kid, crushing him with his weight when he lost a pokemon battle, standing in his bedroom door at night when he had a nightmare. Cooking beside him, picking up his coffee, watching him tie Emmet’s tie around his own neck before passing it back to him. His brother Ingo, breathing too shallowly under his hands as he holds him, shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. He can feel the bones of his spine and shoulderblades, sharp and protruding even through several layers of fabric. His face looked so pale and thin. But Ingo holds him tightly, much tighter than he ever remembers, and it’s not just fear or relief or grief holding him to that strength, either. Emmet wheezes out, word unforming in his throat.

It’s not a nightmare. It feels real and warm and solid, like Ingo, like the platform under his knees, like the cold breeze on the back of his neck. Ingo may look different, far too gaunt for Emmet’s liking (and he supposes, now, that it may be like looking in a mirror, and he wonders how many bones Ingo can feel under his coat) but it’s him. No illusion or actor would crumble like this. It couldn’t be some sick joke—right?

He manages out words, and the first thing he chokes out through tears, voice warbling hard, is:

“Ingo—”

“Emmet,” Ingo grits out.

“I am Emmet—” Emmet says weakly. “You are Ingo. You are real.”

“I—” Ingo chokes. “I am. I’m real.”

Ingo certainly feels that way. The breath echoes in his lungs, damp and wobbly. Emmet can feel his heart slam against his ribcage. He feels so small in his arms but he shakes with the effort of keeping himself stable and with the effort of holding on. He can feel his shoulders move and the way his tears have started to soak through Emmet’s coat and shirt. He’s real.

Emmet laughs weakly, equally as wet.

“You are very strong,” he says softly, sniffling in, almost amused. “What happened to my brother?”

Ingo laughs. Emmet feels a new wave of tears bubble up in his chest and in his eyes. He presses his face into his shoulder a little more, like it were possible.

“Too much,” Ingo says, voice pitching. “Much too much.”

Emmet sighs into his shoulder, a sound he doesn’t think Ingo’s ever heard before. Ingo’s seen him cry a few times, especially when they were kids, but Ingo was always the more emotional of the two. This sound is such an odd mix of relief and grief and exhaustion pulled from his chest, like all the energy had trickled out of him.

Emmet holds tight to his brother in front of him, words not surfacing like they should. He only manages the weak sobs pressed into the collar of his coat. He screws his eyes shut again, clinging onto Ingo’s coat. The tile is cold and unyielding under his knees. Burning starts to prickle through his shins. Real feelings. Real sensations. Something to tether himself to. Ingo sniffles, coughing damply. He lets his body deflate a touch. Emmet’s chest twists and squeezes tight enough around his heart he feels it shove its way into his voice-box and beat there, pattering away.

“It’s you,” Emmet finally shudders out, voice breaking, sounding much more fragile than he wants to allow. Ingo burrows closer like it may do something. Emmet squeezes him. “Go-Go, please tell me this is real.”

“I promise,” Ingo manages. “I swear it.”

“You do?”

“You are Emmet,” he says slowly, sniffling. “I am your brother. I am real.”

“Good—” Emmet shudders. “Good.”

Ingo makes a pained noise, sighing out to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. Emmet shakes his head, stilted from where he rests it.

“Don’t be sorry. Just—” he trails off. Just. Don’t leave again. Yeah.

Ingo nods slowly. After a moment he says:

“You are real,” in a half questioning tone. Emmet nods.

“I am. I am not a dream,” he says, huffing out a wet laugh. “You can pinch me.”

Ingo snorts.

“That’s not how that works,” He argues, own voice damp and amused. Emmet thumps his back between his shoulderblades.

“Go-Go,” he complains. Ingo wheezes. This feels so familiar it hurts.

“Sorry,” Ingo says, but the tone that leaks into his voice sounds like he’s very much not sorry. “I’m sorry.”

Emmet huffs again, soft and brittle.

“Ingo, I missed you,” he manages. “I missed you so much. So very much.”

“I know,” Ingo says softly, relaxing his hands, splaying them out over Emmet’s coat. “And yet you kept the subway running in my absence—” he huffs, amused. “Bravo.”

Emmet laughs once, just a small little sound, before it turns back into sobs, muffled against Ingo’s tattered coat. He leans his weight back as much as he can, trying to pull Ingo further into his arms, as if it were possible. Light cascades around them as Chandelure floats over, chiming softly to herself. Ingo pats Emmet’s back, running a little line over his shoulderblades as they sit together. He feels Ingo shift, as if he’s turned his head toward his Chandelure. Warmth blossoms in his chest.

Ingo mumbles out something Emmet almost hears.

“She took your absence very hard,” Emmet says, trying to add to a conversation he hadn’t heard.

Ingo sighs, short and soft. They’re less holding on and more leaning, now.

“Oh,” he says softly. It’s all he says before he turns his head back into his shoulder. Emmet pats his back. He feels like someone’s taken toothpicks to his nerves. Why does it hurt? Why does Ingo sound so lost?

He leans back from Ingo, but he doesn’t let go. His hands find his shoulders, pulling away enough to see him properly. Emmet’s eyes scan his face. They’re the same grey as he’s always known them, but so much more tired, now, deep lines and dark circles around the bottom. He’s frowning, just a little, eyes still red-rimmed from crying, tears still falling haphazardly. Ingo sniffles. His hair lies the same, despite being unkept, and he’s got a terrible facial hair situation going on, like he’d forgotten how to use a razor. When Emmet studies him, Ingo’s face goes soft. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but shuts it when Emmet frowns.

“Ingo,” Emmet says, frown deepening, eyebrows furrowing. He sniffles. He prods at the hollow of his cheek, looking perplexed. “You look horrible, like someone’s shaken twenty pounds off you.”

“Ah,” Ingo says, looking away.

“You may be much stronger than you were, but you look like you may fall over if I let you go.”

Ingo swallows. His expression morphs a few times, until he shuts his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I might.”

“Ah!” Emmet says, holding to his shoulders a bit tighter. Ingo smiles, just the sides of his mouth lifting. It feels right. “Don’t.”

Ingo snorts.

“I’ll try.”

Emmet nods, mouth a fine line. Ingo’s eyes flick over his face, this time. Emmet feels like pokemon under a magnifying glass being scrutinized. Ingo watches as Emmet blinks tears away, watches them track over his face, and watches as he reaches up to wipe them. Emmet shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softening at the end unexpectedly. He swallows down a wave of cold guilt. Ingo’s hands clasp around his biceps.

“Emmet—” he starts.

“It’s okay,” Emmet manages out, expression cracking. He sniffles in, pulling in a fast breath as he does. He hears it catch, feels the shudder than comes with it. “You—it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Ingo says meekly, loosening his grip. Emmet’s wobbly smile falters, just for a moment.

“That’s good,” Emmet sighs. He blinks a few times, sniffs again, wipes at his face. Ingo’s hands fall away from his arms and into his own lap.

The frown lingers on Ingo’s face long after he’s dropped his hands. Emmet rises to a slow, shaky stand. Stuffing his gloves in his pocket, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, giving Ingo a watery smile. When Ingo looks up at him, Emmet feels something click into his chest, warm, full, and settling. He smiles wider, enough to feel his eyes start to squint shut, enough to watch Ingo copy him, and the smile looks so natural on his face. It’s good. This is good. This. Feels. Good. It feels good.

“I don’t think you should sit on the floor anymore, Ingo,” Emmet says. He extends his hand.

“I think I’m a bit too old for it,” Ingo tells him. Ingo takes it. He holds his warm hand, half palm and half wrist. Emotion tumbles in his chest, painfully tight, as he leads Ingo toward the tunnel entrance.

There’s something Ingo isn’t saying. Emmet knows it’s important. It’s not important enough to say now, that is, but he can feel it in the air of Ingo next to him as they duck into the empty station, back to the office, away from eyes that might say something before Emmet is ready to let the world know who showed up at his doorstep. It’s fine if Ingo doesn’t remember his pokemon, or the layout of Gear Station, or how he should feel, or where he’s been. He can’t ask him to. Not when there was a moment where Ingo couldn’t remember him, no matter how brief. He pushes fear deep into his chest and refuses to let it rise up.

He won’t let them diverge. He won’t let Ingo derail.

Whatever happens next, he’s not letting go of him.

The night comes easier than most.

It starts with Emmet sending a text—it’s last minute, which he despises, but he informs the head of the station that he isn’t feeling well and won’t be in at work for the next few days. He receives a spaced, but enthusiastic reply, and a reminder to use his sick time before he loses it. Probably better that he’s taking more days rather than less. Emmet feeds their pokemon, moving around the kitchen as he hears the shower running in the room across from his own. Busying himself with routine means he worries a little less about the question tugging at his mind, or the rush of anxiety and energy as he remembers everything, replaying it over and over again in his head. What if it isn’t Ingo that steps from the room? What if he looks completely different? What if—

Galvantula bumps his hand, nibbling at his sleeve. He’s still holding the bowl of food. He sets it on the floor as instructed, briefly pulled away from his thought.

Now, situated in the living room, a takeout bag rests on the coffee table, where Emmet is sitting next to the table, pulling out foil wrapped sandwiches and bags of chips and a too-shaken can of soda. He’s been watching Ingo’s face for a good part of the evening, seeing as lines come and go, how the sharp shape worsens when he frowns. Now, in a thick, high collared sweater and pajamas, grime scrubbed away with a hot shower, Ingo looks very small, and very alive, and very cold. Emmet pokes him with a socked foot as Ingo takes another ravenous bite of his egg and cheese sandwich. He has egg yolk all over his hands and down his chin.

“I am Emmet,” he says, an awed smile lingering on his face. “And I am certain you are going to choke if you eat that fast.”

Ingo blinks, still chewing. Maybe two sandwiches was the right move after all. Emmet hasn’t touched the one he bought for himself yet. He’s been too busy making sure Ingo drinks a glass of water. Ingo flushes, though, as he realizes he’s made an runny-egg mess of the plate balanced on his knee. He looks sheepishly away, searching for something to wipe his hands with. When he can’t find anything, he sets the sandwich down, and wanders back to the kitchen.

“It’s like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Emmet remarks. His stomach flips a bit at the implication, wondering when the last time Ingo actually had a warm meal in his body. He realizes he doesn’t even know where he’s been. What could be wrong with him. What he’d seen. He seems dazed, a bit lost, a bit spacey. It had taken him a good thirty seconds to recognize Emmet on that platform—though, if Emmet’s honest with himself, and he often tries to be, he isn’t much better. He’d swallowed down confusion just as fast as he could, and that was only a moment before he’d thrown himself at his brother. Ingo’s shoulders are a tense line.

“I’ve eaten,” Ingo says.

“Good.”

When Ingo wanders back over, sitting in his same spot, Emmet pushes the glass of water toward him. Ingo nods, smiling a little as he picks it up and takes a long drink. After he’s finished and set the glass down, Emmet starts on his sandwich. Between his first bite of hashbrown and egg and the next, he says:

“Ingo,” followed by. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The two go quiet, even with the sound of foil and sandwiches. Ingo swallows, staring into his patterned plate. Emmet watches his face as much as he did prior. He can tell when a pause is calculated for drama, for intrigue, for embellishment, but this one is full of Ingo’s mind scrambling. Emmet can’t see it in action, but he can certainly imagine a million Ingo’s running around in his brain space, trying to compose an answer for Emmet that would satisfy him. Ingo takes another bite in the meantime.

