#that’s the loneliness and the fear and the guilt and the frustration and you’re trying so hard

[helioptilie]

‘I’m really sorry, I tried this time, you know how hard I’ve been trying’ ‘I don’t think it was ever the marshmallows fault I wasn’t paying attention’ ‘something is wrong with my brain-I’m afraid something may be really broken’ ‘ percy jackson i am in tears

[ilovetopgunsstuff]

overdue

joe burrow x reader

prompt: joe cancels last minute on you because he got caught up at work, and he makes sure you know how he feels about you when he gets home.

warnings- smut and fluff

a/n- promise i will be answering some of my requests soon. this is prolly ass because i wrote it kinda fast but i love it thx bye

Joe was a busy guy. It was always something. He had practice, or a meeting, or a conference call, or something. Of course you couldn’t blame him. He was pretty busy during the season, but was practically glued to you when he didn’t have anything to do.

The last few weeks, though, Joe was sooo caught up with work. When he got home for the night, it was so late that you were usually already asleep. If you weren’t, you knew he was too exhausted to do much anyway. He’d give you a kiss, head to the shower, and pass out next to you shortly after. He’d always apologize, but you knew he really couldn’t control it. So despite your frustration and loneliness, you said nothing.

Today would be different, he pulled some strings to get home around 8 so y’all could have dinner, watch something on TV, and enjoy each others company. It had felt so long since you did something like this, so it felt like a special occasion. Tonight, you were cooking his favorite meal. You grilled chicken, made potatoes, and sautéed asparagus. It was about 7:30, and you would be done right when he got home. Your phone rang, and seeing his name on the screen, you perked up.

“Hey!,” you said cheerfully into the phone.

“Hey…” His voice was soft and already apologetic. You knew the news before he even told you.

“You’re not gonna make it home?” you sighed into the phone. Your voice was almost a whisper. You wanted to cry. How was it every day that this happened? Was he doing it on purpose, trying to send a hint? Was something else going on than work? Tears already brimmed in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry. Something came up way last minute. I can’t make it, baby. I’ll be home late.”

“Okay.” Your voice cracked, and you knew he heard it. That’s all you could say. The silence on the line was so loud. What else did you have to say? You sat with your phone to your ear, the excitement in your posture leaving you. Your shoulders slouched and you could hear his breath still on the other line. Self-consciousness swallowed you. Was this a sign that it wasn’t working? Was it only a matter of time? “Well I guess I’ll see you later tonight.” Your voice was quiet.

“Yeah.”

Without any goodbyes or anything, the line disconnected. You weren’t sure who it really was that hung up. You were just in a haze. You finished dinner silently, eating alone standing at the counter. You made sure to still make Joe’s plate, though. You put the perfect amount of everything he liked on his plate, making sure no foods were touching like he liked it.

Maybe it would give him a small surprise when he got home, as he didn’t know you were cooking it. He could eat it when he got home and you were inevitably sleeping. It wouldn’t be as good as eating it with him, but hopefully he’d still like it.

You packed up the food to put on the fridge in a silent, melancholy state. You placed his plate on the oven for him to find when he got home. It was in the shower that you cried, shoulders wracking with heavy sobs of loneliness and fear of losing him. You were so frustrated. You couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still upset. You sunk into the soft sheets of the bed after putting on pajamas, slightly cold without his body next to you. Hot tears slid down your face silently as you dozed off.

Joe’s POV:

As silently as I could, I unlocked the door. I dropped my bags on the floor and the clock on the kitchen wall said it was 1 AM. I stretched and rubbed my eyes, exhausted from work and weighed down with guilt. Of course I couldn’t control being busy, but i shouldn’t have promised her that I would’ve been home if I wasn’t completely sure. I did, though, cause hearing her pretty excited voice on the phone after telling her I’d come home brought me to life, but hearing it get quiet after I called it off earlier made my chest hurt. It was dark in the house except for one light on in the kitchen. It was the light on top of the oven. There was something there.

I walked closer to the oven and my heart dropped to my stomach.

Fuck.

There, on top of the oven, was my absolute favorite meal, made by her. You could tell she plated it with care, the food not touching exactly how I liked it. My stomach hurt and so did my chest. Guilt surged through me painfully. There was a note too, and it made me want to quit my job entirely.

I’m sorry you couldn’t make it home. This is for you if you’re hungry. I love you so much. We’ll find the time.

Her pretty cursive carved my heart out with its sweetness. You wished she would just yell at you, tell you off for taking on too much and upsetting her. But she never would, cause she’s an angel, and supports me through whatever I do. How will I ever make this up to her?

Regular POV:

Joe crept up the stairs, trying not to wake you up. You had an ear for him though, and roused when the door creaked open.

“Oh hey,” you mumbled at him. “How was work?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he murmured. He stripped down to his boxers, and crawled into bed. He dragged you under him and engulfed you with his arms. “I’m so so sorry,” he said into your hair.

This sudden intimacy and affection was unexpected, and your eyes immediately watered with tears. “I’m sorry, Joe. I know your so tired and I don’t want you to feel bad.” You voice cracked to a whisper as you started to cry.

“Hey..” he said gently as he flipped you on top of him to look at you. You sat on his lap, tears streaming down your face in the moonlight from the window.

“I just miss you,” you breathed, crumpling onto him as he held you. Your body shook slightly with quiet sobs as he held you.

“I know, angel.” He rubbed your back and whispered on your ear. “I miss you so much. You know I love you more than anything don’t you? Huh?”

He grabbed your face, holding it gently with both hands as he looked at you. Your watery puppy eyes looked up at him, and his heart tugged. He wanted you to know that you really were his priority.

“I have been a very bad boyfriend. I’m so so sorry,” his blue eyes looked earnestly into yours as his blond hair messily fell in his eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing this for no reason. I know we can get through this. I’m working like this because I want you to be able to have whatever the fuck you want every time you want it. You deserve it. I know it’s so hard. I’m really trying for us. And I want you to know it’s all because of you. “

It felt like you were melting into him.

“This is for you, and you only. If for one second I thought I’d lose you over this, I’d leave in a heartbeat. You have been a saint about this whole thing. Please just give me a little more time. Don’t give up on me. I love you so so much.”

Your hiccuping sighs were all that was left as you stared up at him. “I would never give up on you. I love you.” You relaxed fully on to him, cherishing what he feels like to touch and smell and experience.

It didn’t matter where you were, or what time it was, or what was happening around you. He was the only thing you could focus on or care about.

He pulled you in and kissed you gently. Running his hands across your middle, seemingly trying to memorize everything. He went under your shirt and cupped your breasts, lowering his kissing to your neck. He removed his hands from your shirt and placed them on your hips, which he firmly gripped as you lazily grinded on him. Small whimpers escaped his mouth as you did this, encouraging you in your lovesick state.

Joe gently unbuttoned your pajama shirt, the silk material sliding down your body slowly when he undid the last one. He caressed you gently, in no rush to savor you.

“So beautiful,” he whispered into the cool air of your bedroom.

You couldn’t respond as you focused in on his gentle touches. You were so honed in on how lightly he caressed you, afraid that if you didn’t savor it, you’d miss them. Small, quiet moans escaped your lips in ecstasy. You sat up to drag his boxers down his soft skin to where they didn’t limit your contact with him at all. You sat up, shorts still on, and ran your hand across his length, honing in on his tip. You massaged him, and his head lolled back onto the pillows.

“Yes,” he whispered.

The slowness of both of your actions was torturous and incredible at the same time. Endless touches and whispers disappearing into a night that was only your own. You slid down your shorts, anxious to finally have him. Joe looked angelic, soft tan skin glowing in the twilight. The blue of his needy eyes was nearly palpable. His roaming hands never stopped for a second. You lowered your self onto him slowly, a gasp being released by the both of you when you finally reached his hilt.

He pulled you into him, wrapping both arms tightly around you on top of him. He thrusted up into you, allowing you to remember every inch. Neither of you spoke, though you doubted either had the ability at the moment to form words. Your breathy moans filled the room, pleasure mixing together as you clung to him and he clung to you. The air was thick with need. For eachother, for touch, for everything.

Everything seemed to morph together despite the slow pace. It had been so long since Joe could show you how much he loved you, and god were you overdue. Finally, his thorough thrusts quickened slightly as he came. Your nails left trails down his back as you reached your high. All you both could do was cling on to each other, repeated “I love you’s” said into the air.

The work was worth it for him, so worth it.

[hexalt]

Emotionally immature parents and people have a recognizable interpersonal style. The following ten experiences describe what to expect in a relationship with them.

You feel emotionally lonely around them

Growing up with emotionally immature parents fosters emotional loneliness. Although your parent may have been physically present, emotionally you may have felt left on your own. Although you may feel a family bond to your emotionally immature parent, that’s very different from an emotionally secure parent-child relationship.

Emotionally immature parents like to tell their children what to do, but they are uncomfortable with emotional nurturing. Emotionally immature parents may take good care of you when you’re sick, but they don’t know what to do with hurt feelings or broken hearts. As a result, they may seem artificial and awkward when trying to soothe a distressed child.

Interactions feel one-sided and frustrating

Emotionally immature parents’ self-absorption and limited empathy make interactions with them feel one-sided. It’s as if they’re imprisoned in their own self-involvement. When you try to share something important to you, they’re likely to talk over you, change the subject, start talking about themselves, or dismiss what you’re saying. Children of emotionally immature parents often know a great deal more about their parents’ issues than the parents know about theirs.

Although emotionally immature parents require your attention when they’re upset, they rarely offer listening or empathy when you’re distressed. Instead of sitting with you and letting you get it all out, emotionally immature parents typically offer superficial solutions, tell you not to worry, or even get irritated with you for being upset. Their heart feels closed, like there’s no place you can go inside them for compassion or comfort.

You feel coerced and trapped

Emotionally immature parents insist you put them first and let them run the show. To this end, they coerce you with shame, guilt, or fear until you do what they want. They can flare into blame and anger if you don’t toe the line.

Many people use the word manipulation for these kinds of emotional coercions, but I think that word is misleading. These behaviors are more like survival instincts. They do whatever’s necessary to feel more in control and protected in the moment, oblivious to what it might cost you.

You can also feel trapped by their superficial style of relating. Because EI parents relate in a superficial, egocentric way, talking with them is often boring. They stick to conversation topics they feel safe with, which quickly become stagnant and repetitious.

They come first, and you are secondary

Emotionally immature parents are extremely self-referential, meaning that everything is always about them. They expect you to accept second place when it comes to their needs. They elevate their own interests to the point that yours feel downgraded. They’re not looking for an equal relationship. They want blind allegiance to their need to be considered first.

Without a parent willing to give your emotional needs a high priority, it can leave you feeling insecure. Wondering if a parent will think of you or have your back can make you vulnerable to stress, anxiety, and depression. These are reasonable reactions to a childhood environment in which you couldn’t trust a parent to notice your needs or protect you from things that overwhelmed you.

They won't be emotionally intimate or vulnerable with you

Although they’re highly reactive emotionally, emotionally immature parents actually avoid their deeper feelings (McCullough et al. 2003). They fear being emotionally exposed and often hide behind a defensive exterior. They even avoid tenderness toward their children because this might make them too vulnerable. They also worry that showing love might undermine their power as parents because power is all they think they’ve got.

Even though emotionally immature parents hide their vulnerable feelings, they can show plenty of intense emotion when they fight with their partner, complain about their problems, blow off steam, or fly into a fury with their kids. When upset, they don’t look like they are at all afraid of what they feel. However, these one-sided eruptions of emotion are merely releases of emotional pressures. That’s not the same thing as a willingness to be open to real emotional connection.

For this reason, comforting them is hard to do. They want you to feel how upset they are, but they resist the intimacy of real comforting. If you try to make them feel better, they may stiff-arm you away. This poor receptive capacity (McCullough 1997) prevents them from taking in any comfort and connection you try to offer.

They communicate through emotional contagion

Instead of talking about their feelings, emotionally immature people express themselves nonverbally through emotional contagion, coming across your boundaries and getting you as upset as they are. In family systems theory, this absence of healthy boundaries is called emotional fusion, while in structural family therapy it is called enmeshment. This is the process by which emotionally immature family members get absorbed into each other’s emotions and psychological issues.

Like small children, emotionally immature parents want you to intuit what they feel without their saying anything. They feel hurt and angry when you don’t guess their needs, expecting you to know what they want. If you protest that they didn’t tell you what they wanted, their reaction is, “If you really loved me, you would’ve known.” They expect you to stay constantly attuned to them. It’s legitimate for a baby or small child to expect such attention from their parent, but not for a parent to expect that from their child.

They don't respect your boundaries or individuality

Emotionally immature parents don’t really understand the point of boundaries. They think boundaries imply rejection, meaning you don’t care enough about them to give them free access to your life. This is why they act incredulous, offended, or hurt if you ask them to respect your privacy. They feel loved only when you let them interrupt you any time. Emotionally immature parents seek dominant and privileged roles in which they don’t have to respect others’ boundaries.

Emotionally immature parents also don’t respect your individuality because they don’t see the need for it. Family and roles are sacrosanct to them, and they don’t understand why you should want space or an individual identity apart from them. They don’t understand why you can’t just be like them, think like them, and have the same beliefs and values. You are their child and, therefore, belong to them. Even when you’re grown, they expect you to remain their compliant child or—if you insist on your own life—at least always follow their advice.

You do the emotional work in the relationship

Emotional work is the effort you make to emotionally adapt to other people’s needs. Emotional work can be easy—such as being polite and pleasant—or deeply complicated, such as trying hard to say the right thing to your distraught teenager. Emotional work is comprised of empathy, common sense, awareness of motives, and anticipating how someone is likely to respond to your actions.

When things go wrong in a relationship, the need for emotional work skyrockets. Apologizing, seeking reconciliation, and making amends are among the strenuous emotional labors that sustain healthy long-term relationships. But because emotionally immature parents lack interest in relationship repairs, reconnection efforts may fall to you.

Instead of amends or apologies, emotionally immature parents often make things worse by projecting blame, accusing others, and disowning responsibility for their behavior. In a situation where it would seem easier just to go ahead and apologize, emotionally immature parents can be adamant that it was something you did—or failed to do—that warranted their hurtful behavior. If only you had known better and done what they asked, this problem never would’ve occurred.

You lose your emotional autonomy and mental freedom

Because emotionally immature parents see you as an extension of themselves, they disregard your inner world of thoughts and feelings. Instead, they claim the sole right to judge your feelings as either sensible or unwarranted. They don’t respect your emotional autonomy, your freedom and right to have your own feelings.

Because your thoughts should reflect theirs, they react with shock and disapproval if you have ideas that offend them. You are not free to consider certain things even in the privacy of your own mind. (“Don’t even think about it!”) Your thoughts and feelings are filtered through their comfort level as either good or bad.

They can be killjoys and even sadistic

Emotionally immature parents can be awful killjoys, both to their children and to other people. They rarely resonate with others’ feelings, so they don’t take pleasure in other people’s happiness. Instead of enjoying their child’s accomplishments, parents can react in ways that take the shine off the child’s pride. They also are famous for deflating their children’s dreams by reminding them about depressing realities of adult life.

For instance, as a teenager, Martin proudly told his father that he had made fifty dollars on his first music gig. His father’s immediate reaction was to point out that nobody can support a family on that kind of wage. Lacking empathy, his father completely missed the emotional point.

Sadism goes beyond being a killjoy and takes actual pleasure in inflicting pain, humiliation, or forced restraint on a living being. Sadism is also a way of claiming the role as the most powerful and important person in the relationship. Sadistic emotionally immature parents enjoy making their child suffer, whether by physical or psychological means. Physical abuse is obviously sadistic, but hidden sadism is often expressed in “teasing” and “joking around.”

For instance, when Emily introduced her fiancé to her family, her physically abusive father “joked” that the young man should throw her out if she ever got too mouthy. Her mother and sisters chimed in to “tease” Emily, and they laughed at Emily’s excruciating embarrassment.

Sadistic parents like it when their child feels powerless. They secretly enjoy making their children feel desperate by giving them extreme physical punishments, refusing to interact with them for long periods of time, handing down unfathomably long restrictions, or making them feel trapped. For instance, when Bruce was a little boy, his father would squeeze him tightly on his lap and refuse to let him down. If Bruce started to squirm or cry, his father would send him to his room and beat him with a belt. Later his father would apologize but explain that Bruce brought it on himself by being so “bad.”

— Lindsay C. Gibson, Recovering from Emotionally Immature Parents: Practical Tools to Establish Boundaries and Reclaim Your Emotional Autonomy.

[peepeehead123]

Does anyone else find it extremely odd that when most people describe their depression, they all aim for or explain the same phase of it? No one dares speak of the abysmal depths it adores to linger and nest within our hearts and our pity little souls. The part that rips your soul out of you. When you’re screaming and weeping inside that you’ll do anything to make your brain numb, even if it is only temporary. When you outreach to people whom you thought were ghosts of the past or even worth a gander only to mask the fear because you feel that this loneliness and seclusion is eternal. It’s like your own pity party you’ve been planning for years as if you knew that you would be starved and would do just about anything for a minuscule amount of affection from something or someone with similar aspects and desires. When describing that portion of grief as I write this, the more I realize that it becomes somewhat of a grotesque cycle.  A repetitious and torturing regimen that leaves you with immense amounts of frustration with yourself to be back in that same spot burdened heavily with angst and guilt, sheepishly begging for it not to restart. It deteriorates me more as I know that the answer to this question is always no, and there I am, alone questioning the lingering anhedonia which never seems to fade. Personally, as the months have passed, with the help of family, friends, and various drugs, the “cycle” can be paused. However, it remains present, just in its own dark and harrowing misshapen form.  Mainly before bedtime or when my mind is not occupied. Every day it is there. Lingering, as if it has been awaiting my arrival angrily by the front door, like my mom did in my adolescence. However, it is not mom. It is more of an entity or a demon drawing me in with sudden flashes of things that turn my heart to complete ash in an instant. How I would always take his glasses off when he fell asleep, the heavy gaze I held at him when he would talk to me in bed for countless hours, the smell of his skin, but the one that gets me the worst is always the countless laughs we shared. Not just regular laughs, but the laughs that made our stomachs hurt or brought tears to our eyes because we couldn’t breathe. My dying wish, if that exists, would be to stay suspended in one of those laughs with him. You would think an ordinary person would try to avoid keeping that cycle going, but I sickly welcome and treasure it as if it were something very dear to me. A vile of Felix Felicis perhaps, if it existed. Sometimes I swim so deep within my mind trying to decipher how long this continues, and if whomever the chairman of this succession is, will fucking have some mercy on me and end it. Eventually it will come to a final halt is all I am always told, but with such an idle mind it’s impossible not to wonder. I wonder a lot. How’s that for a phase?

[seriouslysnape]

Study Buddy

Cedric Diggory x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut. Fingering.

Word Count: 1,974

“I need to get back to studying anyway.”

It had been exactly 57 minutes since you had started studying. 57 minutes since you had sat down at Cedric’s desk in his private prefect room to try to cram in as much as you possibly could for your Transfiguration exam that was tomorrow morning. 

