#I have to process this for a day and bawl reading this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shuenkio · 9 months ago

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𝖥𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 —☔— Jay

Paring: Bully!Jay x male!reader

Genre: Angst, [no love but emotion involved]

Cw: bruise, alcoholic, love affair, wounds, hospitalized etc

Summary: At the end he wants to take care of you to repay his actions.

Wc: 2.0k

Non proof read / first time writing angst there'd be some error. [Nothing is real this is a fanfic]

Living your life was already one hell ride, and you're hoping that school will give you some healing with your friends from your forbidden house. However, there was one person who craved your attention, your tears, and your suffering.

Seeing you under his control, unable to fight back, makes him even more gratified, and he would love to play with you all day long.

M/N, who is the only child living with your parents, who are arguing every day, didn't care about their surroundings, especially you.

Your father had an affair with your mother's sister, and ever since she found out, your family started crumbling. Holding back, I couldn't do anything aside from stay silent. You're just wanting to run away from this family of yours and never come back, but you couldn't; you don't have the heart to leave your mother in this state.

Since your father took steps away from this house, your mother began to drink every sort of alcohol to wash away all her sadness and depression, and soon she became an alcoholic.

However, she still manages to give you a life to breathe by working her head off. It's a blessing that she's still got one job that could keep her going from time to time. Nevertheless, that was only a good side. Since you're her only child, she always wanted the best for you.

You can't go out without her permission; you'll have to do all the housework, make food before she gets home, and get a good grade every month. All of these requirements come from her stressing you out. You thought she would be kind to you beside your father, but this is too much for you to take.

You can't sleep without overthinking about tomorrow, and your eyes are wide open all night long. You're tired. One day, when you wake up, you find a note on the counter in the kitchen that was left by your mother. As you observed it, you found yourself bawling your eyes out.

This is not a note; this is a last goodbye from your beloved mother. She's gone now; she left you in this horrible place with you all by yourself. Now you have nothing, along with some money that she left on the counter for you to continue this journey alone.

You don't understand why you should have to endure this all alone when they're the ones who started, you want to end everything, you wish you wouldn't be born so you don't have to breathe in this cruel, ugly world, and you still want to carry on.

You wipe your tears away with your hoodie's sleeve and accept your own fate as you prepare yourself for school. The least you could do at the moment was go to school, sometimes taking time to process there. On the other hand, you never thought in your mind that there was someone waiting for you.

Jay Park is the wealthy, rich, and spoiled kid, as you know. There's no reason for him to be a bully; he has just been like that since the very beginning. He loves to see everyone's downfall in despair, crying like a child while he overpowers them. Which is you, who's his victim's rights now? Not only did you draw his attention with your pretty face as a guy, but since you're the top student in the class, he got jealous.

To make your grade drop, all he had in mind was to bully you, and he knows you can't do anything to kick him out of the school because you're poor. While walking through the school's entrance, you accidentally bump into something as your hoodie's hood covers your vision. You move your head to the one you're bumping into before you realize it was none other than Jay.

Another day, another bruise. You quickly bow down to ask for forgiveness, and without further ado, you fasten your walk pace, hoping that you'll always get from him, but your feet are still in one place as your bag is grabbed by his grips.

"Where do you think you're going, little fella?" He smirked in satisfaction, a cocky grin painted on his face. You let out a heavy sign and cured your eyebrows together, willing to take anything.

The next thing you know, he's already taken you to the back of the school, the storage room, where no one dares to come by except him. You were asked to kneel on both knees, looking down on the ground, while your face was covered with bruises and bleeding scratches.

He never stops, and he doesn't have the plan to do that. He then kneeled on one foot, cupping your face harshly with one hand, making you look at him with your messy face.

"Aww, don't you look cute? I don't know why I enjoy playing with you longer than anyone else. Can you answer that, darling? Hm?" He looks at you as if you're his prey, tracing down on your wound and pressing it harder. As a result, you're whimpering in pain.

"P-please, I'm sorry, I'm begging." Your tears broke down, asking for his mercy, which he's eager for for a very long time. To see this moment, his facial expressions grow even more scary, as if he's a psychopath.