Emmet stares into bits of potato in the foil on his lap. They’re not very interesting.

“What happened?” he asks softly, not looking up at him. He hears Ingo sigh, and sees him put the plate down in his peripheral.

“I—” Ingo starts, and the stutter of his voice is indicative of something very clear to Emmet.

“Ingo,” he says, looking up suddenly. “Don’t.”

Ingo swallows. His throat bobs. Emmet doesn’t even have to finish his sentence.

“I’ve forgotten everything,” Ingo says, in a way that is so un-Ingo-like. “Almost everything. It’s just—there. Right out of reach. Right out of my reach.”

The television casts color across Ingo’s face, obscuring his expression. Emmet fights to keep his expression cool and neutral, despite the way his heart begs to jump into his throat and throw a party. He has a sandwich to eat, not a heart. Silly heart. Silly Emmet. He supposes now that’s why Ingo’s reaction to Chandelure was so stunted. Or the way he skirted away from the station like it may reach out and pinch him like a dwebble. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly.

“I don’t know why,” Ingo continues, picking at the seeds on top of his bagel. “I don’t know how, either. And I don’t think I can stomach the where and what, yet. I feel sick when I think too hard. Dizzy and sick.”

Emmet swallows roughly.

“It’s okay,” he says. Ingo shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Emmet watches his face warp, faltering as he holds back whatever emotion’s just bubbled up in his chest. He screws his eyes shut, new tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. “Go, listen—”

Emmet reaches. He brushes Ingo’s hand, and Ingo jerks back on instinct, recoiling. He looks at Emmet, expression blank, nervous, then cracking all at once. Emmet’s own face falters as they meet eyes. Emmet holds his hand over Ingo’s, waiting, still crouching in front of him. He tries for a smile, even as Ingo goes blurry.

“I’m glad you remembered me,” he warbles out. “We can keep going from there. Our tracks move forward.”

“I don’t believe my car in this two car train is very safe, Em,” Ingo sniffles. He takes Emmet’s hand, though, and Emmet curls his fingers over his, both hands around his one hand. He squeezes ever so.

“We’re known for our safety checks, brother,” Emmet says gently. “It’s just our standard operating procedure.”

Ingo laughs softly. The sound is damp, but real. Trying to be something positive. It’s all he can ask of him.

“Understood,” Ingo says. He nods, setting his face, despite the way tears still cloud his eyes, and his mouth still wobbles as he sniffles in. “We shall depart then.”

“We will!” Emmet says, squeezing his hands again. He drops them, then, patting Ingo’s knees like he were beating on the table. Ingo huffs out a laugh, shooing him away.

It doesn’t hurt any less, knowing how much might be absent. But it soothes it a bit to watch Ingo smile.

Later, sitting on the couch together, Ingo rests against Emmet, sandwiches eaten, chips picked through, water drank. His face has regained a touch of color, hands no longer shaking with exertion. He breathes slowly and softly as Emmet flips through television mindlessly, looking for anything. To his left, Eelektross snores, head resting on his knee. He runs a hand absently along the scales at the top of his head, listening to the drone of purr and the chatter of late night television.

“Brother,” Emmet says softly. “Ingo.”

Ingo makes no sound. His breath stays even and slow. Emmet snorts. Right. He supposes it’s payback—he can’t remember the amount of times he’d fallen asleep during movie night with Elesa.

Elesa.

Emmet startles.

Reaching for his phone, he hastily manages a message to Elesa. Something like: Come over ASAP. Good news. Very good. About Ingo.

But his message reads in all lowercase like a run-on sentence, so he hopes in the morning Elesa will decipher it.

Emmet leans back, Ingo’s sleeping weight falling to Emmet’s side as he lies down on the couch cushions. His brother only partially adjusts in his sleep, better tucking into one side, head on his shoulder. Warm with sleep and food, Emmet lets his eyes unfocus. There’s too much static resting right under his skin to let him sleep.

This is good, though. A moment of reprieve for him, and desperately needed for Ingo. Maybe in the morning they’ll talk about getting rid of that ridiculous beard of his.

Emmet hums softly to himself. He listens to the drone of the television for a moment, blissfully tired. There’s a moment of quiet just long enough to feel sleep tug at him.

Someone pounds on his door.

Ah. Well.

Miscalculation on his part, then.

#submas #subway master emmet #subway master ingo #pokemon black and white #pokemon fic #pokemon black and white fic #submas fic #it's very. this is very special to me #i think it could be longer! and a little more detailed! and i think i wanna come back to it at some point and post it on ao3 #it's kind of like this. oh well i've seen other executions i like just as much as what i decided #and it makes me wanna weave more in #i think i could eventually but not today LMAO #maybe once i post my other fic i'll rewrite this as the second chapter. big eyes.#yesyes.. that's what i'll do < shut up tuna

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holly-the-trash-writer · 2 years

Text

Matching

Eleveneth Doctor x Fem!Reader

For an annonymous request!

Synopsis: For their movie date Y/n got them matching bowtie pyjamas and the Doctor loves them!

Word Count: 1,183

A/N: I'm going to stop doing requests for a little while. I have a serious case of writers block and also wanting to write for other things. I will try and get through the requests I have and then take a little break. But I hope to be writing for Eleven again soon! I love you all!

Y/n rushed around the apartment as she got everything ready for their movie night.

She had finally got him to agree to it as long as she followed a few ground rules.

Rule Number 1: Stay away from alien movies. The Doctor begins ranting about inaccuracies, the racisim and gets insulted about the portrayal of aliens in movies.

"Do I look like I have green skin or huge eyes? In all my years I have never seen any species look like that! I have seen Martians and that is not one of them!"

Rule Number 2: There must be many snacks provided.

Rule Number 3: It must not be boring.

So, with these rules in mind Y/n decided to go for 'Back to the Future Part I'.

She wanted to ask so many questions and also she wanted to hear the Doctor's opinion about the time travel in the movie.

She set down a plate of Jammie Dodgers on the table next to the bowl of jelly babies. There were two bags of popcorn sitting in the kitchen ready for popping and her secret surprise was sitting wrapped on the sofa.

There wasn't long to wait before she heard the familiar mechanical scraping noise coming from her bedroom. She ran into the kitchen and turned on the microwave before rushing to her bedroom.

She opened the door to see the Tardis cramped beside the wall and her bed. The Doctor was standing with his feet crossed and he was leaning back on the frame of the door, "Hi honey, I'm home."

Y/n's smile was dazzling him as she bolted across the room, "Doctor!"

He quickly stood straight and opened his arms for Y/n to jump into, "Ah, There's my girl." He caught her around the waist and spun her around happily. He set her down and pulled back grinning, "Am I late?"

Y/n giggled and straightened his lapels, "For once, you are right on time."

The Doctor smiled and clapped his hands, "So! What's the plan?"

"It's movie night!" Y/n yelled excitedly and grabbed one of his hands and pulled him out of the bedroom, through the hall and into the living room. Spreading her arms out and pointing to all the snacks she left on the table, "Ta da!"

The Doctor looked at the scene in front of him, the T.V was sitting paused on a movie, there were some of his favourite Earth sweets on the table, a large blanket that he had gotten her from a market they went to on another planet a few months ago and two differently wrapped packages sat in the middle of the sofa.

He grinned at the sight and ran over to the table, grabbing one of the biscuits and biting into three-quarters of it, "You can't beat a Jammie Dodger." He stated as crumbs flew out of his mouth.

Y/n smiled and walked over to the sofa to grab one of the presents, presenting it to the Doctor.

"Is it my birthday?" He greedily took the present from her and inspected it, how soft it was gave him the impression that it was clothes on the inside, "No, wait. It isn't my birthday." Thinking on it for a moment he raised a finger, "Actually, it could be. It's been so long I could have forgotten." His eyes sparkled at a new realisation, "I could choose a new birthday!"

Y/n placed her hands over his, "It isn't your birthday. I saw them in the shop and I thought of you."

The Doctor giggled and his hearts swelled at the idea of something making her think of him in a shop. He looked down at the present and ripped the paper off like a six-year-old on Christmas Day.

"They're pyjamas!" Y/n did jazz hands to make them seem a bit flashier.

The Doctor shook them out and inspected them, "They're better than that, Y/n. They have bowties on them." He lifted his other hand to wiggle his own bowtie, "And bowties are cool."

Y/n held up her hands, "Hold that thought." She grabbed her own parcel off the sofa and ripped the paper off. Showing him her own matching bowtie pyjamas.

The Doctor's mouth fell open as he looked between the two. Giggling to himself at the thought of you both in matching outfits. He vaulted over her arm chair with his pyjamas clutched in his hand, "Race you!"

Y/n also ran to her own room so she could quickly change. The shirt was a white silk button up with the small red bowties printed all over it and the shorts were a match.

When she finished changing she walked out of her bedroom to find the Doctor already slouched on the sofa, feet on the table, with a bowl of popcorn on his lap, his own pyjamas were the same material as her own but instead of her shorts and short sleeves he had long-sleeves for his shirt and trousers. He was grinning while throwing popcorn in the air and trying to catch it with his mouth. There were a few pieces scattered on the sofa, floor and his lap that had came from previous attempts.

"Having fun?" She teased him as she fluffed his hair and hopped over his legs to sit down next to him.

"You took too long." He whined before raising his arm to let Y/n cuddle into his side.

Y/n leaned up to kiss his cheek, "My apologies."

The Doctor blushed furiously and stuttered, "No, it's- it's, well, it's fine."

Y/n grabbed the remote and pressed play on the movie.

"What did you pick?"

Y/n stole some popcorn, "You'll have to find out."

The Doctor had been excited for her choice and had been invested in the movie. Up until his right hand curled around her waist and he rubbed his thumb across the soft material. Just about daring to brush his fingers under the hem and run along her skin.

Y/n did look cute in her pyjamas. Well, Y/n looked cute all the time.

Halfway through the movie and Y/n had thought she had done a good job at keeping her questions to a minimum. That was until...

"Why is it eighty-eight miles-per-hour?"

The Doctor thought about it for a moment before he frowned.

Y/n was going to question is silence when he jumped to his feet, scaring Y/n half to death as he pulled her hands and brought her to her own feet.

"What's going on?"

The Doctor pressed pause on the remote before dragging her out of her room and into the Tardis.

"Doctor? What're we doing?" The both of them slid around on the glass of the Tardis as they were only in their socks.

The Doctor grinned as he stood on the bottom level of the Tardis in front of a large whiteboard.

Y/n couldn't help but giggle at the sight of him in button down pyjamas, socks, a marker in his hand and a sparkle in his eye.

He walked over to her and grabbed her cheeks to kiss her forehead, "We, my dear, are going to do the math!"

He uncapped the marker with his teeth and turned towards the board. "The Doctor is in."

Y/n never got to watch the rest of the movie with him but sitting in the Tardis while watching the Doctor work in his pyjamas was quite a night indeed.