It had been a long school year for you as far as Transfiguration was concerned. The material just wasn’t sticking with you the way it usually did. You had struggled all year to keep your grade from totally tanking and causing you to fail the class. McGonagall had been so very kind to you by understanding that this wasn’t normal for you. She was great with encouraging you to take up tutoring to help guide you through the year. Even with outside help, though, you were still struggling to keep your head above water.

Tomorrow was the last regular exam of the year, and you feared that you’d flunk the class if you didn’t do well on the exam. You’d have to retake the class over the summer if you didn’t pass, and being stuck at Hogwarts during your precious summer break was the last thing you wanted.

You had plans to spend summer with Cedric and his family, and now everything was on the line. Cedric had designated himself to be your “study buddy” for the evening. He would call out definitions and terms for you to answer, provide you with ways to remember the concepts you were having a hard time remembering.

You grew more and more aggravated the longer you sat trying to memorize the material, eventually becoming determined to do it all on your own.

The stakes were high, but Cedric didn’t seem to be too phased by it. His horrid singing was evidence to that. It had also been approximately 23 minutes since he had started singing that same stupid song that he clearly had stuck in his head. Cedric didn’t have to study since Transfiguration came so easily to him, but that didn’t stop him from offering the peaceful serenity of his room to you.

You hated studying in the library since it was always so crowded this time of year. Your common room was too loud, and your dorm was too busy. Cedric’s room was quiet, isolated, and perfect for studying. Or at least, it would have been if Cedric would just shut his mouth.

“Cedric!” You shrieked, throwing your quill down and turning in your seat to face him; “Can you please stop singing?”

Cedric’s humming and intonation stopped at the sound of you snapping at him. He was sprawled out on his bed, sunken into his sheets as he did whatever he could to keep himself occupied.

“Are you not enjoying my singing?” He asked, his head popping up from his cascade of pillows.

His genuine smile and playful tone simmered away when he saw your visible distress had increased since the last time he had looked at you. The stress was clear on your face and showed on you physically. Your shoulders were tensed up in his shirt that was draped over you comfortably. Your bare legs were bouncing anxiously at the thought of failing this damn exam.

“Cedric, I have to study. I have to learn this before tomorrow,” You snarked off; “And I can’t do that when you’re screeching over there.”

Cedric sat up from his array of pillows and sheets. It sure felt colder and lonelier without you. His fluffy hair was strewn about from his tossing and turning on the mattress, his eyes looking to you sympathetically and apologetically. He hadn’t meant to annoy you or frustrate you. He had hoped to lighten the mood a bit. You didn’t wait for a response before you turned back around to dive back into your studies. 

“Okay, okay...” He gave up softly; “I’m sorry.”

You hung your head in shame, a heavy sigh escaping you at the sound of his innocent voice. The guilt that filled you was enough to prompt you to take a moment to lean back in your chair, putting Transfiguration aside for a moment. You were reluctant to turn around to look at the Hufflepuff boy that was undoubtedly looking back at you. You knew his puppy like eyes would have you feeling even more remorseful for yelling at him. Against your better judgement, you turned around once more, your heart melting at the sight of his widened eyes and concerned expression.

Cedric had been more than patient with you. He had offered his room, desk, and resources to you to take advantage of. He had made sure you were settled and had catered to your every need to ensure that you were set. It wasn’t fair that you were lashing out at him just because you were frustrated. 

Cedric was your comfort. He was your stress relief. Your lover. Your soulmate. Your solace. Your everything. 

“No, no. I’m sorry,” You replied, extending your hand; “Come here, Ced.”

He scrambled off of the bed to meet you, ignoring your hand and scooping you up from the chair so he could sit you on his lap once he himself sat down. Your hands cradled his face, thumbs trailing along his cheekbones. Despite the fact that you had basically screamed at him, he didn’t have the slightest bit of anger in his expression. 

“I just wanted to help.” He admitted.

“I know. It’s not your fault that I’m upset,” You replied, making an attempt to settle his hair on his head; “I’m just stressed out.”

His hand rubbed the top of one of your thighs, noting how tense the muscles there were. He brought his hand to yours, bringing your palm to his lips so he could leave a kiss. He hated to see you so worked up over something like this. He wanted you to be happy all the time.

He never looked away from you, taking in how tired you were from less than an hour of studying. You still had a long way to go to get prepared for this exam.

You shifted in his lap to get situated, accidentally rubbing yourself against his thigh. His leg had brushed against the fabric of your panties, hitting your clit just right and in the most pleasurable way. Your face flushed with embarrassment at your involuntary gasp that brought a certain sparkle to his eyes. 

“Oh, you want me to take care of you, baby?” He purred, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the sides of your knickers.

The shake of your head was hesitant as you went to lift yourself to leave his lap when he yanked you back down. He moved his leg again, rubbing over your button once more. Your eyelashes fluttered that time, a more quiet hum sounding from your chest. Your hands found his firm shoulders, resting there gingerly,

“No, it’s okay. You’ve done more than enough,” You smiled softly; “I need to get back to studying anyway.”

“But I want to make my pretty girl feel good,” He mewled; “Consider this some...stress relief, if you will.”

Cedric’s version of “stress relief” sounded wonderful to you, and if he was offering, you’d be a fool to say no. You caught his lips in a feverish kiss, your mouths working together perfectly the way they always did. 

Whether it was because of the desperation for some tension relief or just Cedric in general, it didn’t take you long to soak the material of your underwear and have arousal slicking your walls. He pushed your panties to the side, not even bothering to remove them completely since this would have to be quick. He smirked against your lips at the feeling of you already being so wet for him.

“Such a good girl,” He praised; “All perfect and ready for me.”

His middle two digits plunged into you, a smooth moan vibrating from your throat. You whimpered out as the tip of his thumb rubbed at your clit, while his middle digits pumped and curled as you began to rock your hips against them. Your arousal dripped around his hand as he worked you towards your orgasm.

He loved these kinds of moments. The moments where you came to him for comfort and took some time to submit to him. He liked watching you come undone by his control and his commands.  It wasn’t that Cedric liked bossing you around or anything like that, but he loved being able to make you feel good in the ways that only he knew how to.

And he knew exactly how to.

He hit every bundle of nerves and every spot that had you writhing around his hand. You were clenched around his fingers, letting his fingers fuck you in the best way.

Cedric wasn’t exactly sure how much this would help, or if it would at all. If nothing else, he was content to be giving you a well needed break for a little while. 

“Fuck!” You hissed under your breath when his fingers found your sweet spot; “Please, don’t stop.” 

“I’m not going to stop, pretty girl,” He smiled; “I’m going to let you get off. Just keep riding my fingers and keep moving those pretty hips, yeah?”

Your pelvis continued to roll into his hand as he stroked your walls and pumped in and out, that all too familiar hot buildup beginning to burn in your lower belly. Flashes of heat, ecstasy, and fire reigned upon you as you grew closer and closer.

“Oh, Cedric...” You breathed out, hips slowing a little and your eyes squinting shut as you moved all your focus on your impending finish.

“I’m right here, beautiful. You can do it.” Cedric encouraged, using his other hand to push your hair from your face.

You came on his fingers, your orgasm crashing over you in a blinding rush. You cried out, your body falling against him instantly. Your legs trembled just a tad, the muscles convulsing and spazzing from the intensity of it all. He withdrew his fingers, chuckling at your sigh from the loss of contact. He pressed kisses to the top of your head as you straddled him, slumped down on his chest with heaving breathing.

“That was perfect. So, so perfect.” He grinned.

He showered you with peppered kisses and sweet caresses, bringing you out of the fog that had clouded your head. You definitely weren’t as tense anymore, and you felt like you were in better spirits now. 

“You’re going to do great tomorrow. I know it,” Cedric said after another minute of silence; “I’m so proud of you.” 

You raised your head to rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him with a lazy smile. 

“Thanks, Ceddy. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” You apologized, knowing he was over it.

“Don’t worry about it, my love,” He replied, kissing your forehead; “I’ll let you get back to studying.”

He went to maneuver out from under you, but stopped short when you perked up.

“Won’t you stay? I can just sit here and study...” You hinted, your fingertips finding the waistband of his sweats.

He gave a sly smirk, his eyes beginning to blow with lust once more.

“Okay, princess. You can sit on my lap while you study,” He granted, knowing exactly where this was going to lead; “Are you sure you can pay attention?” 

You nodded with a slight bite of your lower lip, pushing his sweats down to his knees. You suddenly weren’t so worried about the exam anymore. Odds were that McGonagall wouldn’t let you fail the class when you had been busting your ass all year. But you didn’t mind a stressful study session every once in a while.

As long as you had Cedric around to ease the tension, it was well worth it.

[calumxkisses]

Sweet Creature | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: i think implied smut?

summary: request - Heeyyy, can you do one, where they have a big fight and they are in quarentine, and they stop talking to each other, and the sleep in different rooms, with cal... kiss from brazil 🇧🇷

a/n: this is one of my favorite song! let me know what you think about it! i hope you enjoyed it ;)

you should read this imagine while listening to: sweet creature

➳

“What the hell is wrong with you?” a scream comes out of your lungs. Your face has turned red, your head hurts and you feel your heart pounding. Your throat is now dry and you feel your nails sticking into the palm of your hand.

What Calum notices, however, are the tears running down your face and the pain behind your eyes. What hurts him the most, though, is knowing he is the cause of your pain. He would like to hug you, tell you that he is sorry, that he loves you and that he doesn't even remember why you are fighting, but his pride prevents him from being the person he would like to be. The person you are in love with.

“All you do is whine.” he screams out, rolling his eyes and letting out a snort.

This discussion was the straw that broke the camel's back, filled by being forced to stay at home, by a canceled tour and canceled parties but, above all, by the concern of a world that is in chaos, with a fatal virus that spreads like wildfire.

He is worried, he feels the burden of not having to disappoint anyone, of being a good person who says the right things, of being a child who cares about their parents who live on the other side of the world and cannot go to visit, reassure, and that he can only see through a mobile phone screen.

“I have a right to be angry, you know that, right?” Your voice calms down a bit, but anger still runs through your veins. You walk up and down the room, with one hand on your forehead and being careful not to step on the broken glass of the fallen vase.

Calum has spent the last few weeks in the studio, out in the garden practicing, or locked in a room, anywhere but with you. He preferred to wake up early and go to sleep late, feel cold instead of holding you and skipping meals to avoid being with you.

For the first time in days, you get a good look at him: his hair has grown, as has the beard surrounding his face, he has terrible dark circles and the vein on his neck comes out prosperous, underlining how much he is screaming.

You felt abandoned, alone, left on the sidelines, and your feelings were amplified by the impossibility of going to someone, just to escape from that situation, to be held by someone else or just to talk over a coffee with a friend.

The only thing you could have done, was to ask him why, what you had done to deserve such treatment, and to spend some time together. And that’s where the scream started.

Tears roll down your face and you run your hand under your eyes to wipe them away. If you didn't notice them before, now the pinch caused by their wake has become hard to ignore.

“Are you going to cry now? God, you’re making me regret being with you. I really wish you weren’t born.”

Calum feels the pain it caused you before even reading the expression on your face. He puts his hand in front of his mouth in hopes of being able to block the words, but they have already left his lips and have come straight into your ears, getting stuck under your skin and breaking even the last pieces of the broken heart you have left.

His words hit you like a bolt from the blue. Arguing often leads to saying unthinkable words and among all the things you've been yelling at each other in the last hour, some bad words have certainly escaped, but nothing so terrible.

You feel a pain in your chest never felt before, deep and intense, and even the tears stop flowing. You inhale deeply, seeking relief in a breath of air and waiting for your body to react in any way, all is better than feeling full of pain. The room starts spinning, your head feels full and empty at the same time, and your legs struggle to bear the weight of your body.

Calum carefully scans your face, looking for any reaction from you to understand how much your mind has absorbed his words. His stress, his worries have led him to be a different person and the fear that you may leave him has terrified him, but his insecurities have done the opposite of what one expects, making he walk away from you and treating you coldly, and now he fears that he is really on the verge of being alone, with his broken heart in his hands, ready to mend every wound himself.

You didn’t deserve this.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.” You whisper, lifting your face and looking him straight in the eye. The words he used, the coldness of his tones and the loneliness in which he left you have piled on top of each other on your chest, making it difficult for you to even breathe. You need time, space, whatever helps you figure out what to do.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a shaky voice. His eyes are glossy, his hands are shaking and his face has lost color. His heart carries so much goodness and you know it wasn't his intention to hurt you, but his words were like stab wounds and you need to take care of them now.

You don't want to leave, and not because you can't take a plane, but because Calum means too much to you and leaving is not an option to consider. If it ever ends up between you, after all you've been through, it should be in a more dignified way and not because of a stupid fight and insincere words.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room for a while and then we’ll see what to do.” Is all you can say and all you can do.

“So you’re not leaving?”

“I don’t think so, at least not now.”

Silence.

And that silence means everything and nothing.

You pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and, after casting one last look at the boy in front of you, you take refuge in a room that doesn't belong to you. The air in the guest room is different, you can't breathe the love that characterizes every corner of yours and Calum's and even the sheets seem different, cold, painful. You put a hand through your hair and lean on the door, slowly sliding towards the floor and letting go of your frustration.

Calum closes his eyes and puts his hands to his face as his body slumps onto the sofa behind him. The house reigns in silence, the only audible sound is your sobs in another room and, before he knows it, he starts crying too. He doesn't care about wiping his face or stopping the moans that come out of his mouth, he deserves to feel awful and humiliate himself like that, the guilt is devouring him and he just thinks about how he wishes he could disappear, to make your life easier.

When you first met, he knew you were the right person from the first look you gave him. Behind your eyes, deep in the irises, there was a whole world, made of kindness, love and joy. You had your demons, but the strength you emanated made it clear that you were able to overcome them, even without knowing it. A world that he wanted to discover, with delicacy and patience, and in which he wanted to live.

But what he feared most was bringing darkness into the light you emanated, turning your smiles into tears and your heart into a mass of sharp pieces.

He had told you, while you were eating some heated pizza on a rainy morning, your legs were on his and your face on his shoulder. And you had caressed his face, wiping away the dirt on his lip with your thumb, assuring him that you would have love him anyway and that you would have happily shared some of your light, and then you had kissed him, and that kiss tasted like tomato sauce and love, a combination you still love with all your heart.

And now, the only thing he can do, besides pitying himself, is wondering if you're regretting sharing your joy with him, if you'd rather stay full of light instead of welcoming his demons. And he fears your answer is yes.

Duke rubs his face on his leg, asking for scratches but also showing his affection. He doesn't know what happened and Calum wonders if the dog, who loves you more than any other person has crossed the threshold of your home, would look at him differently knowing that he broke the heart of the person he loves most.

If so, as his mind is trying to convince him, he couldn't handle it. He would not be able to live knowing that he has let down another being he cares about. Because he cares about you, but it is difficult for him to show it, the fear of rejection is stronger than he would like.

So, he lowers himself a little and gently strokes the dog, hoping to be able to receive that affection he is so afraid of losing.

As Calum's world shatters before his eyes, you take care to gently reassemble what's left of yours. You're still on the floor, getting up takes too much energy and a motivation that you can't find.

How you feel about the guy down the hall cannot be described in words, there is no way to describe what his gaze makes you feel, the way his words reassure you or how his love warms your heart up. It just works like this. Your love does not need big gestures or difficult words and never like now, it is better to absorb the silence and be lulled by the air.

Perhaps it would have been better to remain silent, let the cold of his words slip on you and learn to live in the loneliness in which he left you, but you couldn't go on like this. Not fighting would have meant not caring about him or your relationship and that's exactly the opposite of how things are. He had to know how you felt and what you were missing.

The sweet sound of his voice or the warmth of his skin are essential for you, not only on a love level, but in the daily routine of your life. A routine that had changed, which was no longer full of joy and smiles, light and perfume, but of demons that wandered undeterred around the walls of your home, ready to bring the cold into your souls.

And that routine, once full of love, was now non-existent. No more words had been said between you, no meal had been eaten together and your bed had forgotten what love meant. The stars, ever present witnesses of the passion that surrounded your bodies, were now always absent, covered by gray clouds and black skies. Even the moon, which guards all lovers, shone with a paler and more blurred light.

The moon gave way to the sun, the grass grew and the days alternated on the calendar. And yet, it seemed to you that you were still still that afternoon. Sure, breathing had become less difficult and the tears had stopped flowing on your face, but even in the middle of spring the coldness brought chills on your body.

You have no idea what he is doing, occasionally you see the shadow of his shoes behind the door of the guest room or you hear broken melodies coming from the studio, but his face becomes more and more unknown.

You spend your days studying, working, playing with Duke or reading your favorite books. You wake up late and go to sleep early, hoping to feel less lonely.

The truth, however, is that you miss him immensely, like water in the desert or milk after eating spicy food. You need to be able to get lost in his eyes or just hold his hand. The headache meds don't work like his kisses on your forehead, and no number of blankets could bring you the same warmth that a hug from him gives off.

You feel so pathetic to need him by your side, but after so many years of loneliness, he was able to convince you that you were worthy of being loved just like everyone else and, specifically, that he would love you more than anyone else. And he had done it, always and anyway, for the sake of the joyful news and the bad of your depression, he had always been there, ready to show you that you were worth it.

He wants to do it, he wants to continue to hold you and to tell you how beautiful you are, how honored he feels to be the keeper of your heart and the champion of your love, but he believes that no apology would bring serenity to your sky.

What is he supposed to do? No words would express the humiliation he feels whenever he thinks back to your fight and his behavior, no hug or kiss would bring love into your broken heart.

He spent his nights awake, the insomnia caused by his thoughts was making it impossible for him to live. The table seemed too big and the bed too uncomfortable, the bass was always out of tune even as he spent hours adjusting its strings and no melody seemed catchy enough to lift your mood in the other room. He knew that when you were sick, listening to him play brought some peace to your troubled world, but now no sound would chase the bad weather away.

None of his gestures would be enough to show how bad he feels. Nothing can express the pain he feels and the regret of his words.

However, 3 years of relationship is enough for him to know what makes you smile. There is one song in particular, in the immense repertoire that is your music library, that you love to hum and listen to when the silence is too loud.

So, wearing his best shirt and trying to fix the clump of his hair, he sits down at the piano in the living room and, after taking a deep breath, he tries to voice his thoughts.

Sweet creature

Had another talk about where it's going wrong

But we're still young

We don't know where we're going

But we know where we belong

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

As you put down your favorite book after reading it again, Calum's sweet, broken voice spreads throughout the house, bringing a sense of comfort to your heart. You can hear the pain behind his voice, and even though you know your wounds will take some time to heal, the words he screamed at you lose their value. One part of you is still angry but the other, curious and in love, wastes no time getting you out of bed and walking towards the room.

The piano overlooks the garden, the sun shines above and illuminates all the plants. Duke is chasing a butterfly, its tail wags quickly and some leaves are stuck in its fur. Calum has his back to you, his back leaning slightly forward as he looks outward, but his mind wanders somewhere else.

You lean on the door jamb that separates the two rooms and close your eyes, letting yourself be carried away by the music and breathing regularly, giving your body respite from all the accumulated stress.

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Sweet creature

We're running through the garden

Oh, where nothing bothered us

But we're still young

I always think about you and how we don't speak enough

Calum watches the garden as the lyrics of the song automatically come out of his mouth. He was never good at playing the piano but, during the nights spent away from you over the years, he promised himself to learn all your favorite songs so he could sing them to you whenever you needed them.