"You're begging already, darling? How sad I'm emotional~ ha seeing you under my control is all I need, so no." After he said that, he was about to harass you even more, but before he could, your friends suddenly blasted in at the right moment.

"Lay a finger on him again; I'm going to show this to your father, you mf." They're all running toward you, holding you close and looking over your injury.

"Wow, I'm afraid I might be expelled so scary~ I'll let you try it, dude; I'm sure he wouldn't care anyway." He responded, folding his hands together as he scoffs in disbelief.

"I might lose, but not this time, Jay. I know your father more than you know him; you're a dead meat today." Jay's ex-buddy states that it's true that before he leaves Jay for good, he already knows Jay's personal life: his father, his daily life, his family—he knows everything. That's why he's confident enough to speak about Jay's father.

"So? You think my dad will listen to you better than I am."He was cut by a sudden door crack open, revealing a man in gray hair behind whom it was his father. Jay's face turned pale as white as he looked upon his father standing tall behind his ex-friend.

"D-dad, it's not what you're thinking; you have to listen to me first, not this asshole!!" He dragged his feet to where his father was standing, asking for him to hear about his explanation.

"I have two eyes, Jay; I'm not blind nor deaf; you'll pay for your own consequences; get in the car at the instant." His father was shouting in a fuming tone, clearly pissed off by his own son's behavior. Jay, trembling with a tight chest as he makes his way out of this room, can't speak any more words. Jay's father then gazed over you before speaking.

"Are you alright, my child? I'm sorry for causing such an unfortunate situation for you; I'll pay everything on behalf of my ungrateful son. Now I'll let you rest assured and promise you that this will never happen again."

Once Jay was home, not only was he grounded, but his father had a serious plan for his own son by watching him 24/7 in his every move; he couldn't do anything without his permission, and he'd also no longer get access to his monthly allowance to punish him for his actions.

Even worse, he must take care of you, who's been lying down on the hospital bed ever since that day. He will also have to say "sorry" every day until you're recovered.

At the hospital

You're lying down on the soft bed while the IV injection is in your veins. It's serious because not only your body's bruises, but your health too, without proper eating, resting, and getting beaten almost every single day, and you know who.

Inside the silent room were despondent and empty; the lights were off due to your liking of the moon's sunlight reflecting through the large glass window. It's chilling with a cold breeze outside.

You take the rolling stand with you as you open the door, taking a moment to absorb the fresh air under the night sky with the chaos of city life underneath. You stood on the balcony, inhaling deeply as the crisp night air enveloped you.

In that moment, you felt a profound sense of peace and connectedness with the universe, as if the entire world had paused just for you to savor the simple joy of being alive, despite how hard your life was. It's crazy that some of you want to enjoy the city lights more while hopping on the fence of the balcony and sitting on it while swinging your legs.

You know it's too dangerous and too risky; with one wrong move, you'll see the heaven light; nevertheless, you couldn't care much; if God wants you to live, you'll live. The door cracked open, revealing Jay holding a bunch of food and supplies in his bag too.

He closed the door behind him, and as he looked over the bed to see nothing on it, he thought you were probably in the bathroom. However, when his eye passed by the curtain that was left open, blowing by the wind, he saw a figure in a patient gown sitting on the edge of the fence.

Sooner, he realizes that person was you, as he immediately drops everything on the floor with a loud thump filling the room, running to you in panic before grabbing your waist by his pair of hands in swift motions, snatching your body against his to the ground, and clenching you close to his chest.

The unexpected snatching by someone pulling you away almost makes your heart stop beating. You were so stunned that you couldn't talk.

"Are you fucking crazy?! Are you trying to kill yourself?" He raised his voice at you, shaking your shoulder, asking why you would do such a thing. You know you're not going to commit S/C, but instead you're answering the opposite, frustrated.

"So what if I do? Why would you care about me?" You fire back at his sudden care for you; last time he saw you, you're left with nothing but pain. Now he starts to act like being nice to you, which is such a twist.

"Because your life is my life! I know I'm a jerk and I should be buried alive, but please don't do this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything I had done to you. I realized I was wrong, and you should scorn me for it. But *sob*, please let me repay for everything I had done to you." Jay paused as he took a moment to take his breath from his outburst. You blink while slightly taken aback by the emotional outburst; you have never seen Jay in this state before, crying in pain.