#doctor who #eleventh doctor x y/n #doctor who x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x fem!reader #eleventhdoctor #eleventh doctor fanfiction #doctor who x fem!reader #doctor who x y/n

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panda-writes-kpop · 2 months

Text

thnks fr th mmrs, vn thgh thy wrn’t s grt

a/n: 0_0 ..me when I remember that I haven't updated the hypnosis series in months... whoops! anyways, here's another chapter to feed the people who enjoy this series! special thanks to @kingmaker-a for reading over this one - I'm glad you enjoy the series, my guy <3

tw: lots of blood 'n gore, weird spirit physics, double the people turning into vampires for none of the extra cost, sad memories and morally ambiguous characters

word count: 4.6k

( <- Previous Part | Next Part -> | Series Masterlist)

summary: everything's wrong. two of your friends are missing, two of your friends are in serious shit with the university, and the other three are barely hanging on to what they hold dear. and then there's you - the one who's seeing the ghost of your dead friend. the cherry on top? you may be turning into the monster that destroyed everything you loved.

but it can't get worse than this, right?

♡ Masterlist ♡

light - the absence of darkness.

From the bright sunshine that would blind you when you walked to your 10:30 a.m. lecture to the electrical lighting that allowed you to see what SuA had done to Siyeon, it was there to help illuminate your way and give you the answers that you seeked.

Without the light, you felt like you were stumbling into darkness, just as you were doing now. Your intuition had guided you forwards, past the unrecognizable mush of blood, guts, and bones that was a body in front of you. Your phone flashlight was the only sort of light you had, but it felt like a cheap replica compared to the warm sunlight that you and your friends used to bask in together.

Will things ever be the same?

That wasn’t the question to ask, especially now that you were in an abandoned part of a hospital ward.

Looking back, the hospital room with your friends seems so far away, and you could go back and give up.

But you don’t quit, not when two of your friends are locked up in some cold, abysmal basement on campus while Ryujin and Handong are nowhere to be seen. You could do something for once, have some agency in the middle of the world’s shittiest situation.

So you continue on until you encounter a disastrous scene. What intrigues you lies past the bloodshed, but you’re forced to look at what’s in front of you first.

There are eight closed doors past the messy nurse’s station - an evacuation or a massacre took place here, due to the scatter of paperwork, files, and file cabinets all over the floor. A few papers were stuck to the ceiling with pins and needles, and blood covers every possible surface. You’d normally gag at the sight of so much blood, but you weirdly find… comfort in all of it.

And when did your mouth start filling with saliva?

You force yourself to swallow the uncomfortable feeling rising in your chest. Handong and Ryujin are fine, if anything were to happen to them, they’d be the most likely to take care of themselves and each other.

Yet again, betrayal seemed to be a common theme in your life, so you’d best keep moving.

Alright, there’s eight doors. Find something familiar, someone familiar that will make you want to go through.

Your hand grabs the first door knob as you realize how ill-prepared you are for this venture. With just your phone flashlight and the will of pure fucking spite for SuA and her shitty life decisions, you pull through the tangled threads of your fractured mind to find someone to help you through this.

Unfortunately for you and your increasingly temporary good mood, your mind finds its way to settle on Chou Tzuyu, the girl who died before she ever had a chance to live.

What if I hadn’t blocked SuA immediately? What if I had talked things through with Siyeon sooner? What if JiU and I had seen eye-to-eye?

Would anything have changed?

You take a soft breath before turning the door handle.

Chou Tzuyu - the girl who never hesitated to help you out, the girl who gave you homework answers every time you came to class with glassy eyes, and the girl who helped you realize that you should give dating another chance.

You let go of the door handle to place both hands on the door. Rage builds inside of you as vengeance seeps into your bones. Chou Tzuyu was dead, and you were pissed about it.

You pull your hands back, only to slam them against the steel door. To your surprise, the door flies off of its hinges and slams into the parallel wall inside of the hospital room. With your hands extended, you stare at them in morbid curiosity (I did that?) before you realize that you can step through the room (I did that!).

With your phone flashlight, you scan the wall to your left to find a light switch, and once you find it, you flick it on. The light blinks for a minute before turning on. Although you weren’t a fan of the sterile lighting, it was better than the darkness that you were surrounded in before.

“What would you ever do without me?” A voice rings out, one that causes your hair to rise on your neck and arms.

You shriek and throw your phone - one of the least intelligent decisions you’ve made thus far - and you cringe when you hear it shatter against the wall.

Fuck.

“Tzuyu?” You spin around, only to lock eyes with someone you never thought you would see again. “Fuck, I’m sorry-“

“-Don’t worry about it, you can’t do me any harm.” Tzuyu offers you a warm smile before sticking her arm through a wall and then letting it sit at her side afterwards. “SuA already killed me once, you can’t kill me again.”

Bewildered, you stare at her.

“How? Why? What the fuck?”

“Well, I heard Siyeon and SuA fighting-“

“-yeah, I heard that story, I know.” You wildly gesture to the girl in front of you. “How are you here?”

“Being a ghost works differently than being a human or any other type of mortal creature.” She explains as you notice a soft lilac hue that surrounds her figure. “I’m free to roam between the planes of the living and the dead, and I can visit who I want whenever I want.”

“Okay…” You shake your head before nervously playing with your hair. “Why did you choose me to talk to?”

“You have a lot of questions, like usual, and I have plenty of answers. It’ll be just like old times.” Tzuyu sits on the edge of the hospital bed before patting the spot next to her.

You reluctantly sit next to Tzuyu as you study her for a moment. She doesn’t look as ghastly as your last meeting with her; instead, she looks just as well as she did at the party.

“The party, Tzuyu, you were there… or, at least, it looked like you were there.” You try to explain the events of the party, but it all blurs together in your mind.

Drinks. Dahyun dancing? Tzuyu left to see her. Video games. JiU crashes the party. 2 a.m. wake-up. SuA bites me. Fox bites her. I died?

“It was a mirage, someone was working with SuA to create an exact duplicate of me. It has to be someone with powerful sorcery skills who would study under Professor Wang, since he specialized in mirages and illusions.” Tzuyu’s words cause you to sigh in relief.

“So it couldn’t have been Dami?” You softly ask as your heart tenses in your chest.

She’s the brightest witch you know, one with a soft heart and a kind soul. Did that make her more innocent or more guilty, you wonder.

“No, Dami wouldn’t be taking a class related to that subject until next semester.” Tzuyu places one of her hands over yours, but you can’t feel her warmth, even though you know it’s there. “She’s the last person I’d expect to betray you.”

“Really?” The disbelief in your voice causes you to physically recoil.

“Don’t you remember? When you left that party and went home, who was the first person that found you?”

You had to have been crying for hours when you got home from the party. What else were you supposed to do besides face the reality that your relationship with the girl you loved was over?

You expected one of your friends to come knocking on the door, Minji perhaps? She was too in-tune with your feelings for your liking, and it was something that bothered you about her. She knew that your relationship was over before you did, and she told you to break things off with Bora before you got hurt.

What a fool you are - maybe she’s here to rub it in your face after everything.

The knocking continues, but it’s less forceful than you thought it was. Gahyeon would try to tear the door off its hinges - she actually did so to your dorm room door when you locked yourself in there in order to prepare for exams. Safe to say, your RA, Irene, wasn’t a big fan of Gahyeon afterwards.

Handong would’ve only knocked once and called out to you. You got into a small fight with SuA, your first fight as a couple, and it absolutely broke you. You stormed into your room and didn’t come out for breakfast, which was unusual for you since you and Handong would get breakfast together before heading to your early morning classes. She was gentle with her approach, and her words eventually drew you out of your hiding spot to go grab a bite to eat before class started.

Yoohyeon would’ve just yelled instead of knocking - knocking was never really her style, anyways. She was your best friend, after all, so the door was always unlocked for her. She’d just yell before storming in, something along the lines of “you better have clothes on, otherwise you’re paying for our joint therapy session!”

Siyeon wouldn’t have knocked - you always went over to her place. Most of the time it was to pick up SuA, or to just hang out with all of the girls since their dorm was much larger than everyone else’s.

When you realized who it was, you pulled yourself off of the floor before wobbling to the door. Of course, the girl knocking on your door would be gentle yet persistent, quiet yet certain. Your first true college friend, your closest confidant - Lee Yubin.

It’s not like you didn’t trust Yoohyeon with all of your secrets - you both know too much about each other to not be friends anymore. Sometimes, you just want to talk to that friend who just listens to what you have to say. They don’t always offer advice or help, but a comforting shoulder and reassuring words are always found with them.

When you open the door, Dami’s not prepared with a humorous quip or a warm hug.

“Can I come in?” Is the only request she makes, with a gentle kindness twinkling in her eyes.

You mumble your answer before opening up the door wide enough for her to enter, and you shut it behind her before turning on a light in your dorm room.

“What did you hear?” You ask, knowing how… creative SuA’s storytelling can be when it comes to people she doesn’t like.

“It doesn’t matter. I want to hear what happened from you.” She reaches over to you and holds out her hand. “Your word matters more to me than SuA’s, or anyone else’s, for that matter. I believe you, I trust you, and I know you.”

So you tell her all of it. Some of the relationship issues you’ve been having to Minji’s break-up comments to the events at the party to how you got back home.

When you’re done, all you can do is scan her face to see how she reacts. Dami, ever the calming wave crashing against the shoreline, reflects empathy and kindness towards you as you finally take her hand.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I could’ve walked you home. You shouldn’t have been alone after all of that.” She says as you bite your lip.

Through tears, you can’t help but choke out a laugh.

“Are you alright?” She instinctively cups your face and brings it closer to hers, but you shake your head and smile.

“Only a true martyr blames herself for other people’s actions. Dami,” You lightly squeeze her hand, “I’m just glad you’re here. I’d much rather talk with you than anyone else.”

“Not Yoohyeon?” In disbelief, she lets go of your face.

You find yourself missing her warmth before you answer.

“Not even Yoohyeon. You’re irreplaceable to me, Dami. I hope we’re close for the rest of our lives because I can’t imagine what I would do without you.”

“…Right.” Heat flocks to your face as you nervously bite your lip. “How could I ever doubt her? Dami put her freedom, her ability to practice magic, and her scholarships on the line to save me. Who does that for a friend?”

“A good person,” Tzuyu quickly answers, “and you know it’s not Gahyeon either. She killed someone for you - a former friend of hers, no less.”

“I need to get them out of there, save them-“

“I assure you, those two are not damsels in distress.” Tzuyu laughs to herself for a moment. “The catacombs under the school aren’t that difficult to navigate.”

“Why lock them up there instead of a prison?” You ask.

“The university didn’t want news getting out about two dead students - bad for enrollment rates. They wanted to sort this mess out in private, but it’s all going to come out in one way or another.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Tzuyu confidently says.

“What do I do now? What about Ryujin and Handong?” Confused, you look to Tzuyu for answers.

“Try more doors. If you found me, then you can find the other answers you seek.” She wistfully responds.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be here when you need me. What else am I going to do for the rest of eternity?”

With a broken phone and a ghastly thumbs up from Tzuyu, you leave Tzuyu behind as you approach the room across from hers.

Wandering around in the darkness, you find yourself carefully maneuvering to the other side of the hallway as your stomach growls.

How long has it been since I’ve eaten something?

Your hunger doesn’t seem to be settled by the thoughts of food - rather, all thoughts of human food seem to be repulsive to you. You find yourself gagging as you crash through the second door without a second thought.

I’ve really got to get this superhuman strength under control.

After checking yourself for injuries, you stand up and flick on the light switch. The light comes on with ease, and a soft sigh leaves your lips.

A child’s room outside of the pediatric ward? How odd.

You see a small teddy bear resting next to your feet, and you don’t hesitate to pick it up.

You throw the dart against the board, and Ryujin chuckles as it falls to the ground after touching the board.

“Alright, fur-for-brains, you try it.” You gruffly say before stepping aside.