And while Duke rolls around in the grass, he can't help but think about the thousand picnics you had on that same lawn, the laughter you shared and all those moments when he always fell in love a little more looking at you.

And even if the song doesn't belong to him, he can still feel every single word and a small tear falls down his face.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

I know, it's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You take a few steps forward and, after taking a deep sigh, sit next to him. Calum winces at the contact but his face turns into a big smile after seeing you. He doesn't know if you're still mad at him or if his singing worked, but being able to see you again after so many days spent in agony brings a sense of peace to his messed up world. He knows that this song is not enough, that he will have to prove a lot more to you - even if you will probably forbid it - but knowing that he has you there, frees him from a weight that he carried inside.

And as usual, there is no need for words, he just needs to feel your head resting on his shoulder to know that you have come back to him. And when your hands touch his, he feels at home again.

Almost automatically, your hands begin to move to the rhythm of the music and your fingers touch the keys of the piano, accompanying Calum in the melody, just as he taught you.

Duke is rolling in the grass, the butterfly now forgotten, and his happy face is illuminated by the sun. It seems that the sky has returned to shine too, not just your eyes, and the pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly again.

I know when we started

Just two hearts in one home

It gets harder when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You'll bring me home

There was no need to talk to him, or to explain, risking losing you was necessary for him to understand that something was wrong, that he had to find the right path, that you can risk skidding, the important thing is getting back on track.

“I am grateful to your mother for bringing you into the world, but even more grateful to you for being a part of my life. I'm sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. I love you and I always will.” He whispers, placing his hands on his thighs, as soon as he finishes singing the last words. His words are sincere, you can perceive the displeasure behind his tone and you know he believes what he says.

He kisses you on the forehead and, taking your hand in his and squeezing it, he rests his face on your head, closing his eyes and absorbing the silence, a cautious silence, full of peace and fresh air.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, closing your eyes in turn and letting yourself be lulled by the peace and serenity found. You know that everything will be fine, that even if you’ll have other fights, you will always find a way to get back to each other.

-

[aminiatureworld]

Careless Words

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,114

Warnings: Brief depiction of drunken character, swearing

Premise: Words are thrown around so carelessly, phrases, endearments, accusations. But when all is gone and only the words remain it can be difficult to pick up the pieces.

In which the reader and their s/o argue and make up.

Author’s Note: Ended up spending a good two hours on Albedo’s bit alone, wow I got carried away with this. Also I feel so bad for Childe, I’m sorry!

Not proofread cause I ran out of time, will do so tomorrow.

Albedo

“Do you even respect what I do?” Those words kept ringing through your ears, a bitter litany that fueled your anger just as it began to fade. Do you even respect what I do?

Of course you did, you respected him and his work very much, it was one of the first things that had drawn you to him, his inquisitiveness, his eternal questions, his determination to unlock the secrets of the world.

But really could he not do all that in his lab where all of his experiments and equipment belonged?

At first you hadn’t really paid attention, it was just a few plants after all. When you’d asked what they were for Albedo had smiled eagerly, replying that he wanted to see how different plants, especially those infused with elements, reacted to sunlight. You had just smiled then, although you were slightly worried about the mist flower freezing the ground around it. Still, it was a mundane enough experiment, and the plants looked very pretty on the windowsill. Nothing to worry about.

Well evidently that wasn’t quite the case because one experiment morphed into two morphed into five morphed into ten, until there seemed barely enough room to live among the beakers and graduated cylinders, the odd smells emanating from the various petri dishes which now scattered the coffee tables and the dressers.

It was becoming a nuisance, plain and simple. More than a few times you’d managed to almost tip something over, trying to grab a book off a shelf that was crammed with small boxes of various specimen, or almost putting a pot down on a counter covered with vials of whooper-flower nectars. You couldn’t live like this, and though you wanted to let Albedo carry on as uninhibited as possible, it couldn’t go on any longer. You were going to scream.

“Albedo, can we talk?”

“Of course.” Albedo looked up from the microscope he’d managed to cram on the coffee table. You let out a smile that quickly morphed into a grimace, making your way to the couch, careful not to bump into the table.

“Albedo, I love your passion in all that you do, but you really do have to tidy up a bit. I’m sorry I know it’s a bit of an inconvenience, but it’s just becoming a little difficult, you understand?”

“It’s only a few experiments.” Albedo replied, gaze still fixated on whatever he was observing. You felt a twinge of frustration, had he even heard you?

“This is serious Albedo. I don’t want to ruin any of your experiments, but it’s really becoming an impossible situation. We can barely cook for fear of crashing into something, and I’ve started waking up to the smell of fire flowers burning. Can’t you move one or two things into your laboratory?” You tried to keep your tone light, hoping that this time would be more successful. It was very irritating to feel like you weren’t being heard.

“I have an important experiment going on at the lab. It needs space and air. So I’m just moving everything here for the time being.”

“How long is that going to take?” You asked, once again feeling frustration rising up. He couldn’t even look up at you.

“Three weeks or so.”

“Three weeks?” You couldn’t help but let out a cry. “Albedo I’m sorry I cannot live like this for three weeks.”

“Why not.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Please look at me.” You finally said, tone dropping to one that made no attempt to hide your growing irritation. Albedo let out a curt sigh, glancing over at you with a disinterested sort of gaze. “You have to move some of this stuff out Albedo. It would be one thing if it was a week, but three? We can barely live right now, what are we supposed to do for the next three weeks?”

“I don’t know.” Albedo scowled in a dismissive tone. “I think you’re making too much of it.”

“And I think you aren’t listening. Are you even hearing what I’m saying? Even processing the situation? Or are you so focused on that microscope that you can’t see that your partner is besides themselves.”

“You seem fine to me,” Albedo’s tone continued its aloof cadence, “I don’t see why you can’t just wait three weeks. You’re being awfully demanding.”

“I…” for a moment you were speechless, feeling as if you were fighting a losing battle, why was it so much easier for Albedo so say words that meant nothing at all while you were quickly finding yourself losing your cool? “You aren’t listening to me!” You finally managed to get out, knowing by this time you were awfully close to shouting but too frustrated to care.

“And you aren’t listening to me,” Albedo’s tone finally began to inch into something a little more emotional, you weren’t sure why but it gave you a hint of satisfaction, “do you even respect what I do? Or are you too wrapped up in yourself.”

It was like getting punched in the gut.

“Fine.” You stepped away almost knocking into a dresser crammed with empty equipment. For a moment you wondered what you could say that would hurt him so much but quickly gave it up. You were too angry to think straight anyways; right now you just wanted to get out.

“Where are you going?” Albedo’s tone seemed to have shrunk back to its previous range.

You didn’t even respond, not bothering to gather anything up as you made your way to the door. Albedo called out your name once. You responded by slamming the door as hard as you could on your way out.

•

At first Albedo simply went back to his observations, trying to ignore the negative feelings that churned inside him. How dare you, he thought, how dare you take him and his work so lightly. Maybe it was good that you were getting out of the house, Albedo wasn’t sure how long he could’ve lasted until he lapsed into that horrible shrieking as well. “How embarrassing.” He murmured to himself, as if that would drown the unease. Still the fight was new and the emotions were raw. He wasn’t about to ponder the matter anytime soon.

This carefree attitude slipped a bit when you didn’t come home for dinner. Still he simply sighed and went to cook for himself. By now his anger had cooled extensively and he was beginning to feel a bitter sort of regret. Maybe he had been to harsh, though he still wasn’t ready to admit he was wrong. No, you were just being dramatic, and though he should’ve been kinder with you, backing down was absolutely not on the table for him. He cared about his work after all, cared deeply; he couldn’t just stop because it was inconvenient to you. Moving a few vials out of the way Albedo laid out the chopping block. The amount of pasta he’d bought looked comical against the knowledge that he was going to be eating alone tonight.

Dinner was a sad affair. Somehow Albedo had gotten used to cooking with you, your proximity, your easy conversation, the way the one who finished their food first always pushed their chair next to the slower party, usually to lean their head on the other ones shoulder which while not necessarily comfortable was certainly relaxing. It was lonely now, and the loneliness only grew as Albedo lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow would be better. Still he lay there, thoughts scattered and hazy. Was he in the wrong? He couldn’t tell. But certainly he was in the wrong now, in the wrong for not being with you like usual, for not reacting when you left, for still being unable to react now.

It was that thought that eventually lulled him to sleep.

Albedo woke up to the most horrible smell. Squinting he sat up, trying to figure out what in the world was going on. The smell was vaguely akin to burning flesh, but it that flesh was also experiencing a bad case of freezer burn. Fighting the urge to gag Albedo stumbled around. Once he got to the living room he groaned. Some ammonia had managed to fall of the shelf and spill onto all the flowers he’d propped on the roof. Crinkling his nose he went to clean it up, but found it took about twenty minutes just to find where he’d put the tools for properly disposing equipment and bio-experiments.

By the time he was done the final shreds of his resolve had utterly dissipated. You were right. You were absolutely right and he absolutely needed to tell you. Barely stopping by the lab to throw the bags of ruined equipment in the trash he sprinted down the streets of Mondstadt. He hoped that he arrived at the Guild in time.

Albedo spied you just as your were getting your commissions handed to you. Calling out he stopped slightly as you turned to look at him with a weary gaze. Clearly you were still upset about the matter, and for a moment Albedo wondered whether or not he should just turn and leave. But he knew that wouldn’t help either. Nothing would help until he apologized, and that was exactly what he was going to you.

“Albedo I-”

“I’m so sorry,” Albedo blurted out, not wanting to give you a chance to misconstrue his actions, “I am truly so sorry my darling. You were absolutely right, and I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that. I am so deeply sorry.”

“Albedo,” you replied, voice sort of quiet in a way that worried him, “I’m very glad to accept your apology for that, I’m sorry for snapping at you, only…”

“Only?”

“Only did you mean what you said when you asked if I even cared? Do you think I am so selfish or so careless. I understand of course that words said in arguments are ones no one really thinks of, but I still want to know.” You glanced away, trailing off and Albedo felt his heart seize and a wave of guilt poured over him.

“Of course not!” Albedo stepped closer to you. “May I?” He opened his arms and you nodded briefly before closing the room between you two.

You buried your face in his shoulder, not wanting to look up. “I’m so sorry my darling,” Albedo whispered, running circles along your back. “I’m so sorry for making you question you and how I saw you like that. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. I was the one too wrapped up in myself, in my work, and for that I am so deeply sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you mumbled, just happy to be as you’d been before. Arguments were always unpleasant, no matter what, but now it was all said and done and you could be yourselves again.

“Would you like to eat lunch together?” Albedo ventured, smiling when you looked up and gave a soft “yes”. The relief he felt was overwhelming and he vowed next time to be more careful.

One can get over arguments, but words are difficult to take back.

 Childe

Although you disliked the Fatui in a vague, formal sort of way, that hatred had never truly been honed until you’d met Dottore.

At first you weren’t able to pinpoint what it was. Perhaps it was his erratic gaze, his odd smile, the way that he seemed to look at everything as if it was something to dissect – something which made you extremely uncomfortable. But then your dislike was given a proper motive when he and Childe went out one evening and your partner came back so plastered he didn’t seem to know who you were.

“Sorry about that dear.” Childe has laughed the day after, honestly how this man never seemed to have a proper hangover you didn’t know, not that he was drunk around you very often, something you appreciated greatly.

“Just don’t do it again.” You’d replied, frowning slightly. “That Dottore is a bad influence.”

“Awh, he’s not that bad,” Childe grinned, carelessly tossing about a book he had been reading, “not as bad as half the others anyways.”

“Still, be careful,” you commented, “you don’t want this to be a regular thing do you?”

“Aren’t I always careful?” Childe shook off your worry with his characteristic charm. “Besides Dottore’s going to be called back for a report to the Tsaritsa in about two weeks. Might as well make what you can out of his company while it lasts.”

“Perhaps.” You commented, secretly thinking that day couldn’t come close enough. Still it was only once, and you trusted Childe. He didn’t seem to like any of the Fatui anyways. Hopefully that would keep him from the fiasco of knocking down your door at 3:00.

But that didn’t stop him from doing it the next night, or the night after, or the night after. By night five you were absolutely done.

“Childe you have to stop this, you’re going to kill yourself the way you’re drinking.”

“You’re making too much of a fuss my dear,” Childe flitted his hand in the air as if batting away your concern, “if you think this is a lot you should see the sprees people go on in Snezhnaya. Honestly it’s only a little bit of fun, you know how hard it is to relax as a member of the Fatui in Liyue. Drinking buddies are hard to find, especially those who share my skill.”

“It’s more than a little bit of fun. Honestly Childe if I took this week by itself I’d think you were halfway to alcoholism! And I don’t appreciate you dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night, for fear you’d fall down the stairs if I left you and hurt yourself. It’s uncomfortable, seeing you so drunk.”

“Why?” Childe’s tone was still playful, but his eyes were narrowed slightly. Good. At least then he was listening to you.

“Have you ever interacted with a drunk person? Especially a drunk person on their fifth bender that week? It’s uncomfortable whether or not you know them and if you do it’s downright terrifying. Childe, I care about you and your health. And I’m begging you please stop these nights.”

“It’s fine.” Childe’s voice was growing harder by the moment. “I told you I can handle it, why do you have to pester so much?”

“Because I care about you!”

“Well maybe you should care a bit less.”

Childe stood up, making his way to the door. You knew that he was going to the Bank, knew that he was going to be out that night, but you said nothing. For now Childe’s sentence rang through your head. How could something so short be so painful. Shaking your head you moved to get your own equipment. Today was going to be a painful day.

You’d half expected the knock not to come, but sure enough it did. Turning to the clock you groaned inwardly. 3:45. Getting up you made your way to the door. Opening it you nearly slipped as your partner leaned on you. There was vodka on his breath and it made you feel as if you had no air. His words rattled through your head, refusing to leave since you’d first heard them. Maybe you should care a bit less. Fine, you would.

“Comrade?” Childe let out weakly. That was a new one. You made your way to the elevator and shoved him in there, making sure to angle it so he wouldn’t concuss himself.

“Get sober somewhere else.” And with that you slammed the button for the lobby floor, running out as the doors closed behind you. Childe made a strangled cry of protest but you didn’t care. You just wanted to sleep, and to forget. Maybe you should care less. Well why did it hurt to do so?

•

Childe squinted as a few rays of sun hit him square in the face. What was going on? Groaning he moved to reach for some blanket before realizing there was none. Shaking his head and ignoring the pounding headache that glanced right behind his eyelids he looked around. His mind was running as slow as it seemed possible to run but the minute it registered Childe felt himself flooded with embarrassment. A bench.

He was on a bench. Childe, Tartaglia, the Harbinger who had almost sunk Liyue. Said Harbinger was now sleeping on a bench, not because he’d fallen on hard times, not because of any reason that was understandable, but because he’d gotten too drunk to make it home.

No, not quite. Childe reached back into his memory, trying to piece together the night before. He had made it home, to your home, but you’d kicked him out. At first Childe felt a swell of irritation, but slowly but surely his memory caught up and he recalled the argument the morning before. He’d said something, hadn’t he. What was it?

Oh. Oh fuck.

Running back to your apartment he tried to straighten himself up, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious that he wasn’t nursing the worse sort of hangover. Damn he really relied on you. He relied on you and now he’d fucked up and now he needed to apologize.

Unfortunately his brain had only gotten that far so when you opened the door there was a bit of a pause, as he tried to think of what to say, words being drowned out by the pounding in his head.

“What do you want Childe?” You sighed, looking more depressed than anything. Childe felt a twinge of regret, but still the words wouldn’t come, not properly anyways, he must’ve still been a little drunk.

“I’m sorry.” Childe began, figuring that was the best way to go. “I’m sorry. Thank you and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you?” You tilted your head. “Are you sure you aren’t still drunk? I told you to sober up somewhere else.”

“Yes, I know, and I don’t know. But thank you for caring. And for looking after me. And I’m sorry.”

There was another pause, before you sighed.

“Come in.” You gestured, opening the door wider. Childe smiled weakly.

“Thank you.”

“Thank me later. I want to see you straightened up. And I want you to stop drinking like that.”

“I will.” Childe promised, making his way to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to smash his face into a pillow. “Dottore was bad company anyways. Dear?”

“Yes?” You asked, still feeling a little shy. Perhaps you should’ve been more angry, but arguing always sat with you wrong. As did throwing Childe out.

“Thank you for caring.”

“You already said that.” You pointed out, finally cracking a smile, something that Childe mirrored, seeming somehow relieved.

“I know. But thank you.”

“Thank you for listening then.” You replied closing the blinds as Childe flopped onto the bed, sighing happily. “And thank you for forgiving me for kicking you out.”

“So callous.” Childe muttered, barely hearing your slight laugh as he drifted off to sleep.

 Xiao

You hadn’t wanted to fight, not at all. Your relationship was still so young after all, so raw, but you couldn’t help it. And now, as you watched Xiao disappear into thin air, you felt the sour taste of fear mixed with anger and regret. You’d almost forgotten really, how quickly an adeptus can vanish.

The point of contention had been your commissions. While Xiao said nothing against them verbally, you could tell that your newfound partner was dissatisfied by your constant comings and goings, something made worse by your recent string of long trips. And it had all come to a head when you announced you’d be gone a month, traveling into Inazuma via a covert nautical route – thank you Beidou – before delivering a few papers to the Monstadt embassy, most being passports and travel papers for diplomats who let theirs expire. Xiao had listened to the scheme, glared becoming more and more pronounced as you went on. And when you were done he just shook his head and crossed his arms.

“You aren’t going.”

“What do you mean I’m not going?” You asked, confused.

“You aren’t going. For the love of the Seven, what kind of partner let’s their loved one smuggle themselves into a country with no chance of reprieve if something goes wrong and with no contact for a month? You aren’t going.”

“I’m going whether you like it or not,” you replied, irritation quickly running through your voice, “it’s fine Xiao, many people have done this before. And we need to get those Liyue diplomats home. Honestly, I’m not sure why you aren’t proud of me, proud of what I’m doing.”

“Because you’re putting yourself in needless danger and breaking the law for a few people who I’m sure could do just fine themselves.”

“You can’t just keep me from being an Adventurer Xiao. You can’t keep me from doing my job.”

“I told you it’s because I care about you.”

“No, it’s because you’re putting yourself above the needs of both myself and your own land. Xiao, don’t you care about Liyue?”

“I care about the land,” his voice was like stone, and when you glanced into his eyes for a moment they seemed truly without empathy or care, the gaze of an adeptus who understood nothing of the human world, “humanity can rot.”

“I’m a human,” you pointed out, voice soft. “Don’t you care about me.”

For a moment recognition flitted through Xiao’s expression and he seemed almost regretful. Then his gaze hardened over once more.

“You aren’t going.” And with that he disappeared.

•

It took Xiao approximately ten minutes to regret the entire situation. Being angry for long periods of time wasn’t necessarily an alien emotion to Xiao – sometimes he felt as if he carried anger everywhere he went – but anger at you certainly was, and no sooner had it arrived then it was fading away, replaced instead with a deep sense of shame and guilt.