"Your friends told me everything about your life. If only I could go back in time, knowing the truth behind it, I'd never been that jerk and a bully to you. I won't ask for your forgiveness; all I want is for you to let me do justice for you. Let me take care of you, and I don't care if you hurt me in the process. Just let me." He stopped as his tears streamed down his cheeks, with guilt heavy on him and regret at his actions.

He's burying his face in his hands, muffling his sobs, and crying harder until his face falls onto his lap, as if he's bowing to you. Comprehend the stat he was in right now; instead of bushings on him more, you choose to comfort him instead, even though he's a walking red flag.

Everyone can change, and so did he; responding with kindness was the best choice.

"I forgive you, but I'll never forget. I'll let you repay for your action, Jay."

You said as you patted his back carelessly on it in a gentle manner.

"Th—ank you."

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️ I'm written some fluffs or angst at the moment, there'll be no SMAU for the sometimes? Not sure but I'll write all of my drift until it's empty, but feel free to request an idea, I'll consider.

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ crd to all pics&dividers Owner

#enhypen #enhypen x male reader #enha x male reader #park jongseong #enhypen jay #enha x you #enha imagines #enha fluff #enhypen scenarios #kpop x male reader #enha x reader #enhypen angst #enha jay #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #jay x reader #enha fanfic #enha fics

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mvltisstuff · 2 years ago

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Hi!, I hope you’re doing okay I know Finals can be stressful, but I hope everything going great :).

I saw that you were doing requests again so I was wondering if we can get a fluffy fic with Buck and Reader having their wedding and Reader also announce at the wedding that she’s pregnant!

Also can you make Bobby the father of Reader :)

la vie en rose - e.b

summary: request :)

evan buckley x nash!reader

a/n: thank you for the request, you guys are wicked creative and i love reading them 🩶 were 1/7 finals done so we’re getting back in the groove 💪

y/n’s hair fell down in light curls on her shoulders, her face done in light makeup. a veil fell down her back and on her white, luscious dress. the time, the money, and love put into this day had finally come to a start. and y/n and buck couldn’t be more excited.

buck could jump up and down at the thought of her having his last name. his last name will on her license, her cards, their kids, next to hers. he could explode from excitement when he looks at the stupendous ring that he picked out. y/n looked at hers the same way, the silver band with minute gems on the middle screamed bucks name. she didn’t want to see it anywhere else but on his left hand.

marriage is a vast milestone in one’s life. the second buck, who proposed in an incredible buck way, got down on one knee, he knew he made the right choice. the rest of his life was meant to be with this woman. and he knew the rest of his life with her would be the best of his life.

standing in front of each other at the ceremony, being an emotional man who just can’t get enough love, bucks eyes welled up with tears the second he saw her flashing smile and radiant eyes. she looked absolutely heavenly, as always, but something was particularly different this time. the bewitching scenery around them and the aesthetic venue has perfectly made the night. watching y/n walk down the isle with her father, bobby, linked arm to arm with her made bucks already massive heart grow ten sizes.

bobby was always buck’s second father. he was there for him always, giving him proper guidance and acceptance that buck always needed growing up. when his own dad couldn’t do that for him, bobby picked up the pieces. bobby couldn’t be happier. his daughter was so happy with buck, and that’s all he wanted for the both of them. having bobby as a mentor made buck a better person, and bobby as a father made y/n the perfect daughter.

y/n’s own tears begin to rise into her eyes when she sees buck, dressed neatly in his black suit. eddie was standing next to him with christopher and a few of bucks good friends. maddie had stood in her alluring bridesmaids dress. y/n and maddie connected so well, and seeing buck perk up whenever she came into a room made maddies heart soar of happiness and delight.

they stood before the officiator, who was reading off things to buck that were almost nonsense. he had memorized everything, as he knew that her beauty would capture him and he couldn’t process anything else.

“i, evan buckley,” buck says. “take you, y/n y/l/n as my lawful wife.”

“to have and to hold, for better or for worse,” y/n speaks gently, locking eyes with her soon-to-be husband.

“in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish.”