“I’d prefer you call me Jinnie over that.” She calmly says before picking up the dart and casually throwing it.

And, of course, it’s a bullseye.

She gives you a sweet smile as you give her a sweet two-finger salute, one on each hand. Mature as ever, she sticks her tongue out at you as the carnival worker grabs her an oversized pink unicorn.

“Good luck fitting that abomination in your dorm.” You laugh as Ryujin proudly holds the plushie in her arms.

“Lucky for you, it’s going on the top of my car as a hood decoration!”

You loudly groan as Ryujin laughs. Neither of you notice the pair of friends approaching you until a yellow snow cone lands on the giant unicorn’s belly.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” The taller girl, with long, black hair, quickly apologizes before grabbing some napkins and helping Ryujin clean it up.

“It looks like my unicorn pissed itself!” She whines as you softly laugh.

Your eyes peel away from the sight as you realize who the other girl is.

“Dami, right? We met at orientation.” You give Dami a warm smile that she reciprocates.

“Yeah. Sorry I haven’t been responding to your texts, I was busy moving in-“

“-Nah, it’s alright,” You reassure her, “I’ve been busy trying to adapt to college life as well. How about we meet for lunch tomorrow and we can catch up?”

“That sounds great.” She gracefully accepts your offer before turning towards JiU and Ryujin. “That’s JiU - most of us call her Minji, though. She’s one of my close friends and we went to high school together.”

“Minji, huh?” Your eyes focus on Ryujin. “Ryujin’s been my best friend since I started walking. People thought we were weird, since she was a werewolf and I was a human, but we made it work.”

“Our friend group has a vampire and a vampire hunter, so it can’t get any weirder than that.”

“Your friends sound like fun. I’d love to meet them sometime.” You say as Ryujin dejectedly walks back to you. “Did you clean up your unicorn’s little accident?”

“It mostly came out, I’ll just put some bleach on it when I get home.” She shrugs as JiU nervously plays with a strand of hair.

“Please, let me make it up to you. I still have two food vouchers from the university that I haven’t used yet,” Minji hands them to you before turning back to Ryujin, "and I got this teddy bear at another game earlier, but I’ve got plenty of stuffed animals at home, so you should take it.”

“I’ll take the food vouchers,” Ryujin snatches them from your hand before handing you the teddy bear, “you can have the bear.”

Ryujin walks away, leaving you to say your goodbyes.

“It’s been great to catch up, Dami, and I look forward to lunch tomorrow!” You wave at her with a smile before backpedaling towards Ryujin. “Thank you, Minji, for the bear. I promise to treasure it.”

You set the teddy bear down on the bed before grabbing the bedsheet and pulling it up to the pillow.

“I can’t believe we got a whole house to ourselves for a sleepover!” Gahyeon cheers before crashing against the bed.

“Don’t get too excited, Gahyeon,” Handong warns, “we’ll have to have the place spotless; otherwise, SuA will have our asses.”

You set your stuff down on a bed in the next room over as Handong and Gahyeon converse in the distance. Yoohyeon leans against the doorway as you start to unpack your overnight bag.

“Getting comfortable?” She teases before sliding into the room.

“I’m trying to.” You sigh before tossing the bag aside and flopping on the bed. “Yooh, can I tell you something?”

“If you’re going to tell me something weird, I have to start charging you for therapy sessions-“

“How do you deal with liking one of your friends?” You honestly ask Yoohyeon as she loudly gasps.

“YOU LIKE SOMEONE-“ She shouts, loud enough for the whole house to hear, before you have a chance to close the door. “And you didn’t tell me first?”

“To be fair, I haven’t told anyone else yet, so you will be the first.” You offer her some semblance of comfort as your heart races in your chest - you were really going to say what you were feeling out loud, huh?

“So… who is it?” She asks before you sigh deeply.

“It’s someone I’d never thought I’d fall for, in all honesty. Someone who understands me in a way that no one else has.” You confess as Yoohyeon squeals.

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about! It has to be-“

“-SuA.” You quickly breathe out as Yoohyeon blinks at you once, twice, and then thrice.

“Oh shit, well, good for you!” Yoohyeon scrambles for the right words as you fold your arms.

“No words of comfort or reassurance?” You ask as she shrugs.

“SuA’s not out of your league, but she wasn’t who I was expecting, in all honesty. I didn’t know you two were close.” Yoohyeon says.

“So you’re okay with SuA and I being together if she says yes to a first date?”

Yoohyeon takes your hand and gently squeezes it.

“I’m your best friend. I’d tell you if you were doing something stupid, trust me.”

You choke out a laugh before grabbing the pillow and putting it back into place.

“Minji, I’m so sorry to bother you.” You softly say before she hands you a glass of tea.

“No, it’s alright, it’s what friends are for. What did you need to talk to me about?”

“SuA and I- we’re not doing alright.” Your words lift a weight off your chest, as if saying what you’ve been feeling will fix all of your problems. “We’ve gotten into more fights, and every time I want to talk about it, she blows me off to go partying. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Can I-“ Minji pauses for a moment before grabbing your arm. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.” You nod as she continues on.

“SuA, she’s a great person and all, but she has her flaws. You know this, just as the rest of us do. I love her, dearly and truly, but she’s an unnameable spirit. You won’t get her to settle down with sugar coated words or sweet promises.”

“What should I do, then?”

“You should break up with her.” Minji bluntly says it, and her words carve a mark in your heart that a thousand swords could not replicate.

“What?” You softly respond, hoping your brain had cherry-picked her words and made some sort of sick mash-up of them.

“You can’t- you can’t be with someone who makes you miserable. I see the two of you at parties. She has a great time with her friends, and you look like you want to be anywhere in the world besides at her side-“

“-yeah, but she compromises for me and I do it for her as well-“ You try to defend SuA, but JiU’s having none of it.

“-you’re new to dating, especially when it comes to someone like SuA, and I don’t want to see someone I care about get hurt.”

Your eyes involuntarily roll as you know the lecture is coming. Despite Minji being the most agreeable person on the planet, the two of you don’t always see eye-to-eye. She’s too involved in your life, at times, and you just need some space away from other people to clear your thoughts. To her, you don’t care enough about yourself and she will point that out, every single time, without fail. You’ve always treated her like an overcautious, caring mother, but something about her words irks you. Maybe it’s the fact that there is truth mingled in with her opinion, or you’ve finally grown tired of her meddling in your life, but you’ve had enough.

“I’m not a child, Minji.” You set the tea cup aside before standing up. “I can decide who I want to date, and when or if I should break up with them. I just wanted to see if you knew anything about why SuA has been so distant lately.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She repeats, firmly standing her ground.

“Do you know something I don’t, Minji?” You exasperatedly say before running your fingers through your hair. “I don’t see why you could care so much about me - SuA was your friend first, after all.”

“Her actions are not my responsibility.”

You can’t take this delicate dance of instigating and investigating any more, so you quickly move towards the exit of Siyeon, SuA, and Minji’s dorm.

“Wait, please-“ She calls out to you as you reach for the door. “I’m doing this because I-“

You slam the door in her face, an act you would grow to regret. When you come back a few hours later to return her pillow from your dorm, it’s like you’ve encountered a new person. She offers you a simple greeting before taking the pillow from her arms.

Minji’s smile doesn’t spread as wide as usual, and it’s all your fault.

Asshole.

A gentle tear runs down your cheek - you were awful to her, weren’t you? - as you gently fix the chapstick on the bedside table.

“You cheated on her!” Siyeon screams at you from the door as tears fall down your face.

“No, she cheated on me.” You offer a simple explanation, but she isn’t buying it.

“I found your chapstick in that girl’s bedroom, so try another excuse.” She haphazardly tosses the chapstick, and you’re able to catch it, even with tears partially blocking your sight.

“I let SuA use it-“

“I can’t even look at you. Come find me when you’re ready to make things right, and I may be kind enough to let you do so.” Siyeon slams the door as you fall to the ground in a puddle of misery and wallowing.

Two friends, one girlfriend. All gone within a few days of each other. Who else would leave you next? Handong? Yoohyeon? Gahyeon? Dami?

For some reason, the thought of Dami leaving you behind pushes you over the edge as the floodgates break open. You sob on the floor for what seems to be hours until your roommate finds you and brings you to bed, where you cry yourself to sleep for another night.

It’s saddening how quickly things can be over. Siyeon seemed open for a reunion - did SuA finally confess, or did Siyeon figure out the truth? You knew your friendship with Minji would never be the same, and that was okay with you.

Although you were miserable with the loss of a few friends a few months ago, you’d be beyond consolable if one of your close friends of today were to betray you or-

Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that.

You lightly brush the tears away before looking in the vanity. The sight in front of you causes you to scream as the puzzle pieces connect in your head.

Hunger for blood, insane strength, and invisible in mirrors.

Despite the fact that your reflection is missing, two pointy objects reflect back to you as you open your mouth.

Sharp fangs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You rub your temples, hoping that’ll miraculously fix you. “This day cannot get any worse.”

As if the hell opened up and Satan heard your words, Ryujin crashes against the doorless door frame with a heavy sigh.

“You’re bleeding!” You yell as Ryujin winces and holds her side.

“I’ll be fine.” She reassures you as you rush over to her. “Nice fangs, you freak.”

“You’re not helping.” You gently help Ryujin to the bed. “Who did this to you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She breathes a little lighter when she’s resting on your bed. “So is the vampire thing permanent, or-“

“Let me deal with that shit, you’re going to bleed out at this rate.” You grab a bundle of cloth that Ryujin can hold at her side. “I can’t do stitches, but I think Minji might be able to-“

Ryujin grabs your arm as you turn away from her.

“You shouldn’t go out there.”

“Why not?”

“She’s out there.” Ryujin coughs up a bit of blood as you grab a few tissues for her.

“Who is she?”

“Handong, but it’s not the girl that you know. They, the vampires,” She corrects herself before coughing into a tissue, “got to her before I could fight them all off. She’s a vampire spawn, hungry and lost to her instincts. We can’t help her until we get her some human blood.”

“We’re in hospital, there has to be blood somewhere-“ You reason as Ryujin shakes her head.

“Fresh blood, from a living human.”

“Yoohyeon.” You breathe out as Ryujin coughs again. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’m a werewolf, this will blow over in a day or two. Supernatural healing is the shit, huh.” She laughs before going into another coughing fit.

“I can stay with you-“ “-You have to find Yoohyeon before Handong does; otherwise, we’ll have another murder on our hands.”

#seomjjit ~ hypnosis #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

Note

AITA for sending "anonymous hate mail" to someone on Tumblr?

The title sounds extremely horrible, i get it, but let me explain. Also this isn't recent what occurred but got brought up which is why I'm asking.

I was 17nb when this started. This woman was 7 years older then me. We met through a charity event me and my brother went to. We became friends as I kept volunteering there. She was shy but charismatic. She asked if my brother was my boyfriend which had made me cringe, but was an interesting start to a conversation.

She became my friend, as stated. She would text me every day. When I turned 18, me and my twin rented a place. I went to this woman's house a few times, but she would come to my place quite a bit. I would hold biweekly dinners at my house and I'd invite my other friends and my siblings (20m who I volunteered with, and well my twin but she lived there).