Why was he so upset? Was it really out of care for you? Yes, he decided, there was that aspect to it. But there was something more, something less noble. He was afraid, he was afraid for you. He was afraid you’d be arrested, or your ship would succumb to the open ocean, or you’d be betrayed, or…

Thoughts fluttered in and out of Xiao’s mind, each one more outlandish than the rest. Behind them said the same thing. He was afraid. You were right, he was afraid.

Did he care about humans? No, Xiao could say that with certainty. Not the way humans cared about each other, the way the humans cared about the adepti, when they thought about them. Xiao hadn’t cared for humans for a very long time. Even the karma that he kept from wreaking the land was exorcised, not because of humans, but because it was his duty. He didn’t care about humans, not really.

But he did care about you. He cared about you and he didn’t want to keep you from what you loved in return. Not like he didn’t know you would go do your mission anyways. You would do your mission and if Xiao wasn’t careful the weeks of cultivating an acquaintanceship, and friendship, and then more would be ruined. And he’d just be left, watching and waiting, wondering if you’d be alright.

Xiao was thankful that you hadn’t left the balcony of the Inn. Appearing before you he reached out to hug you before hesitating.

“You can go.” He murmured, knowing that wasn’t ever a question.

“I’m going.”

“And I’m sorry.”

“I wish you hadn’t disappeared like that.” You frowned, but Xiao shook his head. Was that the worst he’d done?

“No, I’m sorry for saying you couldn’t go. I’m sorry for not caring. I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your brow in a familiar expression and Xiao nodded slightly. Hurrying to embrace him you shook your head, still not over what had just transpired so quickly.

“Your eyes were so cold.” You murmured.

“I’m sorry.” Xiao murmured again, hugging you tightly.

“Don’t be.” You replied. “Just, stay like this a little longer.” Xiao was all to happy to comply.

It was easy to forget Xiao was an adeptus sometimes, that he still had that side of him, those cold eyes, that brusque demeanor. But even if that sometimes threw you off, even if you argued and worried and regretted, it would all be fine in the end.

Because you’d always return to a familiar embrace, and a shared love.

[exhausted-courtroom-mom]

“ Is this all it takes for you to give in to me? “

He’s already made her into a blushing, fumbling mess.

She Murmured his name softly while pouting but still met his gaze defiantly.

“ heh. Still got some fight in you, I see. “

“ and you still have that overly-cocky attitude of a tyrant down. “

He wouldn’t look the other way when it came to her retorts, yet with the cute way she was frowning at him, he was willing to let it slide this once.

Silvio leaned his head down, lips almost grazing hers for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening until she rolled on her side, cheek squished against the pillow, still pouting.

She’s had enough with letting the prince have his way.Silvio sighed, the frustration clearing it’s way through his tone.

“ you’ve been pouty ever since I came back. “

The lingering loneliness of the past two weeks felt overwhelming. The foreignness of the castle suffocated Emma with longing; home seemed like an ocean away. Though now that her love was finally within her reach, all the worries her heart carried slowly dissipated. As if His presence itself was slowly washing whatever doubt she had away.

Her thoughts were interrupted as her eyes widened, Suddenly Powerless when she heard his whispering voice tickle her ear.

“ have you been lonely all the time your owner’s been away? “

Her current position left her even more vulnerable to his teasing than before. Sadly, though it wouldn’t be the first time she failed to avoid the prince’s ruthless teasing. Regardless, Emma being Emma, she wouldn’t give in. Not so easily at least.

“ I’m not some dog, Silvio. “

He wasn’t one to give in either. Two peas in a pod.

The prince nuzzled the side of her neck, sneaked a kiss or two.

“ Silvio, you…”

Trailed a path down her shoulder with his kisses.

“ hey! that’s-“

Held her close stubbornly, still adorning her soft skin with one peck after the other, making her grip desperately at the bedsheets.

The balcony’s doors stood wide open, inviting in the light air, offering her some solace while she’s being ‘ spoiled ‘ mercilessly.

In the distance, the famed town market of Benitoite glinted and glimmered, brought in memories Rhodolite’s dazzling alleyways and gathering crowds, back where she thought her heart would always be set.

“ You’re damn stubborn. “

With the way he made that sound, it was hard not to imagine that usual scowl on his face and tried to hold the laughter in; perhaps she’s gained the upper hand after all.

“ Hey, look my way when I talk to you. “

in contrast with the harshness in his voice, he tilted her head his way tenderly, with the tips of his fingers.

When she had her head turned and was met by that same old scowl, guilt started eating at her heart. Fear and uncertainty swirled in the deep of his blue eyes; those always gave him away.

“ you sure got some nerve, ignoring me like that. How are you willing to redeem-ow! “

Before she let him talk her ear off, she tugged at both his cheeks.

“ I know exactly what you’ve been trying to get me to say but You didn’t have to go about it that way! Teasing me the minute you barged into our room! “

“ the hell are you going on about, woman?! “

Unlike him, she was merciful enough to let go. He rubbed at one of his reddened cheeks as he heard her giggle.

“ now who’s making who red in the face, hm? “

Then she slung her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, earning herself a good enough distraction to turn him over. All Emma’s intended to offer were love and comfort but with him now being the one pinned on the bed, a little revenge seemed just as sweetly tempting.

He had it coming. adoring kisses littered his face, teasing ones lingered on the corner of his lips and a reassuring few laid on his forehead.

“ I missed you. “ there. she pulled him nearer, pressing her cheek against his.

“ I missed you lots when you weren’t here and I couldn’t see you. “

She made sure he heard everything she’d mumbled away close to his ear.

He kept unusually quiet and she took it as a signal to go for that final strike.

She pulled herself back up right before caressing his face, relishing in how flushed she’d turned him in mere moments.

“ Silvio, wherever you are, wherever you go…I’ll always-“

He pulled her down to cradle her head against his chest. He was about done listening to whatever more she had to ramble.

“ ….you’ve gotten quite complacent. I guess that’s what I get for being away for so long. “

Her honesty, flustering for him as it was, softened his expression, warmed his heart and eased him of his own worry. She was kept in his hold as he stroked her hair and rest his chin on her head.

she hugged him tightly herself, sharing her warmth with him and enjoying how the hammering in his chest rhymed with the one in hers.

while each gentle, passing breeze the tumbling sea waves made her way provided her clarity; Emma knew where her heart is set.

The sun had set long ago, leaving the evening filled with nothing but the enticement of promise.

“ Now. Where was I before you brazenly interrupted?“

[comfortwriting]

The Little Things - B.W

Masterlist, Writing Prompt Masterlist, Requesting Rules

Bill Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: After the Wizarding war and the death of his younger brother, Bill Weasley focuses on the little things in life and realises that life is too short to waste it; the death of his brother gives him the confidence and courage he needs to confess his love to Y/N. 

Warnings: Mention of death, blood, swearing, mention of weight loss.

"I miss you Bill" you sighed down the phone "Are you sure you can't make it?"

Bill held the strange muggle device in his hand, both guilt and fear consuming him "Yeah" he replied, "But I will next time, I promise."

You knew this was a lie, and although it hurt, you couldn't stay mad at him - Bill had every right to shield away from the world, question everyone's intentions, and stay closer than ever to his family, but you knew that over time, it would only make things worse.

When you first heard the news of Fred's death, like many others, you were gobsmacked. The tragedy of his death changed everything - especially the man you loved most. Bill could no longer see the world in colour, he hated to smile, he couldn't laugh, looking at George felt worse than any injury he had suffered at work. He felt alone, broken, guilty, and worst of all, he didn't feel like himself anymore.

He lost motivation and passion for his job and couldn't bring himself to leave his house, even talking on the phone sometimes became too much for him, and your letters piled up on his windowsill, all read and crumpled, his replies screwed up into parchment balls scattered across the floor.

"Look after yourself, Bill." you said softly "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Y/N."

Bill felt relieved to finally come off the phone, but the crippling loneliness had hit him like a curse. Hanging up the phone and placing it back on the stand, his mother Molly, watched him, studying his scarred face.

"She cares for your dear, please don't push her away," Molly called out softly, approaching her firstborn and stroking his long hair which was pushed back into a messy ponytail, his dangling fang earring started to swing.

Bill nodded, too ashamed to look his mum in the eye "I know" he replied "Everything is just so different."

The familiar tears pooled into Molly's kind eyes, her lips trembled, the sight of Fred's dead body flashing back before her eyes. "It's strange not having him here, it's too quiet, but don't blame yourself" she cried "He died with a smile on his face."

Bill shook his head, tears of his own ran down his hot cheeks "I'm his big brother" he cried "It was my job to protect him, I can't lose anyone else."

Molly held her son close, crying and shaking her head "You aren't to blame, Bill, please don't let this take over your life, Fred wouldn't like it, none of us do."

"But I'm - I'm terrified."

"I know you are dear, but death is part of life, you can't let death stop you from living your life to its fullest." Molly sighed as Bill pulled away from the hug.

"I'm trying, I really am, mum."

Bill walked away and went upstairs into his bedroom, photographs his brother Charlie sent him of Dragons flying and breathing fire didn't evoke a smile or happy memory, instead he wanted to rip them off the walls and curse himself for not being by his little brother's side on the night he died. Bill felt useless, a waste of space, he felt as if he was the worst wizard in the world, he kicked the parchment balls across the floor and fell onto his knees, crying, talking to Fred who couldn't hear him or respond.

After your last phone call, you went days, weeks, and months without hearing from Bill. Your phone didn't ring, your owl didn't bring any letters with his handwriting on, and from what you heard, he had been fired from his job. You rang every day, but as time passed, you rang once a week, then once a month, then not at all. You stopped writing to him, you felt like you had made him worse like you had scared him off so badly that he felt too pressured to talk to him, but your gradual absence only made Bill feel worse, he felt as if he pushed you away, doing what his mother told him not to.

Maybe Bill wanted and needed a fresh start, away from you and away from everyone, perhaps he took a break and went to Romania to visit Charlie who took his mind off things with work. Part of you wanted to storm over to him, bang down the door and take him under your wing whether he liked it or not, but the bigger part of you felt like leaving him alone was the right thing to do.

Reaching your parchment and dipping your quill into your ink pot, you began to write to Molly, if you weren't able to care for Bill, you still wanted to watch over him from a distance, something Fred did when he wasn't comforting his twin, George, who didn't know he was there.

Molly,

I miss you, I miss everyone, I miss Bill.

I've tried reaching out to him but I don't think he wants to talk, I want to help, to comfort him, and do anything I can to bring a smile on his face, but I think he would rather be alone - and that's okay, I respect his wishes, but I just need to know how he's doing.

I can't tell you how strange this all is, I can imagine you can't put this all into words either, I am so so sorry for your loss, Freddie... Fred was the funniest person I've ever met and he always made me feel better, even if I wasn't in the mood for his pranks or jokes.

I want to be here not just for Bill, but for all of you. I want you to know that you can write to me, even ring me if you need anything (Arthur isn't the best with the telephone, but Bill has somehow mastered it, but I can understand your disapproval so writing back is fine) I miss you, I miss The Burrow too, spending my school holidays under your roof were the best times of my life and it's one of the worst things about being a grown-up.

Please let me know if you need anything or if there is anything I can do, please send everyone my love, I can't imagine what you're all going through.

Nothing but love,

Best Wishes,

Y/N.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you folded up the parchment and placed it into the envelope, pausing before you sealed it with wax. Looking over on your right and focusing on the photograph in the picture frame of you and Bill posing as Head Girl and Head Boy, with big smiles on your faces and your badges sparkling against the flashing of the camera. This was the only picture you had of you and Bill, and although you got comfort watching that moment in time replay over and over, it made you feel sore inside, causing you to wince.

Picking up the picture frame and holding it in your hands, you removed the back of it and pulled out the picture, putting it inside of the envelope. Setting the frame back down, you finally sealed the envelope and watched the hot dripping wax mould into shape, cool down and dry. You picked up the envelope and walked downstairs, meeting your owl by the window in your front room.

"Please post this for me," you said softly "It's very important and precious."

Your large fluffy owl tilted its head before taking the letter in its mouth and flying out of the window as you opened it, watching them fly away in the distance, you couldn't stop yourself from reminiscing about Bill and the memories you made together as teens - little did you know, whilst Bill curled up on his bedroom floor, he too was thinking exactly the same thing.

"Bill!" You grinned, running over to him and hugging him, admiring his hair "Your hair has grown so fast! I love it!"

Bill smiled "I'm glad you like it, mum can't wait to see the day I chop it all off."

You ruffled his soft, shoulder-length hair and looked at his new timetable "oh nice!" you chirped "looks I don't have Herbology on my own after all!"

Molly opened the envelope and read your letter, covering her mouth to keep her cries silent, your kind words taking weight off her chest and placing a caring arm around her shoulders. She picked up the photograph and tears pricked at her eyes, the sight of Bill so happy brought her the comfort she so desperately needed.

"You need a bloody hair cut!" Molly freaked upon her son's arrival at the station.

Bill groaned out in frustration and rolled his eyes "No I don't, mum! I like it long!"

You smirked and burst out into laughter, Molly greeted you and pulled you in for a hug, making her husband Arthur pick up your trunk. Bill's younger twin brothers stared at you, smirking, muttering to one another.

"What do you think about his hair, Y/N?" Molly asked you, hoping you would be on her side "I think if it ends up any longer Hogwarts will be sending me letters!"

You pursed your lips and couldn't stop yourself from breaking out into a grin "I quite like it."

Bill smiled at you "See! The girls love it!"

You rolled your eyes and elbowed Bill in the arm playfully.

Hearing a crash in Arthur's shed, Molly quickly lept on her feet, rushing to see what the commotion was all about and to tell off her husband for his muggle tool and plug collection, leaving behind the letter and photograph on the dinner table.

"Oh go on Y/N, give me the answers, we've been studying for hours now!" Bill begged, glaring at his now crumpled O.W.L styled mock paper.

Bill's cheeky smile and puppy eyes made you cave in faster than you liked to admit.

"Fine, here are the answers."  You passed him your test papers, knowing fully well that he would be in big trouble tomorrow.

Bill walked down the stairs, tempted to pick up the telephone and ring you, but his eyes landed on the letter and photograph before the telephone. He stared at the photo, the memory as clear as day in his head.

"You'll never guess what!" You squealed.

"I've got some news!" Bill beamed, both of you speaking at the same time.

"You go first!" you encouraged him, excited to hear his news and tell him you had been made Head Girl.

"Guess who became Head Boy!" He grinned, pulling out his badge and handing it to you "Mum and Dad are going to be so bloody proud!"

You couldn't believe it, your best friend and you were head of the school - together, this HAD to be nothing more than a coincidence, it HAD to.

"Oh Bill" you grinned "that's wonderful - but -"

"But what?!"

"But this is all so strange."

"What?" His face dropped "Please don't make this about my hair, mum's sent me enough letters this term-"

"It's not about your hair you idiot!" You laughed "This is strange because I've been made Head Girl." You pulled out your badge, presenting it to Bill whilst it sat in the palm of your hand.

"No way."

"Yes, way!"

Bill couldn't sleep that night, he read the letter over and over in his head and watched the two of you posing in his mind. He rubbed his eyes so hard he could see tiny stars, opening his eyes he walked over to the mirror and stared at himself, he couldn't recognise himself anymore. His hair was straggly and hadn't been brushed in months, his facial hair was stubbly and rough, the bags under his eyes were dull and heavy, and his face had become more sunken in.

His mum was right, he couldn't stop living, he shouldn't push everyone away and shut himself off from everyone around him, he needed to keep going, no matter how hard things got, he had to keep pushing, further and further, he needed to get himself back on track.

Leaving his bedroom, Bill challenged the many steps and went into the bathroom, taking a long, warm bath. He scrubbed his skin, washed his face and hair and got out, staring at himself again in the mirror, he shaved off his ginger prickly stubble and grabbed a hairbrush. Detangling his hair and brushing it after neglecting it for so long, he picked up the scissors and slowly started to chop off his split ends and adding layers. He trimmed his eyebrows and stared at himself in the mirror, by morning he was going to get his job back, he was going to tell you how he felt, if he were to ever lose you, he would rather have a relationship beforehand, rather than settling with 'what could have been'.

Bill walked out of his room, as fresh as a daisy, in his suit, he picked up his briefcase, shocking the rest of his family, most of all his mum.

"You were right mum." Bill admitted, "I'm going to get my job back, and I'm going to see Y/N."

Y/N,

Thank you ever so much for writing to me, dear, your words have lifted me up tonight and the photo you have sent me is something I will treasure.

I know you aren't a child anymore, and I know you're an adult, but you will never be too old to stay under Arthurs and I's roof. We could do with some company, a good catch up, anything to keep our mind busy.

This home - this house - is so awfully quiet since Fred

her quill trailed off  

left, the occasional door will slam and Arthur keeps wreaking havoc in his shed but the absence of Fred's laughter and his footsteps pounding up and down the stairs are so terribly missed.

Bill isn't doing so good, Charlie is doing the best out of all of us.. and George, poor George. Please do pop round for a cuppa or just for a chat, even if Bill won't come out to chat I'm sure everyone else will be so happy to see you.

Don't be a stranger, Y/N.

Love,

Molly Weasley.

Drinking your cup of tea and staring out your kitchen window, watching the birds sing and search for food in the back garden, you heard a knock at the door, finishing off your brew and placing your floral cup in the sink, you walked over to the door and opened it, lost for words at who was waiting for you.

A slimmer and more gaunt Bill stood on your doorstep, a bouquet of roses in his hand, his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and his suit looking elegant. You were heartbroken to see how Fred's death had taken hold of him physically, and you were more heartbroken knowing what he was going through mentally. For him to be stood on your doorstep, making an effort, truly was above and beyond anything you expected, and you were so proud of him.

"Bill!" You pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his neck "I can't believe you're here, I, I've missed you so much!"

Bill held you in his arms, soaking up your scent and the touch of your soft skin, the tiny pieces of his heart slowly piecing back together. He pulled away and handed you the flowers "These are for you"

Accepting the roses, you invited Bill inside and put the kettle on, making tea for the both of you, he sat himself down on the sofa, going through everything he wanted to say, feeling nervous and hoping that you would understand and feel the same.

You placed your cups on your coffee table, sitting down next to him, looking back at the gorgeous new roses sitting up proudly in their vase. Bill stared at you, studying your face as you studied the roses.

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you."

You turned back around and looked into his eyes, your heart went weak and started to thump, your mind running faster than you could keep up with, you were jumping to conclusions and didn't know what to think.

"Okay" you replied nervously "What is it?"

"I'm in love with you" Bill confessed, "I always have been, and nothing really made sense until I read your letter to mum and looked at the photograph of us you sent her."

Your racing thoughts finally slowed down, you were catching up with them.

"Fred had his life stolen from him, he was young, he had years ahead of him - now nothing. I don't want to lose you, I don't want to disappear before we've even had a chance to get started."

You nodded your head slowly and placed your hand on top of his in support, and providing him with comfort.

"I don't want to lose you either, Bill."