“until death do us part,” they finish off their traditional vows and look to the guests. maddie is bawling her eyes out, trying not to make a peep. bobby is better at hiding his tears, hand in hand with athena as he sits in front row, watching his little girl become a wife. eddie and chimney have a smile wider than the horizon and hen and her wife watch in admiration of the couple. ravi, had been quietly cheering in the front row as well, cooling down his ‘life of the party’ personality until the end of the ceremony.

before the priest can finish his sentence about the first kiss, buck grabs the back of y/n’s neck and pulls her into a deep kiss, placing his other hand on her hip. they’ve kissed more times than they can count, but sparks will forever fly every time. this one is particularly special, for it commemorates the rest of their lives together.

the newlyweds step down and walk back down the isle while holding hands and sniffling shamelessly.

the after party was sick, open bars and decor with the live band. the first dance was magical, everyone feeling the love from buck and y/n radiate through the huge room. the circular tables were placed throughout the room, with the entire 118 at one table. they’d formed one table, and the buckleys had intentionally put all their friends name tags around one table. the caterers at the wedding had set up everywhere, and they couldn’t imagine a better night.

chimney came back with ravi and bobby, all of them hauling several drinks over, handing the biggest ones to y/n and buck. “for the husband and wife!” bobby says, placing the cocktails down in front of them. y/n stared at the drinks in front of her, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. she’s never been one to back out, which kind of alarmed the rest of the team.

y/n had been experiencing extreme fatigue for the past few weeks, and the concern of her health was so important to her. she wasn’t sure if her dad could take the loss of another child. she had been the only one to survive the fire, and the two of them were left to fend off of each other. her pregnancy was quite random, her and buck were getting married in just a few weeks. y/n didn’t know how she was going to hide it, but eventually, the anxiety was drowned out by excitement. they knew they wanted a family, it just happened sooner than they thought.

“oh, i’m alright, ravi,” she politely declines, causing confusion from her husband and her friends.

“c’mon, y/n! it’s your wedding day!” hen cheers on, pushing the drink back closer to her.

“yeah, you ok?” buck asks, quietly to not make his new wife overwhelmed.

“guys, really,” y/n smiles, looking down at her hands. “i’m fine, just not in a drinking mood.”

“you’re allowed to have a drink, y/n. you never get this day back,” bobby encourages her to have one to celebrate the new chapter in her life, but the new addition is more important.

“no, i’m not allowed to.”

everyone looks at her like she has ten heads, surprised that she’s not going all out on her wedding night.

“i cant because i’m pregnant,” she finishes, looking at buck first. his mouth was wide open, his chin on the floor.

“s-sorry, what?” she looks at bucks nervous face and nods. “oh! oh, my god?” he kisses her again, not knowing any other words to describe how he feels. hen let’s out a sharp squeal, before jumping up into y/n’s arms, almost knocking her out of the chair. maddie, who no one thought could cry so much, starts sobbing even more because her little brother became a husband and a parent in one day. y/n makes eye contact with her teary-eyed father, clutching hands with his own wife.

hen pulls away, and y/n says, “dad?”

“i, i don’t know what to say, y/n. other than i’m proud of you. and you’ve been the perfect daughter, and you’re going to be the perfect mom.”

“to your grandchild!” chimney pokes fun at bobby, who sips his club soda.

“don’t remind me, chim,” he says jokingly pointing out his age.

y/n and buck can’t peel their eyes away, and buck finds his hand migrating to her current no-bump stomach. “i love you so much, thank you, thank you!” buck says, over and over again.

“i love you to the moon, darling. i picked the best man, and i know you’ll be the best dad,” y/n grins, her cheeks becoming sore from the repeated smiles. “i still can’t believe you’re not a dream.”

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #athena grant #henrietta wilson #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley x reader #maddie buckley #howie han #911 chimney #may grant #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley one shot #evan buck buckely

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sorrowfulrosebud · 2 years ago

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𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 𝔎𝔞𝔱𝔰𝔲𝔨𝔦 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔟𝔞𝔡 𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔭𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱 (𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔶 𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱)

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: 𝔭𝔢𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔵𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔡𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔡𝔬𝔪/𝔰𝔲𝔟 𝔡𝔶𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔠 𝔟𝔶𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔦𝔱’𝔰 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔎𝔞𝔱𝔰𝔲𝔨𝔦, 𝔟𝔢𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔡𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔶𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔞, 𝔲𝔫𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔵, 𝔠𝔲𝔪 𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔥𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔭𝔢𝔱-𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶 𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰 (𝔭𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔶, 𝔭𝔲𝔭), 𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔞, 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔱 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶, 𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔫-𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔟𝔞𝔩 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔶, “𝔪𝔞𝔪𝔞“ 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨, 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔭 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔵, 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰, 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰

The thick mahogany door creaked open as you stirred Katsuki’s favourite spicy noodles in the pot. A low grunt echoed as Katsuki pulled off his heavy combat boots, almost tripping himself up as he stumbles into the living room.