For 3 years this woman would text me every day. She was the first person I came out to as nb and she actually cut my hair for me and helped me buy androgynous clothes. She constantly talked about love and romance to me. She practiced flirting with me, usually I'd flirt and she would coach me. She almost kissed me once, barely missing my lips. I noticed some of the moves i would do, she would do to my brother during these dinners. Not a big deal to me or my brother. My twin thought it was weird but decided it didn't hurt anyone.

We started fighting a bit over small things. She would misinterpret what I said and would get upset, and then I'd defend myself and try to explain, all while she would cry. She would say something extremely rude and then say I misunderstood what she said. Just small things.

My twin was understandably upset. My brother was frustrated but stated it was between me and this woman.

It came to a head when my brother's girlfriend came to a dinner. She is super sweet and super kind and absolutely shy. This woman would constantly speak over her, cursed st her, and actually physically pushed her out of the way.

That night she called my brother and told my brother she had always had a crush on him and liked him. My brother told her he had a girlfriend and he never liked her like that. I called her and told her off for treating someone like that, and I want to make it clear I had no clue she called my brother until weeks later.

We grew more distant. If j said anything she didn't like, if I tried to tell her how I felt or bring up an argument and try ro resolve it, she would claim I was confronting her and being overemotional and would not text me back for days. I got blocked and unblocked multiple times. I decided I was going to stop being her friend.

now, during all this I had gotten a Tumblr because this woman convinced me. I ended up getting locked out after I had gained over 1000 followers (more then she had). I have suspicions she changed my password when we had hung out, because i had my login saved and it was always logged in and when I had went to get back in, it was logged out and my password didn't work.

It sucked but I didnt get back on. This woman would bring up Tumblr memes and trending things where we volunteered at and I would have no clue. She took this as proof I wasnt on Tumblr anymore....and I wasnt.

Except I remembered her account and decided to search it, because she brought these amazing cookies to where we volunteered (please note, the reason she brought them was because It was a going away party for me as I was no longer volunteering. This was the last time I saw her in person and I never had contact with her after) and told me she had found the recipe on Tumblr. I remembered these cookies when my friend decided to have a bring your own cookie Christmas party months later. I went to the woman's Tumblr to see if I could find the cookie recipe.

Well I found more then I expected. I found her talking shit about me and my siblings. She claimed my brother led her on and had attempted to have a ONS with her. She claims that he would constantly text her and flirt.

She claimed I was a bitch and that I purposely caused her to lose friends (people i had invited to these dinners that I was friends with). She gave us nicknames, so I didnt really care, but I could tell who was who because well it was about me. Everyone is allowed to vent, and I didnt go through every post because it just seemed to me she was using Tumblr as a diary.

But then I saw an ask she answered and I broke out in a cold sweat. Someone asked if my deadname was my nickname she had used. This woman confirmed they were one in the same. I was shook and didn't even understand what I was reading, and clicked the link she had added.

The link was to her writing blog. It was a link to her original story, with the main character as herself. She had written fucking fanfiction about us. I couldn't make this up if i wanted to. She used MY ACTUAL DEADNAME for me, as well as describing me to a tee and including identifying info (such as my tattoos). She used my brother's real name and also my twins. In the story, my twin wasnt my twin but just a sister. There was enough information though that if someone irl who knew us read it they could absolutely say who was who, especially since it used OUR REAL NAMES.

She also wrote blurbs and AUs of this story that was ongoing. There was more then one blurb where my character died. She killed me off. In one story my character was SA'd. It was very creepy to me. She also happened to post in an update to the main story that my brothers character moved. She described where he moved, describing the house the street etc. She didn't name streets but it was the EXACT location my brother moved. I dont know how she knew because my brother NEVER posted it and had moved within the past week of her update.

I did tell my brother and my twin immediately. Both were weirded out and my brother ended up getting a security system because we think she stalked him (he was receiving weird messages at his work and on his car). My twin and I moved and got one as well *we didn't move because of her but because rent was cheaper elsewhere*.

On her writing blog she answered an ask that basically said these were based on real people. She even jokingly said that "they'll know exactly who they are if they read this, they're described perfectly". After that confirmation where she admitted, j sent her a few anonymous messages. I never cursed her out, I never called her names, and I never said she should kys.

In one ask i said if she was writing about real people maybe she should describe them differently as it seemed identifying. In another I told her it seemed unhealthy and she had issues. In the final one I told her to seek help.

But I guess my asks made people wake up and realize. She got multiple messages apparently and then deactivated because of the anon hate.

I didnt mean to start the onslaught but apparently I caused it.

Just recently I went back to where I used to volunteer. I found out that apparently she had gotten online hate and had a decline in mental health. She quit her job and quit volunteering and ended up voluntarily admitted herself to a psych hospital. She is out now, and apparently doing good, but she has stated how she almost died during that time.

I never intended for that to happen and feel bad. My twin says I didnt even send hate and that I couldn't control what other people did.

So aita?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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daevastanner · 3 months

Text

Halfbreeds - Ch 3 is up!

g w y n

Six months later…

The House of Wind

Gwyneth Berdara stood with her palms braced on either side of the map laid out on the mahogany table. Behind her the private library’s hearth roared with a fire, less for the balmy summer night and more for the Valkyrie’s comfort.

She muttered to herself, eyes roving over the marks she’d made, the strategy she’d detailed, the only chance at getting her mate back from Koschei’s clutches. It was risky, but with enough Valkyrie Units dispatched Gwyn could pull it off. All she needed was for Rhys to sign off on the emergency status that would allow her to lead such a large number.

Nodding, Gwyn stood up straight, admiring the plan once more. “I promised I’d never let anyone lock you away again,” she whispered to Azriel, hoping he could hear her across the bond they’d yet to accept. “I will keep my word, Shadowsinger.”

The doors squeaked across the room and the Valkyrie’s head whipped up to see Nesta striding in, her expression cautious as she no doubt tried to gauge Gwyn’s distress over Azriel’s abduction.

Gwyn gave the eldest Archeron a hesitant smile. “I think I have a plan. It just requires a little luck, and Rhysand’s approval of…”

“Gwyn, wait,” Nesta interjected.

But there was no time to lose, so Gwyn continued, “...emergency status so I can lead a…”

“Gwyn, please stop.”

“...unit of Valkyrie to help me…”

“Listen!” Nesta snapped.

Gwyn jerked back, eyeing her friend like a potentially threatening predator. She narrowed her eyes, prompting her to explain why she was so fiercely protesting Azriel’s rescue.

Nesta breathed slowly through her nose. “Gwyn, Rhysand is calling the Night Court’s forces to retreat. He won’t be dispatching any more units until the Healers have seen to the wounded and the High Lords are able to meet and discuss how to move forward.”

Blinking, Gwyn walked around the table towards her friend. “But… but he’ll make an exception for Azriel, won’t he? That’s his brother.”

Nesta’s throat bobbed. “No exceptions, Gwyn.”

“Well, then he must not be aware that Azriel has been captured,” Gwyn countered.

Because if Rhys knew Azriel had been captured he would do everything he could to see that he was brought home. He had worked so hard to ensure Azriel lived for the past five centuries, he wouldn’t stop now. And certainly not after he had succeeded in his covert maneuvers to guarantee Gwyn and Azriel met, that the bond snapped for his brother as it had for her. That the shadowsinger received the happiness he had so long deserved.

“He’s aware Azriel was taken, Gwyn,” Nesta said gently. “And he is still ordering the retreat.”

Gwyn felt her brows pull together, her jaw falling open as she struggled to process what Nesta was saying. “He… He wants to wait to rescue him until after the High Lords have convened?”

Nesta gave a single nod, then placed a comforting hand on Gwyn’s shoulder. “If all the High Lords decide rescuing Azriel is a priority for victory, then yes.”

If Azriel’s life was ‘a priority.’

A priority?

If?

Gwyn’s blood boiled, her brows slamming down. “He can’t be serious. If he knows it’s me leading the plan, he’ll make an exception. I’ll speak with him–”

But as Gwyn tried to step around Nesta, the eldest Archeron blocked her path. Her steely eyes were hard, but Gwyn could see a frown threaten to tug at her full mouth.

“Nesta…”

“Gwyn, I’m under orders to ensure you remain here in the House of Wind until we’re called into battle,” Nesta replied. “Rhysand wants you clear-headed when we move out eventually.” Then softer, “You’re to be sequestered here on the High Lord and Lady’s orders.”

Gwyn’s whole body began to tremble with energy, her eyes blazed.

First it had been Rhysand, now it was both Rhysand and Feyre.

And judging by the immovable set of her shoulders, Nesta agreed with her sister and brother-in-law. She would follow their orders.

“Nesta, get out of my way,” Gwyn said, her voice low.

Nesta swallowed, but held her friend’s skewering gaze. “I can’t, Gwyn. I understand you want to save Azriel, but I won’t let you sacrifice Valkyrie troops in the high of your mate-induced anxiety so you can hate yourself for it later.”

Mate-induced anxiety? What the hell was that? Whatever anxiety Gwyn felt was the result of the other half of her soul being held by Koschei, not the stupid mating-bond they hadn’t even accepted yet. This blazing, burning fury that lit her up from the inside out was all hers.

Wasn’t it?

“I know it feels normal. It’s going to feel natural,” Nesta said calmly. “The urge to turn the world to ash in order to save him, right? The anger that justifies you going to such extremes. It feels like any other decision. Like you’re choosing what to read for the night.” Lady Death shook her head. “It’s not. Once the haze clears, you may regret what you did in the heat of the moment, Gwyn.”

Gwyn shoved the words away, glowering at her friend now, “Maybe I will regret it.” She took a step forward so they were nearly chest to chest, “But I know I will regret letting Koschei kill Azriel because I was too scared to stand up to you and Rhysand.”

Nesta opened her mouth, her features shadowed with alarm, but Gwyn didn’t even let her get a word out before she grabbed her by the side of her neck, applying tension to the arteries she could feel beneath the pads of her fingers. She squeezed before Nesta could pry her hand off, and Nesta’s blood pressure rose till her eyes fluttered shut. Her body began to slump, but Gwyn caught her, carefully tilting her to lie on the rug by the table.

“I’m sorry, Nesta,” Gwyn said, grabbing a throw pillow from an armchair and lifting her sister’s head to rest upon it. “But you wouldn’t let anything keep you from Cassian either.”

Read the rest on Ao3

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn and azriel #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfiction #ao3 #gwynriel weeks 2024

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hiddenhufflepuffs · 17 days

Text

The Forgotten.

✩ Theodore Nott x fem!Reader

✩ Part 3

Summary: Six months after having her memories erased, Amari wakes up to a startling (more like handsome) surprise. Find out who it is and what they want in Part 3 of The Forgotten.

A/N: hi lovlies! I am so sorry for the late post, I was having writers block:( But here it is, please let me know what you think, and if you think someone else would like it as well feel free to share it with them:) Sorry for it being a little longer than usual, but hopefully it makes up for posting late haha. Part 4 will be coming out soon, and once again thank you for all of your support so far love you all! Enjoy!

Warnings: suffocation, strong language, mentions of trauma

Words: 2.2k

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

"Lost."

I turn my head in search of the voice, my movements sluggish as if I'm under water. Black fog surrounds me, with streaks of colors and faces that I don't recognize floating through it. I try to reach out into the fog, but my arms feel numb and heavy as lead.

"Death," whispers the distorted voice.

I look around rapidly, trying to walk through the darkness for solace, but my feet are stuck to the ground. A person suddenly appears a few feet in front of me, a boy, and hope bubbles in my chest. His back is faced towards me, but I can tell that he's wearing a dark cloak of some kind; green hemming around the sleeves and bottom.