Taglist: @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @amourtentiaa @inglourious-imagines @reeophidian @sebby-staan @a-castle-of--glass

[thefanficmonster]

Just Another One

Sequel to: ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’

Corpse Husband x Actress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Mention of bad past relationships, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: They keep proving each other right in the most wrong ways possible. They each want to be guarded even if that means the other will be hurt. Maybe that’s what they want - to hurt one another because they’ve already hurt each other once before.

Requested by the lovely readers who enjoyed the previous fic ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’. Sorry for the large time gap between the posting of the two fics but I still hope you guys will take the time to read it and if so I hope you enjoy it! Love you all with all my heart, Vy ❤

When you go out of your way to avoid leaving the house your options of entertainment are severely limited and you can’t blame anyone or anything but yourself for it. Today, I wouldn’t have gone out of my apartment even if I was one of those people who frequent the outdoors seeing as how the sky is trying to flood the Earth with all this nonstop rain. It does set a mood for a perfect night in but when you spend all your nights in doing the same thing over and over again, the atmosphere is practically meaningless. And so I ‘ve decided to resort to channel surfing as though I’ll find something interesting on TV that I haven’t yet seen on one of my social media timelines.

I pass several cooking channels on my journey, making a mental note of their individual numbers in case I don’t stumble across anything capable of better distracting me from my boredom and loneliness that’s slowly starting to creep in. I pass by a few movie channels showing teenage romcoms as if to celebrate the start of summer so you can imagine how quickly I moved on from those. Then come the celebrity channels which can often get a laugh out of me because of how pathetic and unbelievably ridiculous they are. And so, I stick around one where there’s a broadcast on a movie showing that’s happening tonight in LA. Oddly enough, despite my anxiety, going to a movie showing has always been on my list of things I’d want to do. This can be considered living vicariously or rubbing salt into the wound that I’ll probably never go because my anxiety and fear of being recognized is too severe. Either way I stick around to watch it.

And man do I regret it now looking at several different angels of a couple of actors entering the venue where they are to be photographed and asked questions by the mob of paparazzi that’s gathered due to the massive event. That in and of itself doesn’t sound - and really isn’t - so bad. However, it’s important to note that the actress in this duo is Y/N. Y/N L/N. My Y/N....shit, sorry, I mean my FRIEND Y/N, her arm linked with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is who is holding an umbrella above the both of them, shielding them from the downpour of rain that is also taking place in LA apparently.

“The two were seen entering the venue earlier this evening, looking particularly cozy in each other’s presence if I do say so myself. The rain probably worked nicely in their favor.“ The first reporter says, her teasing tone of voice sending chills of anger down my spine as I glare at the screen, hands balled in fists, jaw clenched - all my body’s instinctive reactions to what is being shown to me. I know I technically have no right to behave or feel this way, in fact I should be fucking happy for Y/N and her successful career and the progress in her love life. But damn it how can I?! I was so damn close to kissing this girl! I was so fucking close to falling in another trap, tripping and landing in the embrace of another liar and user, another girl who switches partners more often than shoes. How could I’ve been so reckless to get so close to her even platonically? How did we become close enough for me to 1) show her my face; 2) start inviting her over to my apartment regularly; and how didn’t I notice the kind of messed up person she was all that time.

She was all sweet and flirting and shit a week or so ago and now she’s doing the exact same thing with him! The cameras are capturing them perfectly: every laugh, every exchange of a knowing look or nod, ever smack to his arm when he tells a joke. But what bothers me most is the many times he’s wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer. Not just for pictures, but just because the fucker felt like it! And Y/N doesn’t seem to mind it at all. 

“They have been the talk of the town recently, so while they could just be adding fuel to the fire, they could also have been caught by the flame and ‘caught feelings’ as they say. Regardless these two are a view we’d like to see more often.“ The other reporter says and that’s the final straw.

In one swift motion I turn the TV off and throw the remote across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the ground in several pieces, broken by the force of the impact. Just like I am broken by the force of the impact of these news. I don’t know which is worse: the fact that I fell for her and almost let her know it; the fact that she’s just another member of the club I don’t want anywhere near my life; or the fact that I can’t believe it.

Yeah that’s right - one foolish part of me refuses to believe that’s she’d do such a thing. I think that’s the same part which is still in awe of her so you can bet I ignore that part the majority of the time.

She is just another one. Not the one. Having been hurt before doesn’t mean she won’t hurt me or anyone else she’s gonna be with. Hurt people hurt people.

And damn has she hurt me, probably without knowing a damn thing. How selfish can you be, Y/N? How selfish can you really get? And how much am I going to allow you to hurt me?

                                                             *  *  *

“Thank you so much, Andrew. I would’ve died on the spot of anxiety if I was on my own.“ I say to my best friend who is currently sitting next to me on a park bench, in a tux, eating a cheeseburger. I too am still in my gown and am also gorging on a cheeseburger of my own.

“Don’t mention it. Us anxious people need to stick together.“ He bumps his shoulder against mine, stealing a small genuine smile from me, “Plus I couldn’t not come with you. You know how much I like a good rumor.“

I scoff, “Of course you do, but then again there was no need to add to what the media has already made a whole-ass ship out of.” I roll my eyes and take another bite. My appetite hasn’t been in its best condition so I’m only eating this under Andrew’s orders. I have no idea how people can ship us romantically, he’s the definition of an older - and very bossy - brother to me. I wish I could tell each and every single one of those girls who hate me because I’ve ‘stolen their man’ that I’d most likely be their sister in law rather than man snatcher, seeing as how my relationship with Andrew is so sibling-like.

That’s because we’re too alike, no one gets that. People play the ‘opposites attract’ car more often than I consider rational. But  then again when they see a couple like Andrew and I - who are basically the same person in different bodies - they suddenly think we’re super compatible. Trust me, we’re not. And everyone who’s been on set with us will tell you the same.

“What can I say...“ he shrugs, smirking at me, “I like the fun. I bet Becca doesn’t though.“

I can’t help but huff. Andrew is the only one I’ve ever openly expressed my frustrations with Rebecca to. He was super helpful on the subject, seeing as how he can relate - many partners of his have tried to use him, some of which even succeeded. He’s more than qualified to school me on the topic but it turned more into sharing bad experiences. One of which was that instance back at Corpse’s apartment.

“And neither does Corpse I suppose.“ As though he’s read my mind, he pokes the hurt spot, pouring salt in the wound causing me to visibly cringe as though the pain was physical - because it was, I felt it in my chest and in my gut, a sharp stab of guilt and regret. 

Why did I let it come to that? Why did I let us get so close? How did I not think of the consequences?

“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t.“ My hand automatically reaches for the pocket of the jeans I’m not even wearing in search of a cigarette. Not that I’d be able to light one even if I had them on me - Andrew would smack it out of my hand before I could even take a single puff.

He has the audacity to laugh, “You’re such a bad liar, Y/N.”

That’s all he needs to say really - that’s enough to make me feel seen and understood. Though that’s not always a good thing. I often times wish he couldn’t read me so well. Better said: I wish I didn’t let myself be so readable, you know. I’m just glad he’s the one who sees me because if it were anyone else they’d use this vulnerability of mine against me. I’m well aware that it’s a weakness, a really inconvenient one, but damn it I can’t get rid of it. I feel like I’ll be less human if I lose it. Everyone’s allowed to be vulnerable, some just are lucky enough to choose who they’ll be vulnerable around. I’m lucky enough to to have a choice, not so lucky in the people I choose to trust. Guess that’s not a luck thing, it’s just my inability to decipher whether a person is worth all the pain and torture of coming clean to them or not. So far many people have burnt me but two stick out in particular - Becca and Corpse. Corpse especially, which is the odd thing considering he hasn’t even wronged me in any way. At least not yet.

“Your phone’s vibrating.“ Andrew says, pulling me out of my overflowing head when he hands me my phone which I handed to him because of my dress’ lack of pockets.

“Thanks.“ I mutter through a sigh as I take it from him, checking the notification I’ve gotten.

My stomach drops: it’s a message from Corpse.

“Hey I saw you are in LA but we have a stream tomorrow, will you still be participating?“

Before I can reply, he sends me another message.

“I know you’re probably very busy but we get the most viewership on the streams when you’re in them so....“

I’ve probably been staring at my phone screen for longer than I thought since Andrew felt the need to make sure I was still breathing: “Hey, you ok? You look terribly pale.” I can barely hear him let alone reply. I can’t hear my own thoughts to know what to reply to him. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

I’m scaring myself too, Andrew. I’m scared too. I’m scared of how broken my picker has become. I almost kissed this guy! I almost entrusted all my thoughts, hopes, wishes and goals to him! What the fuck was I thinking?! Well, at least I know what he was thinking about - viewership. Likes, subs, views, publicity. The more eyes on the stream the better for him and everyone else. I genuinely want to applaud him, no one has been so direct about using me before. I was in a relationship with Becca for almost a year before I accidentally found out what she had been doing the whole time. No one’s ever smacked me in the face with this much honesty. It’s bittersweet really.

I want to laugh, I want to cry, slap myself across the face, slap him...I want to do so much, but all I can do now is sit in silence and think of how I could be so stupid.

He’s just another one, how did I not see that? How do I never see it until it’s too late? Why is one part of me still screaming: ‘He didn’t mean it like that!’

AND WHY THE FUCK DO I WANT TO BELIEVE IT?

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo

[bugsbucky]

Special Birthday Girl

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: DDs: it’s your birthday and unfortunately, you and Sebastian/Bucky had a fight a few days ago and still aren’t talking. There’s a delivery of a large bouquet of flowers from your partner but the note attached makes you anxious he’s hinting for a breakup. How do you make up when you learn the note was just worded incorrectly?

Warnings: Angst, lots of tension, fluff, happy ending!

Word Count: 1,466 (Yikes!)

Authors Notes: This is for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​​ Extended Drunk Drabbles! A really really big thank you to my tumblrmama @hawksmagnolia​​​ for your help with this prompt! Couldn’t have finished it without you!! 

Happy birthday sweetheart!!! Hope you have a great day!

Many kisses Y/N! Have a fantastic day!

Happy Birthday!!!

Happy birthday, you beautiful human!

The birthday messages kept pouring in from your friends and family. Everyone close to you had wished you a happy birthday, everyone except Bucky.

The atmosphere in your tiny single bedroom apartment was uncomfortably thick. Even his Avenger friends picked up on the tension as soon as they had walked into the space.

The two of you had had a pretty heated fight a week ago about his continued grumpiness. Bucky was tired, you understood that since he’s been working so much, but his short patience with you was making you crazy. It seemed he bit your head off every time you opened your mouth. You were officially done with his surly mood so you chose to put him in his place, warning him that if he didn’t stop talking to you like that then he shouldn’t bother talking to you at all.

Since that day, he has chosen the latter and hasn’t spoken to you since. Whenever you and Bucky have fought in the past, one of you would usually break the silence after an hour. You kept expecting him to try and fix things, like apologise for his hostile remarks but nothing. You feared this was the end of your relationship, that this was his way of breaking up without saying it.

It was like two strangers under the same roof. You still shared the same bed, but at different times. You cooked and ate your own meals separately and spent most of the day in a different room away from each other.

 But today was your birthday and while you were really happy to receive such beautiful messages from those who loved you, the memory of your angry outburst and his silence sat heavily on top of your shoulders. Just knowing that you and Bucky weren’t okay was making it difficult to enjoy your day.

A sudden knock echoes throughout the apartment startles you and your head jerks to the door in the hopes to hear Bucky striding to answer it. When you hear nothing after a couple of heartbeats another loud knock comes. You huff in frustration and stomp towards the door. You hadn’t heard Bucky leave the apartment and knew he was here somewhere. He had come in very early this morning and you assumed he’d crashed on the couch. You’d been hiding in the bedroom, hoping the door would muffle any tears. 

Would it really be such an inconvenience for him to answer the damn door?

You yank the door open with more force than you intended to use and your eyebrows shot up into your hairline. A delivery man in brown uniform stood in front of you holding a beautifully wrapped large bouquet of flowers in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Good afternoon ma’am! Are you Miss Y/L/N?”

You nodded. “Um yes, that’s me.”

“Great. I’ve got a delivery for you from Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.” Hearing his full name caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

“Oh.” You blew out a surprised breath. He’d bought you flowers for your birthday? Your excitement died a bit and you swallowed a knot in your throat realizing he could have ordered them well before your fight.

The man clears his throat and you blink at him. It’s then you realize that he’s holding the flowers out for you to take them. You take them gracefully as possible, quickly scribbling your name down on the piece of paper and nudging the door closed with your foot.

 Setting the flowers down on the side in the kitchen, you go on a hunt for a big enough vase to fit the bunch. As you’re about to turn away, you see a note wedged between the petals from your peripheral vision.

Plucking the note between your fingers, your eyes scanning over the words printed on the back of it.

My love, I’m wishing you the happiest of birthdays. May the light guide your loneliness in your future adventures.

Yours, Bucky

What the absolute fuck did that mean? Your eyebrows furrow as you re-read it over and over and it still does not make any sense in your mind. Was he seriously hinting of a breakup with you? On your birthday of all days?!

Tossing the card on the kitchen counter, you take a step back and rub your temples. Tears were pooling in your eyes with the fear of what it meant.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Bucky asked from behind you. The first three words he has spoken since your fight and his voice sounds almost foreign to you now. “Did you not like my flowers?” His voice was deep and raspy, as though he just woken up from his nap. You sensed some guilt there too.

“They are nice.” You breathed, keeping your eyes closed as your heart raced. This was truly the shittiest of birthdays you’ve ever had.

“Y/N.” You could feel his body heat in front of you, his footsteps were silent thanks to his experience as an assassin. His large hands wrapped around your wrists and pulled them away from your face. Tears slid down your cheeks and you averted your gaze everywhere but on him.

“Are you breaking up with me?” The words rolled off your tongue before you could swallow them down. Might as well give the shitty day a high five and get it over with.

For a moment, Bucky looks stunned. It’s quickly replaced with confusion as his brows knit together. “Of course not! We’re adults here, I know we can and will fix it. It was just a stupid little fig-”

“Then why word the note the way you did? What the fuck does it even mean? You make it sound like I’m going into my future alone without you. And today of all days, Bucky! It’s my fucking birthday and I can’t believe you’d do this!” 

The crease between his eyebrows deepens and now he’s more confused by what you meant. “What note are you talking about, doll?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes, the leftover anger from your fight and frustration of the week of silent treatment coming to the surface. You stepped around his large frame and almost punched the card into his chest.

He read over the note and you took mental notes of his expressions. Confusion that was replaced by anger. His nostrils flared as he ripped the card up and threw the pieces on the floor.

“I didn’t write that. That’s not even close to what I told the girl to write.” He scoffed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“The girl at the flower shop has this weird crush on me. I told her what I wanted the writing to say and that was not it and clearly she fucked it up deliberately.”

You looked at each other and soon it became a staring contest. A small smile fighting its way to your lips and you shift under his intense gaze.

“Y/N.” He whispered, stepping closer. “I promise baby, I’m not breaking up with you. I wouldn’t even dream of it. I know we haven’t talked this past week and believe me, it killed me. I had to keep fighting the urge to curl into you at night and wrap you in my arms. I’m so sorry for my moods and I promise I’ll get my shit together. And believe me, that girl who sabotaged that note will not get away with it.”

This time a smile did find its way to your lips. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face into his chest. He planted a kiss on top of your head and held you close, as though he was afraid you’d turn to dust.

“I love you. So fucking much.” He sighed. His breath fanning against your hair as he spoke.

“I love you too.” You craned your neck upwards and smiled. He kissed the tip of your nose and darted his tongue out to lick his dry lips.

“I’ve missed you.” You whispered. Your chin resting against this broad chest. A goofy grin appears on his face and you already know the next words that will leave his lips.

“Not as much as I’ve missed you. I have a lot of making up to do. But since I didn’t give you your special birthday gift this morning, how about I give it to you now?” 

“You better make sure it’s extra special.”

“Extra special for my special girl, coming right up.” He scooped you up into his arms and carried you straight into the bedroom.

Taglist: @jobean12-blog​ @marvelgirl7​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @hawksmagnolia​ @deanthedemon​ @eurynome827​ @emilylyoness​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @kitkatd7​​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @littleredstarfish​​ @buckys-henley​​ @tuiccim​​ @mystoragehatesme​​ @starspangledseb​​ @bambamwolf87​​ @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

[washiseverything]

This was first posted on my wattpad account under the same handler. I’ll be transferring my favorite pieces to tumblr.

—

Pairing

Kim Hongjoong x Fem! Reader

—

Trigger warning

Break up sex

__

How did this relationship end up here?

You shivered from loneliness the cold bed gave as your partner was no where to be seen.  You were no longer worried about your boyfriend however, as this isn't the first time he put work above you. And to be quite frank, you were over it.

You laid there on your phone,scrolling through various media platforms,liking and commenting where you deem fit. But a particular post caused your mood to get even more sour.

It came from Hongjoong's personal account and it stated that he was releasing a new song featuring the 3racha,later this week. You scoffed as you continued to the comments. They radiated all good and sweet vibes, with majority saying they couldn't wait for it to release.

As you continued with a scowl adored on your features,the hot topic arrived home with a heavy sigh and tired eyes. His red hair messy from the constant pulling of stress and his dark eye bags becoming more of a prominent feature now. He was excited to see you. And when he realized you weren't stationed in the living room and kitchen like you were accustomed to, he ventured to your shared bedroom.

He saw you and instantly and almost instinctively,he latched his arms around your tiny frame. "Goodnight!" Hongjoong beamed despite his tired features. "I hope I didn't worry you too much," continued the small time rapper who's trying to make it big in the world. To support himself and you along with the family he hopes to share with you one day in the future.

In response to his sweet aura, you added your sour flavor to the mix. You hummed and shrugged in response to his question. Hongjoong released you from his embrace with a confused facial expression. "Are you okay? Is something bothering you?" He asked as he tried to look into your distant eyes.

You sighed heavily. You needed this off of your chest. All this frustration and lonely nights were really picking at you. You love Hongjoong. You know that but his actions is what you didn't favor what so ever. "I'm tired," you started off slowly.

Hongjoong nodded before speaking,"Well,if that's the case,you can head to bed. I'll join you after I-"

"I'm tired of you leaving me for your work,Hongjoong. I'm tired of all these lonely nights. I want you back,I require your love and attention," you cut Hongjoong's statement midway.

He seemed a bit stunned at your sudden confession and seemed to be having trouble formulating his response for you. "I'm sorry I made you feel this way, but you have to understand being in the music industry isn't easy and really time consuming. I told you this before,yes?"

"Then leave," you said calmly. Finally staring in the brown orbs of the older male. He was taken back by your responses tonight.

He tried to crack a smile before speaking to you,"Y/N,you're being irrational here. I think we should just head to bed and call it a night,"

You scoffed at Hongjoong. His response was not what you were looking for. "Did you even hear me before,Hongjoong? I miss how we were when we first started dating. We were so close and always stuck with each other. But then after,I helped you promoting your music and you made it somewhat big in the world,you suddenly forget who put you there," your tone slightly rising as you started poking Hongjoong exclusively hard on his shoulder.

Hongjoong only bowed his head as he started to grow a bit angry at what you were saying. He understands why you are angry but you don't really expect him to give up on his dreams to pursue only you? You both can live in harmony if the efforts are put in on both sides of the relationship but you playing the victim card and saying that he only strived due to your promotions were greatly infuriating him.