He looked an absolute mess; hair ruffled with chunks of debris lurched precariously amongst the dandelion fluff; blood caked into the microfibres of his shirt and arms, his frown lines embedded deep into his face.

“Hi sweetheart. Bad day at work?” You murmured to him, slowing the bubbling of the noodles and gently approaching him. He had a tendency to slip into fight or flight mode after a particularly rough day at work; your face could melt into one of a villains in the span of an excited hug, often leading to cries of “no Suki, it’s me!”. You learned his triggers, and abided by them solemnly.

Your hands caressed his shoulders, taking in his dishevelled appearance. Fiery eyes blinked slowly into yours, thoughts still chugging away. This was also a nasty side effect of his job; sometimes it took him a while to process his feelings after a horrible day, leaving him nonverbal and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

He looked into your eyes desperately, mouth attempting to talk but only allowing gaspy breaths to leave. You smiled at him softly as you removed his eye mask.

“You don’t have to speak, my love. Let’s just eat and forget this entire day, alright? I washed the sheets with that laundry detergent you like, and we can continue reading that book we started. Does that sound okay to you?” You asked him. You found that it was still appreciated to include him in decision making, even in this current state.

Katsuki managed a small nod as you kissed him gently and escorted him to the table. A steaming bowl of ramen was placed lovingly in front of him, the waft of eye-watering spices tantalising his nose. He managed to pick up his chopsticks with trembling hands, before attempting to scoop up a bite.

The ramen plopped off the chopsticks tauntingly, splashing Katsuki in the cheek. He let out an annoyed grunt before attempting again, only to be met with the same reaction.

You lowered your chopsticks and looked at him with worry. Just what happened today to make him so upset?

“Suki? Are you alright?” You asked him gently. For some reason, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back as he released a singular sob. Then another. Then another. Until the poor man was trembling so harshly he nearly fell off his seat.

You rushed over to your husband, arms shielding him protectively as he bawled into your arms. Gentle arms rocked him soothingly, threading your fingers through his ash blonde locks.

“I know, my love, I know. Let it out, just get it out of your system. You’re safe here, nothing can go wrong. I’ve got you. You’re safe and warm in my arms,” you consoled him as his tears stained your shirt.

You didn’t bother with the “I understand what you’re going through” bullshit or convince him that you knew he did the best he could because that was not what he needed to hear. He just needed you to be his grounding anchor, someone to rest his weary body against and to relinquish his sorrows.

“That’s it, my love. Get those horrible memories out,” you murmured as Katsuki clung to you intensely. It took a good twenty minutes for his sobs to progress to hiccups and then to the occasional sniffle. He looked at you after he was done crying, as if he was actually looking at you for the first time in years.

“Welcome back, Suki. I missed you baby,” you kissed his nose and rested his forehead against yours as he slowed his breathing.

“‘M sorry you had to see that. I’m a fucking pro hero for fuck’s sake, I can’t be getting that emotional,” he muttered lowly.

Although he never intended to fall in love with you, it felt like fate. Your love was like emerging into a breath-taking grassy valley after spending years alone in a sewer. Your kindness and warmth is akin to the quirk that flows through his blood, crackling and soothing. You were like a goddess, cursed to fall in love with the foolish mortal who had in turn been incapsulated by your beauty. He needed you to breath, more than the oxygen pumping his unworthy lungs.

“Katsuki, you’re more than just a pro hero. You’re human too, a human blessed with a power that allows him to save people. You work in a job that is so, so dangerous and see things that would leave other people begging for death. You forget that you’re human too, so please don’t blame yourself for acting like one,” you lifted his teary cheeks up and kissed his forehead.