"Help me," I scream, but it comes out hushed.

I open my mouth to shout once more, but the ground suddenly turns into oil, and I slowly begin to submerge. I try to raise my legs up, but the harder I struggle the faster I sink. I watch as the boy begins to walk away.

“No! Please! Save me!”

Again, he doesn’t hear me. I look down and realize that the oil has made its way up to my shoulders.

This is it. This is where I die.

Feeling the liquid reach up to my chin, I tilt my head back and inhale one last breath. I close my eyes and prepare for the suffocation.

A hand suddenly grips my jaw, stopping the process, and I open my eyes. A pair of bright blue eyes stare back into mine, and I can feel it in my heart that it’s the mystery man. Even if I did try to see the rest of him my eyes wouldn’t let me, as if they’re trapped inside his.

"Remember," he said in a stern tone. His voice, I recognize it, but I can’t tell from where.

As quickly as he came, the boy vanishes back into the looming fog, and my descent resumes. The feeling of thick oil covers my face, and my lungs begin to fill up with the grimy fluid. All I feel is pain.

Lost.

Death.

Remember.

Remember…

I wake up on the couch screaming and my entire body covered in sweat. Panting, I sit up and place a hand over my chest to try and even my breathing.

It’s okay Jessica, it was just a dream.

After a couple of minutes my pulse finally slows down to normal, and I close my eyes to regain my composure, thinking back to the meetings with my therapist.

“It’s normal for people in your situation to have nightmares, Jessica. Coming out of a coma that you were in for 3 weeks after a traumatizing car crash does have that effect. Not to mention, your brain is still trying to cope with the post-traumatic amnesia,” my therapist said softly as she continued to write on her notepad.

I sighed, “I guess so, but it still doesn’t mean these nightmares aren’t terrifying the living shit out of me. And it’s so frustrating not being able to remember my past. The doctor said I should’ve gotten at least some of my memories back, it’s been six months already!”

“But that was a slight percentage, remember? Your doctor said there was a small chance you would get them back, but more than likely in your situation, they may take years to return, if ever.”

Shaking my head clear, I stand up and grab my phone from the table. It’s already 10pm, my parents should’ve been home from the airport already. Ever since waking up from my coma six months ago, there’s only been two things that have been consistent: my weekly therapy sessions, and my parents' end of the month work trips to London.

I begin to send a text to mom asking her where they are, until a thud upstairs breaks my concentration. Another thudding noise floats down the stairs, and my heart begins to beat rapidly. My fingers begin to tremble, making me swipe on my phone repeatedly until I am able to call the police.

Walking to the bottom of the staircase, I look up just in time to see my cat, Bailey, meowing and rubbing herself along the wall; glitter covering her fur. I let out a shaky laugh; of course she knocked down my glitter from my desk again.

The line clicks and a receptionist begins to talk. Before she can get too far, I clear my throat, “Hi so sorry for the call, my phone accidently went on emergency mode. I’m fine, so sorry about this.” Well what am I going to say: Sorry I got scared someone was breaking in, but it was actually my cat breaking my stuff and ended up getting glitter all over her? No.

The receptionist ends the call, and I walk up the steps and kneel down to pet Bailey. “Girl, you are so lucky I love you enough to not be mad. C’mon let’s go shower you.” Groaning out of exhaustion, I stand up and begin to walk to my room.

Walking inside, I reach over and flip the light switch but nothing happens. Huh, that’s weird I thought dad just changed the bulb last month. I mentally decide that it’s fine, and use my flashlight to guide myself to the dresser. Opening the drawers, I pull out some pajamas to get ready for bed, but something at the top captures my eye.

Lifting up my phone, the light shines on a photo of me at the beach last year with my parents. I usually try to avoid looking at it, because just like now, my lungs tighten and my eyes sting from the oncoming tears. I hate seeing stuff from the past that I can’t remember.

A swish sounds behind me but I don’t pay much attention to it, thinking it’s just Bailey again. Closing my drawer, I am about to turn around until I hear footsteps behind me. My body freezes, and before I can do anything, two hands wrap around me; one covering my mouth, and the other caging me in.

Screaming, I thrash my body around trying to break free of my captor but they’re too strong.

“Calm down! Amari, stop,” yelled the person behind me; a boy.

Who the fuck is Amari?!

Tears fall from my eyes and I begin to cry hysterically, kicking my legs behind me to try and harm the stranger. Huffing, he turns me around, trapping me between his body and my dresser while continuing to cover my mouth with one hand, but now grabbing both my wrist in the other.

“Amari! Amari stop you’re okay! Look at me bella!”

Gathering all my courage left, I bite his hand drawing some blood. “Shit,” he curses and removes his hand, allowing me to yell. “I’m not Amari! Help! Someone help me,” I shriek.

He quickly covers my mouth again, now forcing me to look at his face. “Amari,” he says in a stern tone, the Italian accent prominent in his speech, “Stop it. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. Look at me damn it.”

His voice; I’ve heard his voice before. Something in me calms when he speaks, and I stop my fighting to look at him. We’re both breathing hard from the struggling, but through my tears I am still able to tell that he’s extremely handsome. I find it hard to focus on one thing until I see his eyes and my breath hitches. His eyes, his bright blue eyes.

“You’re from my dream,” I mumble into his hand, eyes wide as I gawk at him.

His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, and he drops his hand from my mouth.

“What did you say, Amari?”

“I am not Amari,” I hiccup, “My name is Jessica. Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“So you really don’t remember,” he whispers in what sounds like disappointment.

“Remember what? Please let me go, I promise I have nothing of value, and I won’t call the cops just ple-”

“Stop it, Amari,” he says as he looks around my room, “If I let you go, will you promise to listen to me and not try to escape?”

I can only nod my head, my voice too shaky to say anything more. I don’t try to fight him on the name thing, scared that he will murder me if he gets mad. Although, something in me feels like I know he won’t hurt me.

Letting me go, the stranger takes a step back to get a good look at me before speaking again.

“We don’t have much time, so please try to understand what I am going to say. It’s going to sound crazy but your real name is Amari and you’re a powerful witch. Your memories were erased, causing you to forget your whole past including me, your best friend. We need to go tonight before your caretakers return, or else they’ll hide you again and I might lose you forever this time.”

There’s a pause after his rant, the air tense with our silence. Then out of nowhere, I can’t help but start to laugh. All my fear, anger, and confusion bubble up to the surface leaving me in hysterics. I begin to laugh so hard that I’m crying all over again, grabbing onto my hurting stomach. I gasp for air between my howls of laughter.

He stares at me in both disbelief and anger, running his hand through his dark locks. He starts to pace back and forwarth until I finally calm down and wipe my eyes.

“I’m, hehe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh that long. You do realize how crazy you sound, right?.”

Snapping his fingers, he smiles like he just thought of the most brilliant thing in the world.

“I can prove to you I’m not crazy amorina,” he rushes, “You mentioned seeing me in your dream. You know me Amari, you just have to try to remember.”

Remember. That’s what the pair of blue eyes in my dream said to me.

Noticing my hesitation on a rebuttal, his smile widens and he reaches for something in his back pocket. Thinking it’s a gun, I instinctively put my hands up to protect myself. The boy chuckles and instead pulls out a fancy stick.

“Watch,” he breathes out, and with a quick flick of his wrist, light leaves his wand and enters my lamps. I am stunned into silence, and watch as he says words in a foreign language, and the light quickly retreats back into the stick.

“What…was that?”

Before he can respond, I hear the front door slam open and my parents calling out my name. With wide eyes I look at the boy, not knowing if I should call for help or shove him out the window to escape.

“Shit, we’re out of time, they know I’m here. We have to go,” he curses, and runs to lock my door.

“Wait, go? Go where?”

He takes hold of my hand, and I try to reel it back but he doesn’t let go.

“You have to trust me,” he says with an intense look behind his eyes.

The door explodes behind him, and he leans over to protect me from the blast and flying wood shards. My parents run in with sticks in their hands similar to the strangers’, and look frantically around before they finally spot us. My mother points her stick at us, shouting some foreign words, but before I can comprehend what she’s saying, my vision blacks out and I feel as though I’m flying.

After a couple of seconds, I recover consciousness and stumble to regain my balance. Gasping like I just got the wind knocked out of me, I look at my surroundings. The boy stands next to me acting perfectly normal, as if he felt nothing. Green pine trees surround us, the sound of birds calling come from every direction, and a beautiful lake can be seen to the right through the trees.

“Where…where are we? What’d you do?”

He turns and smiles at me, the type that can melt any girl's heart.

“We’re near my family’s vacation home bella. Nowhere near London and the muggles thank goodness,” he chuckles and begins to walk towards the clearing.

Standing my ground, I wrap my arms around me for comfort, “Muggles? Your vacation home? I demand you take me back to my home right now!”

I can hear him laughing, and he stops to look at me over his shoulder.

“No way, we’re going to figure out how to bring back your memories. Now are you coming or not?”

I huff, “No I’m not going with you! You’re crazy, talking about bringing back my memories!”

Shrugging his shoulders, he continues to walk and gives me a quick wave, “Suit yourself but I suggest you should follow, because the forest isn’t a forgiving place at night.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I lay out the pro’s and con’s in my head. Either I end up being murdered by this crazy man, or, I can die in the forest by who knows what… crazy man it is!

Groaning in defeat, I begin to follow him. “Wait up,” I call out to him, “Before I continue to follow you, at least tell me one thing. Who are you?”

He stops once more and waits for me to reach him, a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“The name’s Theodore Nott, but Theo just for you, mi amor.”

And with that, we continue to walk towards the lake side by side; the sun setting behind us.

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artiststarme · 1 year

Text

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 20 (Epilogue)

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 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

The series is finished! Thank you for everyone that read it and stuck with me through the 20 parts, I know it was a lot and ended up being much longer than I anticipated for my first fic. Thank you very much for your kind comments. I plan on posting my next fic sometime in the next couple of days, if you'd like to be tagged in that, let me know!

~*~*~*~

The trio were thriving in Chicago. It had been roughly a month since they had all three moved into a two-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the coffee shop and a little longer than that since they’d all moved away from Hawkins. All three of them were having the time of their lives.

Steve had been picking up extra hours at the coffee shop with Betty to try and make some extra money. He loved working as a barista and being challenged to make the most asinine of orders. What he loved even more is when he looked up on boring weekday shifts to see Eddie and Robin pouring over their notebooks. Steve could watch them scribble song lyrics and math equations, respectively, all day. And whenever Eddie looked up to meet his eyes with a beaming smile on his face? That was nice too.

Eddie had accepted a full time job at the record store that they had passed their first day in the city. He could finally work a job he enjoyed without threat of violence from high school jocks or cruel words from middle-aged churchgoers. He’d also joined the band that the cashier, now known as Justin, had invited him to. They sounded way better than the high school Corroded Coffin did and with Eddie’s guitar skills? The new and improved Corroded Coffin was getting more than five drunks whenever they played in the bars. Steve was there at every ‘concert’ and cheered the band, especially Eddie, on after every song. What Eddie especially looked forward to on those nights though wasn’t the full crowd. Oh no, he looked forward to the possessive kisses that Steve would give him once they were away from prying eyes.