"Hongjoong,let me be honest with you. I think we should just break from other," You stated as you started making yourself more comfortable under the padded sheets.

"Are you saying you want a break up?"

"You can call it that,"

Hongjoong's brows went from knitted together with anger to loose with regret and sadness. He was broken honestly. And all over his job.

"I won't allow you,Y/N," Hongjoong said with an obvious frown.

Though,it didn't seem like the right time he kissed you from the cheek first and he progressed onward with a heavy heart. From your cheeks to your lips.

You didn't react much. That was until you felt a burning liquid on your face. You pushed Hongjoong away and with this action to reveal his tears. His simple act of fright in fear of losing you caused you to feel much guilt.

You gripped his cheeks harshly to lock him in place as you dived back in to the kiss. Against his lips you muttered ever so softly,"It's not your fault,"

You spoke from your heart but not from your head. That told you something completely different.

Hongjoong immediately returned your act of love as he pulled you closer to his form. He rested you on his lap after much struggle with the sheets you were entangled with. His arms roamed your body from over your clothes to under as you pecked his exposed neck.

You still stood by your decision however about a break or leaving but seeing Hongjoong in such a state, had you filled with guilt.

Hongjoong's slight moaning to you nibbling against his sweet spot, had you feeling stuff you haven't in a while. He tugged at your shirt as a signal for it to be remove and easily you complied with such a request. The cold air brushed against your exposed skin causing it to harden. And in result causing Hongjoong's mouth to water hungrily.

He nibbled and sucked at your chest as your hand played with his hair. Music that he could never be able to make. His music didn't sound as good either. Your moans to him was the epitome of a perfect song.

This worked you up big time. Your breasts being a sensitive part of you. Hongjoong playing with and sucking on the said skin area made you succumb to his every command and need.

You grind against him for much needed friction. Your body shuddered at the slap he placed on your ass. "Don't leave me," he whispered as his face buried into your neck.

You only hummed as your hands traveled hastily to his body. Your actions being proved as greedy. You touched his shaft that was rock hard and your body thought it best to give a light squeeze. Hongjoong reacted as quickly to this. The moan leaving almost instantly.

"Don't tease me,please," he whimpered as he removed your arm.

He gently took you off of his lap as he gave more room for his shaft to breathe and you removed your garments at the sight of the view. After, you ran back to his lap once more. You gave yourself no prep tonight. You whispered a string of curse words under your breath as you rode Hongjoong.

He seemed a bit taken back at your high sex drive tonight and he surely wasn't in the mood of rough sex either. He tried his best to keep his strides slow and steady but you were demanding and insisted on having a rough time. This action caused both of you to be so out of sync with each other but you surely were enjoying it as the moans never stop leaving your lips. However,Hongjoong's frown never lifted and only small grunts left ever so often. He only wanted a passionate night with you, just this night. He didn't want sex. He wanted love.

You rode and rode,moaned and rode until your high came and gone. It was magical;you were seeing the stars! But Kim Hongjoong wasn't pleased. "Are you still staying with me? Is the break still mandatory for us to heal?" He asked so warily,so exhausted. So worried and concerned. He needed you.

You froze for a few seconds,only to give the answer that cracked the man's poor heart poor.

"Yes,I still think we need to work out our indifferences and think about what went wrong,"

[celosiaa]

Hi! I am obsessed with your writing, it is so so endlessly good and you. Are so. Talented. Anyway, please feel free to ignore this, I won’t expect a reply, but prompt idea of someone (probably martin) giving jon a shoulder rub, and it giving jon flashbacks to his kidnapping and him very not being ok. Could take place either soon after the kidnapping, or like in post canon (maybe even with emma?) Again feel free not to reply, just wanted to share and tell you how much I love your work❤️❤️

hi friend!!! thank you so so much for this wonderful prompt!! and your sweet message <3 I apologize that this has taken so long, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! and I hope you’re having a wonderful day!

CW PTSD, flashback, panic attack

Quiet.

Peace of solitude, silence, loneliness has always been a bit of what Martin has missed from his life. He needs it as much as the sun, as much as the breath in his lungs. Sometimes the lingering ache of it all leaves him hurting—hurting over the fact that he shouldn’t want this; he should want to be, not to fade. He should be over this by now.

But, Jon. Jon understands. He understands that need for something you do not want better than just about anyone. So when Martin needs to disappear, or begs for quiet, or takes time to meditate and drift away, Jon always keeps his worry under what he surely thinks to be a careful façade. Martin sees right through it, of course. And loves him all the more for it every time.

Days like this should build up his reserve—the quiet days, where Jon is either gone, or busy, or engrossed in a novel Martin would never dream of picking up. But something about this is off, and Martin knows it.

He knows it by the way that Jon has barely shifted positions at his desk for many hours, other than to unfold and refold his legs under himself. Surely they must be aching—Martin knows they must. So many hours in one place tend to make Jon restless, his muscles cramping and his mind running wild. Sometimes in a good way—Martin is now accustomed to listening to very excited, lightning-fast monologues about whatever Jon had found himself fascinated by that day. But sometimes...sometimes, in other ways as well. Other ways not altogether pleasant.

Martin is certain this is one of the latter type.

From his vantage point in the kitchen, Martin can see the screensaver on Jon’s laptop running across it. Jon is working on nothing at all—has not been working on anything for nearly an hour now, and yet has not moved. It sets Martin’s teeth on edge, this sort of thing. When Jon appears as himself, is present as himself—and yet, not quite. Never quite there, not really. It reminds him of the early days after they had put the world back together, coming up on five years ago now. Days when Jon was drifting…and Martin had never been sure if he would come back.

Stop thinking stop stop

Don’t go there. Not now. Focus.

His head feels heavy with fog when he stands, as it often does—and he makes his way over to Jon, careful to step a bit heavier than usual so as to give some warning of his approach.

“Jon love?” he murmurs, keeping his tone as light as possible, much lighter than he feels. “You alright?”

The tiniest of jumps, barely noticeable. Jon freezes in place for a moment, before attempting to turn his head to look at Martin—and coming to a sudden stop with a groan, and a hand pressed into his shoulder.

“Hmm. Martin.”

His voice is rough from disuse, and he lets out a dry cough as Martin kneels slowly beside him.

“What are you working on?” he asks, trying the gentlest approach he can think of—and trying not to feel affronted when Jon flinches against the fingertips brushed against the back of his arm.

“I-I—erm—I was just…” He trails off as he realizes his laptop is asking him to enter the password again. “Ah. Well. Nothing at all, it seems.”

With a long sigh, Jon tips his head against the back of his chair—or rather, he tries. The motion seems to pull something uncomfortably in his neck, and he hisses painfully as he replaces his hand over the angle between his neck and shoulder.

“Alright, love? Can I help?”

“Ah, it’s—it’s fine, I-I did this to myself, I—”

“Jon.”

“—should get back to work—”

“Jon.”

Something of it seems to cut through his downward spiral, and he manages to meet Martin’s eyes at last—the shadows beneath his eyes outlining the exhausted desperation bubbling just behind them. For what, or who, or when, Martin cannot be sure—but he is sure that he needs to coax Jon out of whatever space he’s found himself in today.

“Does your neck hurt?” he asks, creasing his brows together when Jon attempts to shake his head, and winces instead. “Right, stupid question—how bad is it?”

“It’s fine—it’s nothing, it’s my fault anyway.”

It drives Martin mad how much Jon still wants to blame himself for everything, even the mundane, even things that require none. Especially things that require none. But, instead of putting a voice to this unsolvable frustration, Martin softens for the moment, stretching out a hand to cover Jon’s own where it still rests on the side of his neck.

“Want to try a little massage?” he asks, pressing a small kiss to Jon’s temple. “Maybe it’ll loosen you up enough to turn your head, at least.”

“Hmm,” is the only reply Jon gives, eyes falling closed against the gentle warmth of Martin’s hands.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Chuckling lightly, Martin stands behind him and gets to work.

He rests his fingertips lightly on the sides of Jon’s neck at first, being sure to always remain toward the back and away from his scar. Slowly, he begins to work his fingers a bit deeper into the muscle, traveling from the nape of his neck and down, as Jon unbuttons just the top of his shirt and shrugs the material off his shoulders. It warms Martin’s heart immeasurably to see him beginning to relax under his hands. And more importantly, gives him a wonderful idea for how to make this even better.

“One moment, love,” he whispers next to Jon’s ear, pressing another quick kiss to his temple before stepping away to root through his desk for the massage oil he’d been given by a friend. Sure, maybe he’s never used it, but…lavender certainly sounds like a relaxing smell, and god knows that Jon needs as much assistance with that as he can get.

“Alright, here we are.” He uncaps the bottle and holds it in front of Jon for him to smell. “What do you think?”

Jon blinks in surprise at the new smell, then furrows his brows.

“Wh—what is this?”

“Massage oil. I’ve never used it but—well, now’s as good a time as any, right?”

“I-I…I suppose so.”

The hesitance in Jon’s voice sends up warning flags in Martin’s mind at once—and he steps to the side to get a better look at Jon’s face. A bit glazed, vacant, as he turns the bottle of massage oil over and over in his hands.

“Is something wrong?” Martin asks, cocking his head to one side in confusion. “If you don’t like the smell, I won’t use it.”

“No no, it’s not that,” he assures, closing his eyes as if to clear some picture displayed in front of them. “I don’t know. I—erm. You can try it.”

“Jon…”

“Try it, please try it. It—it should be nice.”

For all that he insists, something about this gives Martin pause. Something in his voice, his body language doesn’t sit right at all—

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, setting a gentle hand on his knee as he crouches to his eye level. “What’s going on?”

A few tense moments go by before Jon responds, the knee beneath Martin’s hand beginning to bounce with an all-too-familiar surge of anxiety. Face going ashen, he attempts a strained, awful sort of smile.

“S-sorry, I—sorry, it’s fine, just—ah.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, love—is it the smell that bothered you? Can you tell me what’s happening?

His leg bounces harder, the other one beginning to join it. As he meets Martin’s eyes again, it is with a particular brand of shock and horror that tells Martin he is barely hanging on to his surroundings. It twists as a knife in his gut, pulling at his insides as his new task shifts to keeping Jon with him.

“Alright, love. You’re here with me, okay? Here, take my hand—”

He extends his own trying to pull Jon’s away from the white-knuckle grip on the arm of his chair—and Jon takes a gasping inhale, clutching at his neck in panic.

“Woah woah, Jon—”

“STOP stop stop please stop—”

Reeling from the sudden shouting, Martin pulls his hands away from Jon as if they had been burned, falling backwards from his crouch and onto the floor in alarm. The lavender oil in Jon’s hand skitters away across the floor as it slips from his hold. Pounding, pounding, pounding is Martin’s heart in his chest, adrenaline overpowering his thoughts for a few moments before he can really take action. What had happened? What had he done to make Jon feel so unsafe?

“Mm—ha—ah—”

“Hold on love, hold on,” he soothes, reaching out a hand of comfort, before thinking better of it. “I’ll be back, just hold on.”

Lifting himself as quickly as possible from the floor, Martin strides quickly towards their refrigerator, yanking open the freezer door and grabbing an ice cube for Jon to ground himself with. Or at least, so he hopes.

What happened?

What did I do? Did I say something?

Did I—

Oh.

Oh god, no.

Heart twinging with guilt, he hurries back to his husband’s side, gently slipping the ice cube back into his palm with as little skin contact as possible. If he feels like he’s back there, back with the clown, with unfamiliar hands of plastic and metal touching him, preparing him, readying him for the harvest—then Martin knows even his own familiar hands will be lost among the noise of the others. Interpreted as a threat.

God, Jon. What have I done?

“Here, sweetheart. I’m right here. You’re here with me.”

The words seem unable to reach him in this state—he blinks rapidly, staring into something unseen, unheard—his entire body trembling with adrenaline, fear, anticipation…and god knows what else. Aching, aching is Martin’s chest as he watches it all unfold, knowing that there is nothing to do but wait for the flashback to end and hope his suffering is as brief as possible.

“N-no—Nikola—”

“You’re here with me, Jon. You’re safe.”

“S-stop, don’t—touch me!”

Oh, Jon.

A few more seconds of true unawareness—before a bit of movement from his right pulls Martin’s gaze down towards the hand which holds the ice cube. As he begins to roll it around, Martin prays the sensation of it will be enough of an anchor this time, that this will be the end of it. That nothing will launch him back into the panic, just as his breathing begins to slow.  As a precaution, Martin grabs the small vial of lavender oil from the carpet, shoving it into his pocket and out of sight.

“Jon? You back with me?”

“…mmm,” he hums, after a few moments’ delay. His eyes slip closed as he attempts to control his breathing, still running the ice between his fingers while his entire frame trembles.

“Alright,” Martin murmurs, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “I’m right here. I’m not gonna touch you, but I’m right here.”

Eerie stillness hangs heavy in the space between them, all silence save for the shuddering of Jon’s body against the chair and the scant air moving through his lungs. And oh, how Martin wants to reach for him—but knows of course he cannot, not until it’s passed a bit, not until Jon remembers where he is. When he is. It cracks in Martin’s chest, spidering through his heart and lungs the longer the silence holds.

Come back.

Come back.

Come back.

I’m not going to leave you.

“Mmm,” Jon echoes his earlier hum, leg beginning to bounce again, stocking feet curling into the carpet. “I’m—here. Here.”

“Yes, you’re here. Here with me,” Martin breathes, nearly crying with relief as tears begin to slip down Jon’s face. “Do you know where?”

“Home.”

His voice cracks in the middle, forcing a shuddering inhale; a broken sob of an exhale as at last he leans forward, bracing his head in his hands.

“Martin.”

“I’m here, love. Home with you.”

“I can’t—” He breaks off to inhale sharply. “Can’t feel my legs, Martin, please—”

“Okay, alright, love. Head between your knees—you’re gonna be alright.”

Jon obliges at once, sinking lower, deepening his breaths, following Martin’s careful pattern toward some semblance of calm. Not quite there, and will not be for some time. The knowledge of it sits heavy in the back of Martin’s throat, and he swallows angrily at it. This is his fault; he should have seen this coming, should have spared a single thought for the wellbeing of his husband and now he cannot even comfort him—

A trembling hand suddenly brushes against his arm, searching. Asking for him—searching for his anchor. After all this time…after everything.

Martin can no longer keep the tears back—and does not want to.

“Oh, darling,” he whispers, pulling Jon into his chest at once, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his hair. “I’m here. I’m so sorry, love. So sorry.”

“Martin.”

“You’re safe. I’m here.”

Jon buries his face into the soft knit of Martin’s jumper at his shoulder, slackening so deeply into his hold that Martin nearly topples over.

“I’m safe,” he echoes, muffled. “You’re here.”

[hutchhitched]

Don’t Talk To Me

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 76: Modern a/u Katniss is getting over the loss of her sister (you decide how) when she meets Peeta. She’s closed off but he finds a way in. Maybe she works for him? Him for her? Maybe she cries herself to sleep on his bread scented shoulder? (Please yes I need that) [submitted by @endlessnightlock]

Ratings/Warnings: T

A/N: Y’all... It’s finally here. This is story number nine from the nine prompts I claimed for the 2020 @everlarkficexchange and then lost the will to write during the early months of the pandemic. I wasn’t sure I’d get here, but it’s happened. This is not the story I intended to write when I took the prompt, but sometimes the muse takes control, and I simply follow. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays and @endlessnightlock for being supportive of my plot change.

Katniss Everdeen hates people. Well, that’s not exactly true, but she doesn’t exactly like them either. They’re too…human or whatever. Too many acquaintances. The last thing she wants to do is get close to any of them, especially after the events of the past few months. She’s barely holding it together as it is, and introducing people or, even worse, friends could tip her right over the edge. She values her sanity.

 That’s probably why the new, sweet, disgustingly optimistic, overly friendly hire at the coffee shop where Katniss works irritates her so much. He’s just so nauseatingly earnest. It makes her want to punch him in the face.

 “How’s my favorite barista today?” he asks when she joins him behind the counter while still tying her apron. She mumbles noncommittally, but he doesn’t seem at all deterred. “I like that sweater.”

 “Peeta,” she says as she attempts to maintain control of her temper. He looks at her with such eagerness, she wilts under his obvious enthusiasm. “I’m just… It’s not a good day. Can we not?”

 His face falls, and she almost relents. She doesn’t know what it is that’s convinced him she’s someone he needs to befriend, but she simply has no interest. She doesn’t want more entanglements. They hurt too much.

 “Sorry,” he whispers and turns away. She swallows a twinge of guilt for hurting his feelings, but she doesn’t yield. Instead, she pivots to the espresso machine and starts making coffee. They work together silently, their only conversation about drink orders. They move around each other easily with no uncomfortable bumping or banging elbows or shoulders. He’s a good worker, at least, and he knows how to take a hint.

 “See you tomorrow,” Peeta says softly as his shift ends, and she flashes a brief smile. She doesn’t want to be rude, but come on. He doesn’t have to be friends with everybody.

 It continues like that for months, him fruitlessly friendly and her taciturn and distant. He continues to pursue a friendship, never pushing or prodding, simply being there and consistently showing kind. It’s exhausting.

 “How do you manage to stay so sickeningly upbeat?” she asks finally after several days of wanting to scream. He wears her down. She’d tell him to stop, but she’s starting to think she might like his optimism a little bit.

 He pauses for a second to glance at her before returning his attention to slipping sleeves onto the cup he’s holding. He calls out the order and smiles at the customer before answering. “What’s the other option? Being miserable?”

 “Well, I’m pretty good at it.”

 “I don’t think that’s true,” he argues softly. “I think you’ve had a rough time, and you’re grieving and healing. No one begrudges you that.”

 She gapes at him for a few seconds before snapping back to attention. The last thing she needs is to break down in front of everyone. Somehow, she thought he didn’t know anything. It’s disconcerting to realize her grief is on public display when she’s worked so hard to tuck it away. She reels, and he presses his lips together in frustration.

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

 “It’s… You’re fine.” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I’m taking my break.”

 His wounded expression slices through her as she flees.

 ****

 Another couple of weeks pass before Katniss finds herself alone with Peeta again. They’re scheduled to close on a slow night, and everyone else has gone home when he locks the door behind the last customer and she turns off the light and secures the window for the drive through window.

 “Alone at last,” she jokes and is struck by his wry grin.

 “You don’t have to do that.”

 “Lock up? I think I do.”

 He catches her gaze and refuses to let it drop. “Pretend to be happy you’re here with me.”

 “I—”

 “I’m sorry,” he insists. “I thought maybe if I could talk to you and stop being so, you know, wounded that maybe we could take a shot at being friends. I didn’t mean to upset you, Katniss. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

 She doesn’t answer for several beats. He squirms a little and drops his eyes to study twisting hands and twitching feet. She’s going to regret this. She knows she will. Still, there’s something sweet and shy and kind that she yearns for when the rest of the world is so hard and cold. Maybe it’s weakness or something else equally awful she should expunge from her personality, but she can’t let him spiral this way. Maybe it’ll stop hers, too.

 “We could, uh, try that.”