He could feel his eyes sting with unshed tears. You smiled at him and gently held his hand, massaging the tough callouses.

“I think you need to take some time off, sweetie. You’re struggling to eat, and I’m not having you collapse because your hands won’t stop trembling,” you said firmly, shushing any protest that came out of your husband’s mouth.

“Now. If you like, I can make you a sandwich if ramen isn’t working for you, and I’ll go run you a bath to clean up,” you told him, looking at him for approval.

“Something with meat in it, please,” he asked quietly.

“Of course baby.”

Katsuki’s bath went off without any major troubles; it wasn’t unusual for him to take his anger out in the comfort of the bath, where tears could roll down his face but could blame it on the scorching bath water. Well, before you turned down the water a few degrees to stop him from burning.

He ambled out smelling of his usual scented bath soak, hair freshly washed and stubble shaved. He looked better, and yet the bags under his eyes were yet to move. He found you lounging on the bed, reading a book by lampshade, and he swore his heart has never beat any faster. Just the simple domestic act of reading in bed, his bed, comfy in his stretched skull t-shirt and a pair of his boxers.

Your book was gently closed and set aside as you smiled at him.

“Hi baby, how was your bath?” You asked him, petting the bed beside you. Katsuki let out a tired hum.

“Was nice, thanks. Nice ‘n warm,” he mumbled, not quite looking you in the eye. You immediately caught on to this.

“Suki? Are you sure there’s nothing upsetting you? You can tell me anything, you know,” you offer worriedly. Katsuki sighed.

“It’s nothing, just… we had a call in today about a villain terrorising a local town. Smoke and debris everywhere, really fuckin’ awful. Kirishima and Dunce Face were there but.. we weren’t enough. A young woman about our age died in my arms, begging for me to find her daughter. And when we did find them…” Katsuki stopped himself when you rested your hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t help but think. What if there’s a day where I’m not there, and you’re hurt, or worse and I can’t save you? What if you get hurt so bad due to my incapability to save everyone, and I’m left alone?! I can’t fucking lose you, I don’t know what the fuck I would do without you!” He placed his head against your shoulder and allowed the tears to fall, the day finally catching up to him as he let out his anxieties.

“Oh my love, I’m not going anywhere. I trust you more than anything to keep me safe,” you murmured.

“P-please make it go away mama,” he whimpered, tearfully rolling his hips against your thigh. You were surprised and a little concerned.

“Baby, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re upset and had a bad day-” you were cut off by a sob.

“D-did I do something wrong? Please, I don’t wanna think anymore mama, make it go away! I don’t like these thoughts, jus’ wanna be yours!” He whimpered as you stroked his side.

“Alright my love, settle down. As soon as you feel any discomfort, and I mean any at all, you’re safe-wording right away. Do you understand Suki?” You asked him, deadly serious. Katsuki nodded his head intensely, desperate to be your good boy.

“Alright then. Get mama her toys and prep yourself whilst I get ready.”

Katsuki lay nestled in amongst the satin bed sheets, gripping them as tightly as he physically could. The bed sheets grounded him slightly, the soft feeling between callused fingers stopping him from losing his mind as you teased your silicone cock against his ass cheeks.

You smiled lovingly at him before drawing small circles on his quivering hole. He looked sweet like this, so vulnerable and exposed.

“Mph, how are you doing sweetheart? You enjoying this baby?” You murmured into his ear. Katsuki let out a combination of a grunt and a whine simultaneously as you continued to circle his tight little hole.

“Aww, such a cute little slut. You look so adorable, trying not to cum,” you teased, sliding one finger into Katsuki’s ass. He let out a whine at the intrusion, biting the pillow that lay under him. You let out another giggle.

“Shut the fuck up and just- hngh! Fuck me already!” He demanded, voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

“My my, such a needy boy, aren’t we Suki? Just let me take care of you, such a good boy,” you coo into his ear. Katsuki’s face turned a deep pink at your reading before grinding his ass back to meet your knuckle.

A smile graced your face as you added another finger. Katsuki let out another whimper as you shushed and soothed him.