Robin loved Chicago. She had started taking Gen Ed classes at UIC for the fall semester and working at an LGBT+ bookstore on the weekends. While she was currently single after breaking up with Vickie, she was happy. They parted on good terms and they both agreed that long distance at their age wasn’t the answer. Robin spent most of her free time working at the bookstore or making friends at school. However, she also devoted a healthy amount of time to third wheeling Steve and Eddie. It was easy really. Especially since everyone turned into a third wheel around them, whether they knew it or not. Anytime anyone sees them, they’re hanging off of one another, giving each other heart eyes, and being disgustingly lovey-dovey in general.

~*~*~*~

By far the best part of moving in together in the city for Steve was waking up to Eddie in the morning on their days off. They would lie in bed for hours just talking or kissing or talking and kissing. Today, they were talking about their future in Chicago.

Steve was watching the sunlight from the windows hit Eddie’s contours and accentuate his messy bedhead. “Are you happy here?”

Eddie closed his eyes and yawned before giving Steve the biggest smile his tired face could muster. “Stevie, baby, I’ve never been happier. I didn’t even know I could be this happy!”

His eyes danced across Steve’s face before his smile widened upon spotting the hickey he had left the night before. “What about you?”

Steve hummed as he thought about his answer. He was still having trouble putting his happiness into words. He felt like he was living within a dream, one that he never wanted to wake up from. He looked back to Eddie, his glorious boyfriend. The man that had shown him what it was like to be cared for by someone and the one who had picked up the broken pieces everyone else had left behind. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. And I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you. You make me really fucking happy, Eds. Even if you did eat the last of my Rocky Road cereal last night.”

Eddie’s smile turned into an overexaggerated pout as he fell backwards from his place hovering over Steve’s face onto the pillow. “I said I was sorry! I’ll pick up some more on my way home from work tomorrow. I can’t believe you ended your love confession with that, Jesus fucking Christ.”

Steve laughed and dragged Eddie back over to him, letting his frizzy curls curtain both of them. “I really love you Eddie.”

Eddie pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose and whispered, “I really love you too Steve.”

They kissed each other for a couple of minutes before Steve pulled away and nervously licked his bottom lip before speaking, “hey Eds, I’ve been thinking about something.”

Eddie gently shook his head, “I’m flattered, Stevie, but gay marriage isn’t legal yet so-”

“What?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed, “oh, was that not what you were… oh. My bad, carry on.”

Steve shook his head, he’d poke that bear later. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I’ve been thinking… maybe I could go back to school? I know Robin is really enjoying it and if I just went on a part-time basis then I could still afford it. And I know I want to get a degree eventually so maybe I could take some classes and decide what I want. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea! We’ll figure out the money later. If you think going to school and getting your degree will make you happy, I say go for it,” Eddie said, rubbing his hand down Steve’s arm.

Steve nodded, “I think it would. My parents always pushed me to go into business but I think if I did something I really liked, I would have a really good time.”

“What do you want to do, then? Not thinking about anything else, what would make you happy?” Eddie asked.

Steve bit his lip. He had an idea but he’d never shared it with anyone else. He knew though that if there was one person who wouldn’t make fun of his interests, it was Eddie. “I want to be an author. If I could, I’d write stories that kids could look up to and be inspired by.”

Eddie smiled and grabbed the back of Steve’s head, dragging him into the most gentle of kisses. “I think that’s a great idea, Stevie. Neither one of us will have some normal, nine to five job. When I’m a famous rockstar and you’re a big, hotshot author on the New York Times Best Sellers list, we can tour together and see the world.”

Steve nodded, that was quite the dream. But it was missing something, one small aspect that wasn’t coming to mind. One thing would make their dream even more perfect. Eddie also seemed to notice and after a thoughtful hum added, “with Robin.”

Steve’s smile stretched and with a small laugh he agreed, “oh yeah, with Robin. That’s the dream, baby.”

And with that, they kissed.

Updated Taglist: @nickavalens @conversesweetheart @themostunoriginalpersonever @swimmingbirdrunningrock @eddiethegreatteddybear @harrumphingtons @call-me-big-eyes @moonshadows-13 @glittergluekintsugi @cpidcupk @doubleb11 @mentalcyborg @amoris-no-smut-allowed @purple-lemonade @labels-are-for-the-weak @thebrazilianatheist @rajumat @livelaughlexa @5ammi90 @colorful565 @marvelousforlife @chaoticcoffeequeen @gregre369 @suddenlyinlove @thegreatmistake @stillfullofshit @nburkhardt @batxsignalsx @newunknowns @thosemessyvibes @tailsfromthecrypt @luciana-rowan @bird-with-pencils @adaed5 @lolawon @flustratedcas @iwillfindmyneverland @messrs-weasley @skoomy-doompy

@yearningagain @forest-fogg @bitchysunflower @stardust-era @newtstabber @bobatrash-queen @notjasontxdd @ohlook-afrog @00biscuit @grtwdsmwhr @oxidantdreamboat @the-witch-forever-lives @estrellami-1 @whatthemeepever @a-simple-gaywitch @imzadidragonfly @freddykicksasses @krimsonsimp @whatthefuccck @delta-piscium @anaibis @tinynebula @darkwitchoferie @evix-syne666 @tawghasa @pyrohonk @lillys-weird-world @superduckmilkshake @paintsplatteredandimperfect @tiny-enthusiast @whalesharksart @krazyperson @username-i-guess @ilikechocolatemilkh @awkwardgravity1 @romanticdestruction @espressopatronum454 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit

#would you guys like me to post the snippets of this story that didn't make the Final Cut?#this had so many parts but feels like it went by really quick lol #we love a happy ending #thanks for reading my first fic! I hope you guys liked it #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steddie #fanfic #stranger things #feel free to ask me questions or send messages!

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sequinsmile-x · 10 months

Text

In the Hopes That We’ll See Them Someday

It was easier to pour all of her focus into moving house than it was to acknowledge the fact she was only supposed to be weeks away from having a baby.

A follow-up to Collect Every Dream.

-x-

Hi friends <3

This is for @astridncs, who requested a follow up to this fic. I hope this lives up to what you were hoping for <3

-x-

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Pregnancy, pregnancy loss, abortion, miscarriage

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Let me help you.”

Emily cranes her neck to look at her husband as he crowds her against the shoe wrack in their closet, reaching over her head to grab the shoe boxes stored on the very top. She narrows her eyes playfully at him and unsuccessfully fights a smile.

“I could have reached them,” she grumbles, turning to face him, taking the pile of flattened boxes from his hands.

“Of course, you could,” he replies, his smirk spreading across his face as he reaches up again to get the remaining boxes before the two of them walk out into the bedroom, their appearance making JJ and Penelope look up at them from where they were helping with packing up all their things, “I just thought I’d save us some time.”

“I’m not that much shorter than you,” she grumbles, unceremoniously dropping the boxes onto the bed, smiling as he wraps his arms around her in front of their friends and kisses the side of her head, an unusually public show of affection that makes her skin fizz, affection for him thrumming under her skin already because of what they were doing.

“I know you aren’t, Em,” he says, kissing her temple again before pulling away, his hand still on her lower back, “But I’d quite like to move into the new house this weekend as planned, and that means getting started on your shoe collection.”

Moving house again had never been part of the plan.

She’d been very determined that once they’d bought somewhere that was it, it would be their forever home. A place they’d stay permanently and grow old in together, the place they’d both find what they’d always been searching for.

The place where they’d raise their children.

She loved the house they’d lived in the last few years, but it hadn’t been the first one she’d fallen in love with when they started looking for somewhere together. The first place they’d found was her dream home. A place she’d imagined long before she’d seen it. The kind of home she’d wished she’d had as a child. Vast and warm and welcoming with a swing set in the backyard. Pictures of the family who had lived there before hung all over the walls, pictures she could easily replace with ones of her, Jack and Aaron when she closed her eyes as they walked around. It was sold out from under them, their realtor sounding apologetic as she explained the sale had happened quickly, and after the disappointment had worn off they’d moved on. They’d found the house they then bought in the same neighbourhood and had fallen in love with it too.

Then, four months ago, just two months after she’d lost the pregnancy she’d so desperately wanted, the original house that she’d loved, the one she still lamented over occasionally when she allowed herself to wallow in the ‘what could have beens’, went back on the market.

It was the first time since her doctor's appointment that had gone so wrong that she’d felt genuine joy. A flash of something deep in her gut that made her cheeks warm, hope and excitement flooding her veins. She’d mentioned it off-handedly to Aaron, avoiding eye contact as she tried, and failed, to sound unaffected by it.

He’d suggested they look into buying it within seconds, his smile wide as she looked up at him and asked him to repeat himself. He’d told her since that he’d been so happy that she seemed happy, that he’d have moved them to the other side of the world if it helped, that a couple of blocks was nothing.

She’s sure she’s never loved him more, never appreciated how much he loves her more, than she had in that moment.

It had taken a while to get everything organised, but they were finally here. Moving into their dream home, the place she knew they would live in forever. The place she hoped they’d, someday, expand their family.

They’d only started trying for a baby again the previous month. Her doctor had given them the go-ahead months ago, but Emily hadn’t been able to face it. Her grief from the pregnancy she’d lost in the very bedroom she was standing in so overwhelming she needed some time to try and wade her way through it. Get used to the heaviness of it on her chest, how it stopped her from breathing sometimes, the weight of it all only increasing as they crept towards what would have been her due date.

It was easier to pour all of her focus into moving house than it was to acknowledge the fact she was only supposed to be weeks away from having a baby

“You guys are so cute.”

Emily smiles as she feels Aaron stiffen next to her, his body tensing as it always did when one of their friends commented on the small insights they had into their private lives. She shakes her head lovingly at her friend, who is in the process of packing up Emily’s clothes, and she raises her eyebrow.

“What do I keep saying, Pen?”

Penelope sighs in response and places the sweater in her hands in the box in front of her, “If I keep bringing attention to it he’ll stop doing it.”

“Exactly,” Emily replies, smiling as JJ laughs from the other side of the bedroom.

“I’m not sure I should be here for this conversation,” Aaron says, leaning in to press a kiss to Emily’s cheek, his frown only deepening when all three of the women laugh, and he goes to leave, but he’s stopped in his tracks as Penelope speaks again.

“I should keep my mouth shut or I’ll never have another BAU baby to spoil.”

It’s a joke, and Emily knows it is, but it makes her freeze. The only thing she’s aware of is Aaron’s palm pressing into her back, how he steps closer even though he’d been in the process of leaving the room entirely. No one knew about the pregnancy they’d lost, about the baby they’d hoped and tried for, so she knows that this, and the relatively frequent comments, is not her friend being cruel. Aaron had asked his wife more than once in the last six months if she wanted him to talk to Penelope about it, to ask her to stop making the comments about them having a baby that they knew were well intended, but she always said no. A sad smile on her face as she shook her head.

It was easier this way. Even if it hurts in the moment.

Any further conversation is cut off by a crash downstairs, followed by Dave and Derek yelling simultaneously at Spencer. Emily chokes on a laugh and shakes her head, and she tilts her head to look at her husband.

“Can you please go check those clowns aren’t breaking our furniture?”

He stands a little closer, his hand drifting from the small of her back to her hip, squeezing gently and his eyes meet hers, briefly ignoring the fact there were two other people in their room.

“You sure?” He says, and she knows he’s asking so much more than the two simple words he’d said. Love and care and grief shining in his eyes in a way only she could see. Hidden behind a code only she could crack, the keys to them all stuffed away in her heart.