 It comes out garbled and stunted, but the change in his countenance makes her glad she took the step. A thousand emotions flit over his handsome face, but a grin splits his lips so wide that his teeth flash white. She holds up her hands to head him off, but he steadies himself. With eyes twinkling, he chuckles.

 “I saw the fear there for a second. I’ll control myself before I start asking the deep stuff.”

 “The deep stuff?” she asks, still gun-shy.

 “Yeah, like it’s crazy that I’d voluntarily cover a shift for you if you called in sick, but I don’t know your favorite color.”

 “It’s green.”

 “Mine’s orange.”

 “Like those chairs?” she laughs and nods at the overly bright upholstery on the furniture. Apparently someone in corporate thought pumpkin spice wasn’t just their most popular fall drink; it was also where customers could put their butts as they sipped caffeine-laden drinks.

 “Softer,” he answers, his voice a breathy whisper. “Like the sunset.”

 Her eyes drift shut. He’s put a spell on the space with his words, and she wants to stay there for a moment. When he’s not being overeager, Peeta Mellark is charming as hell. Lord, help her.

 “Can I tell you a secret? It’s really important.”

 She tenses, but when she opens her eyes, she finds that he’s moved closer to her and propped his hip against the counter. He looks so young and hopeful there’s no way she can be scared of him.

 “If you must,” she sniffs and smiles to soften her response.

 “Lean in close. It’s a big one.” She does so slowly, and he waits patiently until she’s close enough that he can whisper, “Don’t tell our boss, but I’m a tea guy. Two lumps of sugar. I don’t even like coffee.”

 Her eyes widen for a split second, and then she bursts into laughter. Tears gather in her eyes as she shakes. “That’s not a big one!”

 “Coffee is life, Katniss. A known tea drinker would be cast out among the wolves. I’ll just stay incognito. I’m trusting you with my life here.”

 “And what if I spill it?”

 “Spill the tea?” He winks as she gasps for air. Just as quickly, he wipes his expression from his face and assumes mock sobriety. Somberly, he picks up the broom and starts to sweep. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have one fewer opponent to beat out for employee of the month.”

 The whole idea that Katniss, surly and grumpy as she is, could ever win a customer service award is so preposterous she can’t keep from giggling. By the time the café is clean, she’s a million times lighter. When they head separate ways after locking up, she watches him as he strides down the street. Before he turns the corner, he tosses a look over his shoulder and waves. She doesn’t even have to think about it. She waves back.

 ****

 They become friends, and it upends her life. Katniss isn’t used to having people around. Not since her sister passed away and left her all alone in the world. Katniss had gotten used to being an orphan, but when her sister was killed in a car crash, the loneliness and despair overwhelmed her. With Peeta around, she doesn’t feel quite so isolated anymore.

 They take short walks on shared breaks, and he leans down to pick dandelions from between the sidewalk cracks before handing them to her with a bashful grin. He shields her from overly aggressive customers during busy periods at the café, and, after several weeks, he manages to convince her that spending time together outside of work isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

 “Friends do tend to see each other in social settings,” he teases, and Katniss finally relents.

 They go to movies and basketball games and art exhibits and archery competitions and all sorts of other things she had no idea she’d enjoy until Peeta suggested the activity. Sometimes, they do mundane things like grocery shopping together. She finds she likes trying new things as long as there’s someone with her and they can debrief about what was good and bad afterward. He convinces her to try one of those art classes with BYOB wine and a pre-chosen image to paint, and she gasps when his own creation takes on a life of its own while hers seems like a bad paint with water replica. He teaches her to cook bread and cookies and cinnamon rolls, and she shares her heirloom lamb stew recipe with him. They’re comfortable together. He never pushes, never makes her feel like he needs anything more than simple friendship.

 Until, that is, the anniversary of her sister’s death.

 She should have taken off work. She knows that, but the café is short-handed. Besides, she needs the money. It’s rainy and muggy and awful when she leaves the house, and the subway is packed much more than usual. She’s jostled and pushed and touched inappropriately (although, that was likely unintentional with how closely pressed together the passengers are in the train car), so that by the time she gets to work, she’s irritable, grumpy, and a ten seconds from losing it.

 It’s possible it’s the weather or the alignment of the stars or an almost full-moon or the changing of the seasons. It could be that other people are suffering from trauma and loss and depression, as well. Or it could be that Katniss just has really bad luck.

 “This drink is wrong.”

 The harsh complaint is snapped at her by an unpleasant looking man with white hair and a beard. He looks at her like she’s something rotten on the underside of his shoe when he shoves the cup toward her and sloshes some of the hot liquid on her outstretched hand. She hisses at the burn and immediately turns to the sink to run cold water over her skin before it blisters.

 “Don’t turn your back on me! Fix my coffee.”

 Katniss tenses, her guard up, but she refuses to move. His actions burned her, and she’s following not only methods of self-preservation but also the company’s safe work policies. Injuries are to be treated immediately on the job. She’s doing that.

 He continues yelling, attracting the attention of patrons and staff. Peeta finishes with the order he’s taking and quickly intervenes, coming to her rescue whether she wants him to or not. She’s not sure which is accurate.

 “Can I help you, sir? My name is Peeta, and I’m—”

 The man squints at Peeta and raises a shaking hand toward me. He’s livid, and Peeta takes a half-step back at the fury that’s suddenly directed his way. The situation escalates. It’s not pretty. The police are called, and customers are shaken. That’s nothing compared to the way Katniss quakes inside her own skin. She’s barely holding it together when their manager intercedes.

 “Get her out of here,” Haymitch barks at Peeta before turning to the customer. The coffee cup he’s thrown at her rolls on the floor in a puddle of liquid. The name scrawled on the outside is Snow. It’s ironic. Katniss has always hated winter.

 They make it to the back before she crumbles, and Peeta lets go of her hand to help her sit down on a stack of crates. He settles next to her and pulls her into a loose embrace—tight enough so that she knows he’s there but loose so she doesn’t feel trapped. It’s the perfect way to comfort her. He’s perfect, and she’s a mess.

 The tears flow, and she’s too broken to bother to wipe them away. Shoulders shake and sobs tear from her throat in gulping heaves. At one point, she moans her dead sister’s name. It’s a mournful wail that washes over her and makes her hurt even worse. He pats her back and toys with the tip of her braid. It’s an unlikely source of solace, and it causes her to turn into him and press her face to his shoulder.

 He smells like bread, she realizes in a random flash of clarity. She’s lamenting her sister, but that scent claws at her senses and registers in the olfactory section of her brain. How odd, she thinks before a fresh wave of grief shakes her torso.

 “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. Take as long as you need. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

 She’s not, though. She’s not all right, and she knows he understands that. He’s working with a limited vocabulary as he tries to help her. That’s what people say when they’re faced with a weeping friend. She’s done it herself. His tone of voice and gentle touch more than prove his compassion for her pain.

 She doesn’t know how long they sit there, but it’s long enough that her tears have soaked his shoulder. A sharp cough invades their little bubble, and they both glance up to see Haymitch in the doorway.

 “Clock out,” he orders in that gruff way of his. “We’ve got you both covered. Take her home, boy.” Peeta nods at the nickname without protest. It would be offensive if it meant anything other than their boss can’t remember anyone’s names, although that’s bad enough.

 Peeta hails a cab and gives her address. He escorts her to her door and unlocks it for her before guiding her inside and seating her on the couch. When he moves away, she grabs at his hand and pulls him down next to her. His arms envelop her again, and she presses her face into his neck and allows the tears to streak down her cheeks while she hiccups. She hates being vulnerable, but she trusts him. They’ve grown close over the past few months.

 Finally, she runs dry. Her sobs subside, and her body stills. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t attempt to pull away. Instead, he simply waits and gives her the space for what she needs. It’s a beautiful thing to grieve with someone who allows it to occur instead of hindering the process. She’s not okay. She won’t be for a long time, but she’s survived today. For now, that’s enough.

 “Thank you,” she mumbles against his shoulder. When he doesn’t answer, she glances up at him through wet lashes and finds him looking at her with compassion in his piercing blue eyes. She could fall into them if she’d let herself. When he lifts his hand to brush flyaway wisps of hair from her forehead, she thinks maybe she should.

 Time freezes. There’s a pulse between them that shakes the world. They’re drawn together, and she doesn’t second guess it or pull away from him. Instead, she closes her eyes and meets his mouth with hers. It’s gentle, just a sweet brush of lips, but it tastes like a reawakening, like the snow melting away and the earth coming back to life in spring.

 It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s also right. After the events of the past year, she deserves a new beginning.

[ncitygirls]

matryoshka - part 1, 4k

sibling!johnny, taeyong x f reader, mark x f reader, platonic/‘sibling’!haechan

nct crime au, angst, cw: character death, death, mental illness, police, injury, violence

300 days

There are few people who can disarm a man like Johnny Seo. Since the rather untimely, and inexplicable death of his mother and father at the tender age of fourteen, he quickly adopted this persona. He considers it a token from his late mother. She had always said, in a voice as soft as the breeze in spring, that to be polite is to be in control. He holds himself to that quite forcibly, reminding himself time and time again that there is power in making others fold to him. At time it is as simple as approaching an adversary with a smile, and awaiting the flare in their skin, the bugle in their veins and the ripple in their muscles. There are few who can disarm Johnny Seo. But few does not equate to none.

“When will you discharge her?” Johnny began, the words rolling off of his tongue with an air of nonchalance that bordered on flippancy, but an edge that was new to even him.

“Mr Seo,” without thinking, Johnny rolls his neck, bracing himself for a response he knows he will refuse. He thinks it odd to loathe an act he is yet to commit, especially when he can still prevent it. What he hates more however, is that you are here to witness it. When the doctor sighs, letting his glasses hang around his neck, he smiles sympathetically. Johnny sees nothing but pity. “I’m not sure how else to say this, but physically? Your sister is stable enough to go home. When we went in to remove what was left of the bullet fragments and saw to her ruptured spleen, we managed to mend her torn ligaments. Her blood work came back clear, and for the most part, her vitals are stable. With a few weeks of physio, I think we would be able to discharge her. Ideally, she could go home this week.”

“Wonderful,” Johnny’s hollow cheer guides his hasty movements as he, unthinking, strips you of your blanket to reveal a sight he thinks might change his mind. Rows of red line your skin, moons of dried blood covering the heels of your palms. He cringes at the dirty cotton cuffs that strap you to the metal frame of your hospital bed. Johnny can’t seem to make sense of the sight. “Did this happen during the shooting?”

“No, Mr Seo,” the doctor shakes his head, his frustration with his patient’s only living relative shedding every second he watches Johnny take in your limp frame. “It is like I was saying. Miss Seo is fit enough to leave. But mentally-”

Johnny simply raises his palm, ignoring the tears that pool in and out the corners of your eyes, a steady stream gathering in your hairline as you relive the events the two refer to so flippantly. “She will do better at home.” It is unclear for whom the assurance is intended. The doctor, you, himself. It is all just hope. So it doesn’t matter. “She will do better once she’s home.”

“Mr Seo, as your sister’s physician, I must implore you to reconsider.” Johnny understands where the doctor is coming from, he truly does. Johnny, taught well by his father, prides himself in being understanding. Like his father before him, Johnny prides himself in being calm in the face of not only danger, but regular folk - those who go about their lives, slaves to normalcy. Those who live life year to year, those who plan their lives, who wake up to sleep, expecting to see the sun once again. Those who consider life a right, rather than a privilege. Johnny has come to understand men like this. Not by choice of course, but because he had to. Especially once you met Taeyong.

2,109 days

“I met a guy today,” the words crackle through the phone, Johnny’s fingers stilling as he finally takes a break from his work, placing a mental bookmark on his train of thought. He wants to ask where, but he doesn’t enjoy seeming interested in affairs of the heart. They sicken him. “He was really weird,” you hum as you kick the curb, swinging your arms as you traipse through what Johnny thinks must be your university campus. He pretends he bother to know your schedule, but never has a reason for why he always gets himself up before you leave every morning. “A good weird,” you add, “his clothes hardly fit, they were all baggy. It’s hard to explain.”

“You kids and your trends,” he huffs, spinning in his chair to watch the city, eyes landing on the bell tower of your campus. “What happened to a nicely fitted suit?”

“It’s a college campus, John. Plus, it’s like half ten in the morning,” you can hear his next question before he even asks. “I mentioned his clothes because I wanted you to envision him, not judge him.”

“Well, I am envisioning a bum.”

“Okay, but envision a cute bum,” you try. “A beautiful, cute, funny bum.”

“That is still a bum, y/n.” You hear the faint sound of floor boards creaking, a telltale sign that he’s pacing. “Did he ask you out?” You hum in agreement, always too shy to admit anything so personal outright. It is times like this he wonders why you bother calling him and not just Haechan. He’ll never tell you this however. Lest he lose his spot as your first call. “I hope ope he’s taking you somewhere nice?”

“Yeah, of course,” he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s Hyuck’s you're both going to. Not that there as an issue with Hyuck’s. Even if you’ve already had the menu four different ways, front to back and then back again. It’s where you take all your first dates, you give Haechan a chance to size them up, figure out if they’re worthy. “I just wanted to tell you first because I think he’s a real contender this time.”

“And you’ll be late home, so you won’t be making dinner again?” Your affirming grunt forced a long sigh from Johnny. However, no matter many times he claimed his annoyance was due to your absence inconveniencing him; you both knew the loneliness bothered him now. “Well, have fun.”

“I’ll try,” you sing. “And I’ll bring that coffee cake you love so much, okay?” Johnny offers his own affirming grunt. Though it sits a couple octaves below your own, you hear the sliver of joy he lets through. “Love you.”

He doesn’t respond. He had already hung up.

300 days

“Mr Seo?”

Johnny had finally shrugged off his suit jacket and let his shoulders sag when he heard his name for the umpteenth time that day. He wanta to ignore it, but what would mother say?

“Yes?” SMPA. The badge is hard to read as it glistens under the glaring hospital lights. But he can’t miss the shape, the obnoxious insignia.

“Good evening,” the detective starts, his smiling eyes are in direct contrast to the gloom and doom of the last few days. Johnny wonders if smiling with teeth is proper practice when greeting someone who almost lost their little sister. “I am Detective Lee, I have a few questions for you about the shooting at Hyuck’s Diner. If you have a moment.”

“Of course,” he sighs, straightening his spine. “I am sure you are aware, but I wasn’t there.”

“I think it’s lucky you weren’t,” the detective adds, a sad smile settling on the bed to your right. “I am a friend of Donghyuck’s.”

“Oh,” there’s a short second where Johnny feels an odd sense of comfort, one he believed would only come when you finally opened your eyes. He also feels some guilt. “I didn’t know he had any other friends in Seoul, I tried to reach everyone I could.”

“And thank you for that,” the detective lets his eyes fall on his friend’s unmoving figure for a moment, his gaze returning to Johnny when he feels a familiar prick. “I have been hard at work on this case. I received word you did not wish for your sister to remain in hospital. May I ask why?”

“It is a public hospital,” Johnny responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can afford better.”

“Then why did you let her stay?” The detective asks, scribbling away. Johnny wonders what dictates the parameters of an investigation versus a friendly conversation. “Her psych eval?”

“No,” he sighs, eyeing Haechan to your right. “They wouldn’t let me take him too,” when the detective tilts his head, surprise evident in his round eyes, Johnny lets himself laugh for the first time in over a week. “You wouldn’t want to be me when she wakes up to find I left him behind.”

2,361 days

It is past midnight when you fly into Johnny’s bedroom, a dew gathering on your forehead, chin and neck. In his sleepy haze, he hears only the end of your ramblings, your steps ordered in a manner Johnny can only describe as frantic. It is not in his nature to panic, he leaves such trivialities to you. But when your wide eyes find his, fear brimming as you scramble to get ready, you throw him your phone and he finally sees why.

“There are a bunch of guys who won’t pay up at Hyuck’s and he’s scared. Let’s go.”

That’s how Johnny found himself parked outside Hyuck’s Diner in downtown Seoul, just north of the river. You didn’t give him a chance to park up as you dashed out the still moving vehicle, door left wide open. Johnny is thankful it’s late, but quickly notes it being far too late for Hyuck’s to still be open. As he parks up, he watches you storm into the near empty diner, sees the relief on Haechan’s tired face as you round the bar. Johnny can’t really make out what you’re saying, but he can see the fire in your eyes. He sniggers as he stalks after you, seeing his mother in them too.

“I said, pay up, or give it back.”

“That’s funny,” one of the burly men says, food spitting out his mouth and onto the clean bar top as he laughs in your face. While Johnny only counted two from outside, he can now see a third standing off to the side. When his eyes meet Johnny’s, he falters slightly, thick hands running through his hair as he avoids Johnny’s haunting figure hovering by the only exit. “Who exactly is gonna make us?”

“Me,” you grin, reaching for the back of his head and slamming it hard down onto the bar. You hear Haechan yelp in what you assume is fear for his newly polished, now dented bar top. As the guy to his left lunges at you, you’re quick to utilise your surroundings. Johnny almost applauds your ingenuity as you quickly reach for a used butter knife and practically mutilate the man’s fist. It is then Haechan disappears from your side, his head nearly halfway down the drain pipe as blood splurts onto his newly polished, now dented, now blood stained bar top. The first guy had rounded the bar, only to be met with a fist to the throat, and knee to the gut. Johnny sees you’re expecting something to happen as you repeat the motion before seeing sense. With your hand latched to his collar, you drag his doubled over body out onto the street before you knee him again.

In the middle of the intersection pours his unpaid bill, meeting one end of the deal. Johnny laughs at how visibly dissatisfies you are, considering how long their bill actually was. You fish his wallet out of his back pocket, taking a few hundreds to cover the balance. “Who even carries cash anymore?”

Johnny wonders too as you pass by him, walking back inside and turning on the third guy. “Your friend covered yours, so you’re free to go.” As he scrambles to leave, he keeps his eyes fixed on your brother, halting when Johnny moves to stop him, a lone finger pointing toward the man's weeping companion.

“Take them with you.”

It’s a few seconds before their presence is no more than a distant memory. Johnny is quick to clean the bloody bar top, and rearrange the furniture. He even loads the dishwasher as you tend to a still queasy Haechan. “When I text you, I didn’t think you would do all of that,” he huffs, backtracking as he notes the hurt look in your eyes. “I mean, I am so grateful. Really, I am,” he smirks, fatigue stealing the light that usually fills his eyes. “But I didn’t know you were The fucking Bride.” When you roll your eyes, he presses on, glimpses of his usual self slowly return as the adrenaline begins to kick in. “No, honestly! I wish I had cameras in here because- fuck! That was insane!”

“Alright, whatever. Get your things, you’re staying with us tonight.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Haechan asks, the worry in his tone hurting you beyond belief. “Do you think I should call Mark again?”

“Who, the cop? No, they won’t be coming back, trust me,” you hum. When Johnny emerges from the back, drying his hands on a clean rag, you jest, “no thanks to angel eyes over there may I add.”

“Oh my god, hyung! And you!” Haechan restarts, allowing you to pack up his things while he recounts the terror in the third man’s gaze as he locked eyes with your brother. “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, grabbing Haechan while Johnny locks up. “Or something.”

It’s nearly dawn when Haechan crashes. It was Monday and he needed to find cover for the open. But getting cover didn’t stop him fretting, and no amount of herbal tea nor booze could settle a frantic Haechan. It is laughable though, how it took no more than a film opening to send him off. You slip away at sunrise, snuggling up to Johnny who gave up on sending you away shortly after your parents passed. However, he still makes sure to express his disdain for the affection.

“At least stick to your side, y/n-”

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you breathe, clearly uninterested in satisfying his request. “I know you have to be up soon, and I’m sorry. But having you there was- yeah. Thank you.”

For the first time in years, Johnny lets you snuggle with him. An hour later, for the first time ever, Johnny lets Haechan do the same. He fears that this might become a pattern, the two of you craving so much affection it might suffocate him. Johnny knows it just might, but has found peace in that. Much like he has found peace in your insistence that Haechan be one of you. Because he is one of you, he too left orphaned at a young age, you took him under your wing. So much like that day, as Johnny falls asleep to the sound of your light snores, he also decides-

300 days

“He’s family.”

“He speaks so highly of you both,” Mark adds, smiling thankfully at your sleeping frame. “But I’m sure he would forgive you for doing what’s best for her.”

“She wouldn’t.” Johnny adds, though a part of him knows he might have trouble forgiving himself.

“What is it you do for a living?” Mark asks, eyes quickly scanning Johnny’s crisp suit. “I can’t say I recall Hyuck ever mentioning it.”

“A bit of this and that,” he jokes, glancing towards you. “That’s what she calls it.” He hates the melancholic tone he has adopted. It is pitiful. “After our parents passed, I took over their pharmaceuticals company just after I turned twenty-one. We dabble in everything; medicine, cosmeceuticals, nutrition, you name it.”

“That must keep you busy.”

“I work from home,” Johnny knows he is being foolish, trying to falsely place an accusation in Mark’s assumption. Johnny knows he fell into the classic trope of throwing himself into his studies, and then his work, just to avoid the harsh reality that his parents were gone and they were never coming back. He would readily admit he abandoned you in the beginning to grieve on your own, to figure it all out on your own. He just wouldn’t take that from a stranger. “I tried to be around for her as much as I could.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mark’s smile is kind, full of unfiltered sympathy. Johnny wonders if you have to practice such a thing, and if so, whether someone should have the doctors do the same. “I just wonder if you are wearing yourself thin is all.”

“You needn’t worry about such things Detective.” Johnny reminds, drawing the line between the two so simply, his eyes flicking slowly to Mark’s badge. “Worry about the case.”

“Of course,” Mark rushes, scrambling to defend his statement. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“And I you,” when the doctor enters to take both yours and Haechan’s vitals, he greets Mark warmly. Johnny feels no resentment to this warm reception, none whatsoever. But he can’t help but wonder what about him denies him the same warm greeting. He is quickly reminded of the first time he was to meet Taeyong.

1,977 days

“Your knees are shaking the counter, hyung,” Haechan sniggers. He knows he shouldn’t, he does. But he can’t help but bask in his friend’s nerves. How can the coldest man he knows be so scared to meet his sister’s boyfriend. As calm and collected as he behaves, Haechan is no stranger to worry, and it worries him to no end how the evening will go. From what he has heard from you, Taeyong is as nervous as one can be. And yet, your main concern lies in how your brother will react, and Haechan is an empathetic soul. He just knows he will feel it all. “Your vibe is really killing the mood, lighten up.”

“Shut up, kid.” Johnny warns, eyeing his watch every so often. “They’re late.”

Strike one.

“You know what y/n is like, she’s probably trying to talk him out of it.” Haechan notes how innocent Johnny looks with his head tilted, confusion bleeding into his features. “You are pretty scary hyung, maybe she thinks you’m scare him off.”

“Maybe he isn’t worthy then.”

Strike two.

“Or,” Haechan sings, adjusting his embroidered apron, Hyuck’s opening anniversary gift from the very man he is about to berate. “Maybe you’re not ready to watch your sister grow up, so you sabotage everything with your scary eyes and bad vibes,” Haechan shrugs with his chin in his palm, blinking sweetly at Johnny who resists the urge to flick his forehead.

“Don’t you have coffee to go pour?”

Haechan sniggers once more as he does just that, refilling Johnny’s coffee and shrugging. “Or maybe they’re stuck in traffic.”

So he can’t fly?

Strike three.

300 days

After a few hours, Mark returns for a detailed description of the three men he suspects may be involved in the shooting. Johnny says as much as he can recall, even going as far as to emphasise the detective’s lack of involvement. He suspects it is in direct retaliation to his earlier comment and ignores it, though Johnny quickly sees his own guilt reflected back in the detective’s guilt ridden eyes. “Will that be all?”

“Almost-” Mark starts, before glancing over at you. “I just,” he can’t seem to push past the lump in his throat. Johnny has given him everything he knows, that much is true. But after speaking with the doctor, Mark can’t help but wonder. “Why haven’t you tried speaking to her? Doctor Kim said she may respond well to a familiar voice.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Mark knows it’s a loaded statement. One dripping in regret, in guilt, and in shame. But Mark can’t afford for Johnny to be ashamed. Not with Haechan lying unconscious as you lie there, reliving that day over and over and over again. Mark needs you to wake up. But Mark also swore to never relinquish his compassion. All Mark knows of you is the stories he’s heard through Haechan. Though some have a rosier hue due to his familiarity with you, Mark is sure there is no exaggeration in your case. You are a good person. One who cares deeply, who loves deeply. Mark thinks those parts of you are the ones Johnny can tap into. He just won’t.

“Haechan was my first friend in Korea. When I moved here as a kid, my parents worked at the orphanage he was at. He made fun of my Korean for a year straight before I could finally understand and speak fluently enough to defend myself. But, I guess it was okay, you know? He was helping all the same. I was a scrawny kid, I used to get picked on a lot. He was always there. Even though he got beat up too. He’s in all my earliest- my best memories. growing up. He’s like my brother. If he was awake, I think I’d-”

“But he isn’t,” Johnny reminds, eyes locked on your sunken face. Johnny knows what Mark is doing, he knows the tactic very well. He is quite acquainted with guilt as a form of persuasion. “He’s not awake, detective. The doctor said he doesn’t know if he will ever wake up. You know, I overheard the doctors say they haven’t seen spinal fractures that severe in their fifty years of combined experience. They said if Haechan ever opens his eyes again it will be a miracle. If he walks again? This hospital would be internationally renowned. Those surgeons would be infamous. But they can’t. They can’t so it. They can’t do it because they don’t have the facilities for such an operation, and even if they did, Hyuck couldn’t afford it. Even if he could afford it, y/n would have to wake up and give them the okay, because this idiot made herself his guardian so he could practically sell his soul for the loan for that fucking diner.

“So, I’m sorry, detective. I’m sorry that the only thing standing between you ever seeing your friend again is my selfish sister.”

“Mr Seo-”

“But you must agree, she is selfish. She thinks she’s the only one hurting, the only one who has lost something, lost someone.” Mark only sees what Johnny is doing a few seconds too late. As Johnny raises a lone finger to his lips, his eyes catching on the stream pouring down your temples. Mark’s heart nearly beats out of his chest as your vital signs begin to whir, the machinery at your bedside coming to life as Johnny reminds you that, “people die every day. Our parents, Hyuck’s parents, and now Taeyong-”

“Don’t!” You scream suddenly, your body nearly thrashing off of the bed. Johnny fears the force with which you rise could snap your arms in two, but nothing is more worrisome than the bloody red rimming your crisp white eyes; the visible and painfully rapid rise and fall of your chest; the tremor in your chapped lips. “Don’t! Please! Please don’t say it-”

Johnny had never moved so fast. His hands clinging to your trembling frame as he stroked the back of your head. He chanted quickly in your ear, pleading with you to stay with him as he promises to stay. “I won’t go anywhere, I won’t leave you. Never. I promise. Just please, stay with me, okay? I need you here, Hyuck- Hyuck needs you, okay? I need you to stay with me, we’re all we have. Please, y/n-”

Mark couldn’t help but feel intrusive. His earlier pushing began to feel filthy, unfair, unjust. But how could he know you were this far gone, this distraught. Nothing is more sickening than the soft, croaky ‘yes’ that spills from your lips. Your bloodshot eyes lingering on his frozen frame before you see Haechan. You tremble again, your body nearly convulsing as you recognise the boy beside you.

“Shh, he’ll be okay- I promise- we’ll get him help. I promise you- we’ll be okay.”

Johnny rarely spoke out of hope. He was a man who would cling so tightly to reality, you would sometimes joke that his knuckles would snap from the pressure. But as he holds you tightly in his arms, rocking your hollow frame back and forth, he realises he has nothing more than hope.

But since when has hope ever been enough?

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 31

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The memories come to an end

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

It didn’t matter that they dragged him, restrained with glyphed chains and shackles, through a glowing portal that had looked very similar to the one he’d first gone through.

It didn’t matter that their headquarters seemed to be an old manor filled with strange artifacts and old furniture.

It didn’t matter that they told him, after throwing him into a basement cell lined with glyphs, that they were a group called the Masters of the Mystic Arts.

They were HYDRA and they were going to use him like they always used him. Bucky expected Colonel Vasily Karpov to walk through the door any moment, but his only visitor was a soft-spoken bald woman. She was pale, unnaturally so, and had a very precise way of speaking. She apparently knew who he was but would only refer to him as “James.”

He hated it. Hated her sweet words given through iron bars. It was no different than how Fairbanks had treated him. Tricked Bucky with promises of hot meals, warm baths, and protection from the guards if he would just cooperate with Fairbanks’ vision.

But that’s not what the woman asked of him. Bucky didn’t know what she wanted. She would visit him, talk to him, ask him questions about his life before HYDRA. His captors had never done that before, had never encouraged him to talk about his past as a human before they managed to burn away his memories and trick him into believing he was a full-fledged demon.

It was confusing, even more so when he was moved out of the cell and into a proper room. He still had to wear the bespelled shackles that left him weak and harmless, but they didn’t beat him or taunt him or force him to feed. In fact, the woman, who called herself the Ancient One like it was an actual title, gave him a tonic that would make the hunger go away.

Bucky didn’t believe a damn word she said. He remembered the last time he’d been offered something like this from Lukin. It had been a salve that had artificially induced his next heat, and he’d been mocked cruelly before Lukin would allow his men to sate Bucky’s cursed hunger.

And now that same hunger grew so strong that eventually Bucky drank the liquid, because nothing could be worse than the agony twisting through his body. To his eternal shock, it helped. Made the searing desire in his gut vanish into a dull ache.

That was when Bucky had finally begun to believe her. This wasn’t HYDRA, and he wasn’t going to be used as a weapon again. When he’d told the Ancient One of his conclusions, she had smiled and said, “I know that must have been very difficult for you, James. I appreciate your trust.”

Bucky wouldn’t go that far, he was a long way from trusting his new captors, but when she returned the stuffed cat to him with the strange advice that he should “take care of precious things,” he was well on his way to tolerating her.

For the next few months, Bucky spent his time relearning how to be a person. He rediscovered his love of knowledge, and the Sanctum provided much of that. The books, especially. He was fascinated by the large, bound tomes that smelled like dust and forgotten time. Focusing on consuming as many books as possible was a way for him to adjust to living as a… well, as a human again.

The Ancient One had encouraged his time in the library once she trusted him with having more access to the Sanctum. The other sorcerers had wanted to keep Bucky contained in the glyph-warded cell, but she told them, “If you cage a man like an animal, expect him to act as a beast.”

Bucky was growing quite fond of her.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky wasn’t hypervigilant and waiting for the next attack, whether from HYDRA soldiers or other demons. He was healing, very slowly recovering from the decades of traumatic memories he had to sort through. It was even more confusing with the “time dilation” he’d experienced in the demon realm. Forty-eight years had passed for him when only four years had passed on Earth. It was 1995, he was in New York City, and his only acquaintances were a sect of secretive sorcerers who kept him locked up in an ancient manor.

Things could have been worse, all things considered.

Something did happen one day to dampen his spirits. It was a warm early summer day, and they were enjoying the sunshine within the Sanctum rooftop garden. The Ancient One was training him to extend his guise around his clawed feet to make them appear as if he was wearing boots. She insisted it was possible, that Bucky had already shown an affinity for magic with his ability to take away, and later they learned, share memories.

But making his demonic aspects disappear was one thing, trying to create illusionary clothing was another, and he was growing frustrated with his efforts, or lack thereof.

“Fairbanks told me my transformation was complete,” Bucky grumbled, staring at his clawed feet as if they’d done him personal wrong. “There weren’t supposed to be any more changes, but now I have to lug these things around.”

He flexed his talons to demonstrate his meaning, grimacing at the animalistic shape of them. At least with his other changes, he’d managed to guise himself enough to look human. Now, with this…

“As if I didn’t already look like a monster,” he muttered.

“Evil men lie. You know this more intimately than most.” The Ancient One seemed almost distracted, staring over the rooftop and toward the city skyline. Then she turned toward him, her smile muted in sadness. “You’re no monster, James.”

Bucky looked away, unable to look at such sincerity for too long. She really did believe what she said.

“This isn’t working.” He sat back with a huff. “I can’t do it.”

Instead of her mild chastisement for giving up so easily, the Ancient One remained silent. Bucky looked up to find her staring off to the side again, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t there.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked and turned back to him, giving him one of those small smiles.

“Nothing, James. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted.” She was never distracted. Thoughtful and meditative, sure, but never unfocused like she’d been all day.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I thought I heard a voice.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, mired with guilt. He’d forgotten all about his own mysterious voice. He experienced the same shade of guilt and grief whenever he remembered what had happened to Steve. Died saving the world, not long after Bucky had been imprisoned. And here Bucky was, alive and whole, and he hadn’t bothered to think about the entity, real or imagined, that had kept him from going insane in the demon realm. It had helped him remember who he was and kept at bay the devastating loneliness.

He could barely remember what the voice sounded like.

He opened his mouth to ask her to explain what she meant, but the Ancient One clapped her hands together and said, “Let us try again. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you. Focus on what you desire and shape it into the world.”

Bucky sighed and unwillingly turned back to his lessons, the weight of loneliness still lingering at the back of his mind.

***

“This isn’t working.”

You watched Bucky struggle, unable to help or communicate with him. Not like you’d done before. Trapped on the demon world, Bucky had somehow been able to hear you. Even talk to you.

You’d almost forgotten who you were in that place. It had been so easy to just be with Bucky, to sink into his mind and be so close you weren’t sure who was who. And then you’d been jostled awake when he’d had leapt through the portal. It had been agony, split in two, and you’d been torn from Bucky and forced back into your own non-corporeal state.

And that’s where you’d remained. Seeing yourself as a child lose your memories. Forced to watch Bucky feed and suffer and then be captured, but when you’d realized who had him, you’d been relieved for the first time since being trapped in Bucky’s memories.

Now that you knew the Ancient One, had witnessed firsthand how kind and gentle she was with Bucky, you were shamed by your previous jealousy. She grew on you, and after a time, you felt like you knew her just as well as Bucky did.

Perhaps that explained what happened next.

“I can’t do it.”

Bucky’s frustration was aimed at the Ancient One, but she paid him no attention. Her eyes were focused directly on the spot where you stood.

The world grew quiet and still. The wizards around you, moving to and from their tasks, were now frozen in midstride. The water bubbling up from a nearby fountain hung in the air like a glass sculpture. Bucky sat half-hunched on the stone bench, glaring at his clawed feet.

Cold fear washed through your non-spine as the Ancient One smiled.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced around just to be extra sure she was addressing you, but the world was still frozen. Even the air was a dead weight against your skin.

“You…” Your voice trembled, unused in so long. “You can see me?”

“Of course,” she said, addressing you by name just to make the moment more surreal. “I sensed James had a passenger. How long have you been attached to him?”

Horror, hope, terror, all of it vied for control. Your next words were a messy jumble.

“I… I don’t know. I was, we were just. He was showing me his memories, but they were the wrong ones, and I got stuck—Please, you have to help me!”

The Ancient One raised a hand, palm toward you in a soothing manner.

“It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. Take your time, for we have plenty of it.”

You closed your mouth and took a deep breath, allowing the tension to leech from your muscles.

“That’s better,” she said, her voice smooth and her smile kind. “We shall start with something simple. Have we met before?”

“I… no. I don’t think so.” That was something simple? “I mean, I thought you were…”

Your voice trailed off into silence. Were you supposed to tell her she was dead? Or… would be dead. How were you even able to speak to her? Wasn’t this just a memory? You couldn’t affect a memory, right?

“Ah.” She gave you a knowing look. “I see.”

Her gaze drifted down to where Bucky sat, her expression fond. She didn’t seem to be very upset with the fact she would be dead sometime in the future.

“I take it you are important to James? You must be, for him to willingly share his memories with you.”

“I… yes,” you said, following her gaze to Bucky. Even now in a strange, frozen moment, you ached to touch him again. Hell, you ached just to speak with him, for him to see you and know you again. Being a stranger to Bucky was unbearable. “He’s important to me, too.”

“I sense that is true. Perhaps more than you realize.”

After a moment of quietness, she met your eye again. Something had shifted within her, and her tone grew serious.

“To answer the question you wish to ask, this is James’ memory, but it is also your present. You are untethered from reality and trapped in a time-loop.”

“A… a what?”

“It’s very fortunate I found you at this moment, in this place,” she continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “I suspect you would have been trapped, until such a time you would have caught up to the place you had become untethered, and time would have repeated itself.”

Her eyes darkened and the smile was gone. You wanted to retreat but your feet, as they had been from the start, were unable to move.

“Journeying through time is extremely dangerous.” There was thunder in her words, quiet but frightening, and you wanted to recoil. “Who is your teacher? Surely they would not have been so negligent with your education.”

“I—“ You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A teacher? For what?”

She stared at you for a hard minute, expression never changing, and in that moment you could sense the vast, unknowable power that lingered within this seemingly frail-looking woman.

“Listen to me well, young one,” she said. “When you return to your present, seek out the Sorcerer Supreme. I will not gaze forward to see who it is, as one should not know too much of their own fate. But when you return, go to the leader of the Order, and tell them I said…”

Her gaze dropped downward, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Even though you didn’t technically had lungs, you could breathe easier now that her dark gaze was gone.

“Tell them it’s their responsibility to shape the future of our kind. No matter what tests they’ve conducted or conclusions they’ve come to, you must be taught our ways. Neglecting to do so will result in consequences like these. Or worse.”

The Ancient One clapped her hands together again, the oversized sleeves pooling at her elbow to expose her thin arms.

“Now, it’s time I send you back, yes? Oh, one last thing.”

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah?”

“When the moment comes and the obvious choice feels wrong…” She looked you directly in the eye, a piercing gaze that went right through. “…trust yourself to find a different answer. Do not doubt yourself, even while others will. Your life, and James’, both depend on it. Do you understand?”

“Uh—no,” you stuttered. “No, I don’t understand—Wait!”

Your protest went unheeded as the Ancient One moved toward you while also remaining firmly in place. A shimmering second copy of her walked across the stone, raised a palm, and shoved you hard in the chest.

Gasping and clutching your shirt, you bolted upright with a cry. You were back in your bedroom, sprawled out on your bed and panting as if you’d run a marathon.

And Bucky was staring down at you with complete and utter horror.

Next Chapter