She knew the upcoming due date, a day still circled on the calendar in their home office, was something that was affecting him too. His embrace a little tighter these days, his kisses lingering a little longer.

She nods and places her hand over his on her hip, briefly linking their fingers together and squeezing, “I’m sure,” she smiles as they near another loud noise, “Tell them if they break my couch they are replacing it.”

Aaron smiles and nods dropping a kiss to her lips before he leaves the room, already calling out for their friends before he heads down the stairs. Emily looks back up to see that only JJ is now in the bedroom with her, and she frowns.

“Pen has gone into the bathroom to start in there,” JJ explains, smiling as she continues to pack things away, “She didn’t see you kiss so you’re safe.”

Emily chuckles and shakes her head, “We’ve been together for four years, you’d think she’d be used to it by now.”

JJ joins in on her laughter, “Well, in her defence, you and Hotch are very private.”

Emily opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by a squeal from the bathroom, loud enough to make her and JJ both jump. Before they can ask what’s wrong, Penelope runs out into the bedroom, a familiar white stick in her hands as she screams in excitement.

“You’re pregnant!” She exclaims, holding out the positive test she’d found whilst packing up the bathroom her joy evident.

Everything slows down around Emily, her breath caught in her chest as she looks at the small piece of plastic that had become her anchor at times over the last few months. More than once she’d stood with it over the trashcan like she had the day she’d had to end her pregnancy, pain starting to creep through her body, and been unable to drop it in. Her eyes fixed on two lines that were slowly fading, the only evidence she had that she’d ever been pregnant something she could hold. The false promises it had made, ones that had filled her with such joy until she’d seen her doctor, were still painful even now.

“Pen,” she starts, her voice shaking slightly, “I’m not-”

“How could you not tell us?” Penelope says, her excitement taking over everything else, making her miss the signs JJ clearly picks up on, the items she’d been packing abandoned as she walks towards them.

“Pen-”

“I’m so happy for you guys,” she says, pulling Emily into a hug that she doesn’t return. It’s the warmth of her friend's touch, the scratch of her cardigan against Emily’s arm, that brings he back to herself. She steps back, removing herself from Peneloe’s embrace, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m not pregnant,” Emily says, looking down at the floor, her stomach churning. When she looks back up at her friends she sees a mix of confusion and concern in their eyes and she sighs, “I was pregnant, a few months ago,” she explains, swallowing thickly, “Now I’m not.”

“Oh, Peaches I’m so sorry,” Penelope replies, stepping forwards, pausing in place when Emily steps back, well aware that a hug would be her undoing. “Why didn’t you say anything? We’re your friends. We would have been there for you.”

Emily clears her throat and presses her lips together as she forces herself not to say that it is none of their business. That she didn’t want anyone else to know. It was something just between her and Aaron, a secret of theirs that they protected and kept safe. Something that had brought them closer, yet another thing they had endured.

“You always say I’m private,” she says, forcing a smile that shakes, “This…wasn’t something I wanted to share.” She answers diplomatically.

“When did it happen?” JJ asks softly, a look in her eyes Emily doesn’t have the energy to place, and she swallows thickly.

Part of her wants to tell them she doesn’t want to answer the question, that she just wants to get back to the task at hand, but she sighs and decides she’ll tell them. Something about JJ’s demeanour, how she’s tense herself, telling her to share. That this might be something she has in common with her friend. She decides to file that thought away for later, reminding herself to ask her friend about it when it was just the two of them.

“Do you remember when Aaron and I were both off with the flu?” She asks, waiting for them both to nod, her eyes drifting again to the test still clasped in Penelope’s hand, “It was then. I had an appointment that Monday and we found out that the pregnancy was ectopic,” she swallows down unexpected anger at how they both sigh sympathetically, finding it irritating more than comforting, “We…I had to end the pregnancy and we took the week off to recover,” she clenches her jaw tightly, forcing back tears she wouldn’t shed now, the back of her throat burning with it. So stuffed full of grief that never seemed to get any easier she feels like she can’t breathe. “I would have been due next month.”

She isn’t sure why she shares that final detail, why it breaks through the defences she’d built months ago, but it does. They fall into silence, awkward and stifling around them, and Penelope tries to speak first, “Em-”

“Can I have it back please?” Emily says, stepping towards her friend as she cuts her off, her hand already out. Penelope looks confused for a moment and Emily sighs, “The test. Please.”

Penelope nods and hands it over, “Of course, I’m sorry.”

Emily nods and holds the test tightly, pressing it against her chest, the relief she feels palpable, “Thank you,” she replies, smiling tightly at her friend, “I know it’s stupid it’s just a test-”

“It’s not stupid,” JJ assures her, squeezing her shoulder before letting go, well aware that her friend’s boundaries had already been pushed this afternoon, “You’ve got to do what feels right for you.”

Emily laughs wryly, the sound wet as it catches in her chest, and she nods. “We should carry on,” she says, turning around for a moment to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, “Aaron will be pissed if we haven’t made any progress next time he comes up here.”

It’s a flimsy excuse and they all know it, but JJ and Penelope simply nod, the latter heading back into the bathroom without further comment, the usual bounce to her step somewhat diminished. Emily looks at JJ who tilts her head at her.

“You okay?”

Emily shrugs, “Yes and no,” she replies, “I don’t know.”

JJ nods, her arms crossing over her chest, “Do you want me to leave you alone for a little while?”

She chokes on a laugh and nods, grateful that her friend understands her enough to ask, “Yes please.”

JJ smiles at her and squeezes her shoulder, her hand lingering for a moment, “If you ever want to talk about it to someone other than Aaron…” she says, drifting off before she clears her throat, “You can always talk to me.”

“Thank you,” Emily replies after a moment and they exchange a tight smile, “I appreciate that.”

JJ nods and walks towards the closet, walking into the space so Emily is alone in the bedroom again. She blows out a steady breath and looks down at the test in her hands.

She grasps it tightly, and she closes her eyes. For a moment she can send herself right back to the first time she looked at it. The timer from her phone still ringing in her ears, Aaron’s impatient pacing in the bedroom a backing track she still sometimes heard when she couldn’t sleep. The overwhelming joy forcing tears down her cheeks as she gasps loudly enough for Aaron to hear her through the door.

When she opens her eyes and looks back down, the once bright pink lines now lighter, tears spill onto her cheeks again. She sighs as she places the test in a box full of important things she, Aaron and Jack are gathering. Social security cards and Jack’s birth certificate. A picture of him and Haley, Aaron and Emily’s marriage license. Their favourite photo from their wedding. A box of things they’d ensure were in their car on the short move two blocks away, a habit she’d picked up when she was young and wanted to make sure the movers her mother would hire didn’t lose her most precious belongings.

She lets her fingers linger over it for a second before she hears Aaron call her name from downstairs, and she puts the lid back on top of the box, hiding the test away again. Keeping it safe until she next needed to look at it.

She turns and heads out of the room, “Coming, honey.”

___

6 Months Later

“Let me help you.”

“No.”

The seriousness of her husband’s reply, the speed at which he says it, makes her laugh. The sound loud and booming as it echoes around the room they are in, bouncing off the sage green painted walls. She feels movement in her belly as she laughs, the baby, her son, shifting as he always does when she is happy.

“Seriously?” She asks, readjusting her position in the armchair she was sitting in, trying to ease some of the discomfort in her back, “Just ‘no?’” She says, smiling when he turns to look at her, his eyebrow raised, “I can help. The painting is all done, now you’re just making the crib.”

Aaron shakes his head at his wife, his eyes lingering on her bump, on how she rubs her hand over it, and he stands up, abandoning the partially made crib on the nursery floor. He groans as his knees crack as they straighten and he walks over to join her, sitting on the arm of the chair she’s in as he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

“And you’re busy making the baby,” he says, kissing her brow as she rolls her eyes at him, “You’re literally growing a person, sweetheart,” he adds, smiling at her, resting his hand on her stomach next to hers, smiling when he feels their son kick, “Just let me do the rest.”

She smiles at him, shaking her head and she cups his cheek. Ever since they’d found out she was pregnant again he’d been protective. Channelling his anxiety, his worry that something would go wrong this time too, into looking after her. She’s sure in another life where her first pregnancy had been viable, she would have found it irritating. That she would have yelled at him months ago for treating her like she was made of glass, but she doesn’t.

Because there were moments, especially whenever they had appointments or check ups, when she felt like she was made of glass. As if everything she had could shatter in an instant, her happiness robbed from her again as it lay in pieces around her. There were times when she’d lay in bed at night, lost in the feeling of her son moving inside of her, her hand pressed into her belly as she revelled in it, allowing herself to look forward to the future for the first time in months. Everything she had to look forward to dancing in the shadows cast across the bedroom in the early morning light.

“Are you ok, Em?” Aaron asks, and she looks at him, only realising when she frowns at him that she’d drifted off. She sighs and looks at her stomach, at their now linked hands over their child, and she shrugs at him as she looks back at him.

“Yes,” she replies, smiling softly when he raises his eyebrow at her, “I don’t know. I think I’m just worried,” she feels familiar tears burning at the back of her eyes, her ability to control her emotions long gone, “It just all feels too good to be true.”

He runs his hand up and down her arm and kisses the top of her head, “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

She chokes on a sob and shakes her head at herself, “I have the man of my dreams,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks, “The house of my dreams. A little boy I love so much it hurts sometimes and another on the way,” she looks up at him, leaning into his palm when he presses it to her cheek, “Sometimes I wonder if I deserve it all. If it will all get snatched away.”

He wraps his arms tightly around her, pulling her as close as he can with their slightly awkward angle, and he runs his hand up and down her back, “Em, you deserve everything you have and more,” he says, sighing as she holds him even tighter, her hands forming fists in the back of his shirt. He pulls back to look at her, smiling as he tucks some hair behind her ear, “I’d give you the world if I could.”

She smiles at him and rests her forehead against his shoulder, “I don’t need the world, just this. Our family.”

“And you have us, sweetheart,” he assures her, tilting her head with his finger under her chin, capturing her lips in a kiss, “You have us.”

She nods, stamping a kiss against his lips, letting herself settle into his comfort. His love. They sit in their embrace for a few minutes in silence, both of them enjoying the movement of their son, and the thought of the future they were on the precipice of both exciting and terrifying in equal measure.

“You know what else I need?” She asks, the playful lilt to her voice letting him know the tone of the conversation was about to change. He pulls back and smiles at her, a spark in his eyes that she couldn’t live without.

“Pizza?”

She beams at him and nods, “You know me so well.”

He chuckles and kisses her before he stands, “Well, you are my wife,” he says, “The woman of my dreams.”

She grumbles at him, narrowing her eyes at the smile on his face, well aware he wasn’t making fun of her, merely acknowledging it wasn’t something she’d usually admit to, even to him. “Don’t make me regret saying that.”

He smiles at her from the doorway, “The usual?”

She nods, “Yes please,” she answers, “I’ll meet you downstairs in a couple of minutes.” Once Aaron disappears from view she feels a particularly hard kick and she chuckles, “Daddy loves us very much, sweet boy,” she says, her smile soft, “And we love him,” she feels another kick, “I can’t wait to meet you.”

When she holds her son for the first time just shy of three months later, the baby wriggling and screaming until he’s laid on her chest, she can’t help but believe, for the first time in a long time, that everything really was going to be okay.

She feels her heart get bigger, making more room for him next to his brother and Aaron, and the baby they never got to meet.

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@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @joyccreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction

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