“I know, sweet boy. I don’t want to hurt your cute little ass, so we have to make sure it’s stretched properly. Look at you being so good, I’m sure you’re desperate to cum,” you murmured into his ear. It was such a breath of fresh air having him like this; pliant, needy and willing to submit. It was so sweet seeing him abandon his big, nasty feelings for a bit and allow himself to become brain-dead mush by your hand.

“Mph, p-please, I- I need to cum!” He begged, fingers flexing and leaky cock rutting against the sheets.

“I’ll tell you what baby, take one more finger and I’ll let you cum, alright? Can you be a good boy and hold it?” You cooed. Katsuki nodded his head quicker than anything you had ever seen, biting his emotional support pillow as you placed in the third finger.

“Such a good baby boy for me Kats, such an obedient little puppy. Look at your thighs, they’re trembling so hard! I can’t imagine how badly you want to cum,” you giggled sultry in his ear.

Katsuki couldn’t see from the lustful tears in his eyes, only focusing on trying to contain his sperm. Your fingers worked diligently, pumping deep and slow, making careful tries to brush his prostate.

“Mph, feelsh sho good mama, so fuckin’ go-ahh!” Katsuki whined as he came, white semen streaking the sheets underneath you. Your hands grabbed into his needy cock, pumping it quickly. Katsuki squirmed and cried underneath you, overstimulation already kicking in.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll get all of those icky thoughts out of that pretty little head,” you cooed. You ceased pumping his ass and turned your attentions to his adorable nipples, turning pink and hard at each passing minute.

“Go on your back, pup. Show me those pretty tits of yours,” you commanded gently, landing a delicate smack to his porcelain ass. Katsuki whimpered and immediately did as he was told, spreading his legs and arching his back.

“Look at these juicy fucking tits, I love them so much. How can that dumb little head think I’d leave you alone when you look so delicious under me,” you groaned in pleasure. Your husband’s face melted in absolute euphoria.

Nimble fingers began poking, pulling and flicking each pebbled nipple until your husband was hiccuping from masochistic pleasure, back arching off the bed.

“You’re so fucking cute, already to cum on mama just from her playing with your nipples? Well, alright then. Cum as hard as you want,” you gave him permission.

“Ngh, thank you mama, fank you so much,” he mewled as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, cum spraying from his tip and up your back.

“Suki baby? What’s your colour?” You asked him worriedly, afraid you pushed him too soon.

“G-green, please don’t stop,” he begged, grabbing your hips and rolling his reddening cock against your clothed core. You ached with need, but tonight was about your husband.

“If you promise, baby,” your dominant nature returning.

“Are you ready for me to blow your back out, puppy? Do you want mama to turn your silly little brains to mush whilst you ache and groan on my cock?” You teased him.

“Please mama! Lemme suck your cock, Suki can do it! I’m a good boy!” He whined. Jesus, he was so deep in subspace that it was gonna take him a month to come out.

“Okay then baby, get on the floor, on your knees. Show me that smart little mouth,” you ordered. Katsuki scrambled to the floor, eager to please you.

“Open wide, Suki, and hollow your cheeks. Remember to relax your throat,” you coaxed him, patting the silicone against his tongue. He took the first inch and suckled on it seductively, tongue flicking around the tip as he grasped your thigh. You rubbed small circles to keep him grounded.

He tried taking another few inches, head bobbing and pulling away to kiss the underside of your cock. His usually sharp tongue did an excellent job at running up and down your cock, making your core throb with need.

“You needy little whore. Look at you, showing off that cute little mouth. God, I could just shove this down your throat,” you growled, eyes widening when he managed to deepthroat all 6.5 inches of plastic.

Lewd sounds of sucking and saliva dripping filled the room as Katsuki choked and gagged on the fake cock as his throat memorised every vein and wrinkle. It was snug and he couldn’t breath fully, but it felt like home.

His stomach began to tighten, impending another orgasm. Yours began to tighten too, just needing that final push.

“God I fucking love sucking your cock mama, tastes so fuckin’ good,” he murmured as he deepthroated once more. His hips rolled against your thigh as the two of you came together, your juices dripping down Katsuki’s face. He licked them up eagerly before displaying his tongue.

“Get your ass on that fucking bed so I can destroy you,” you growled. Katsuki followed immediately as you hoisted his ankles above your shoulders and sheathed your cock in him in one fell swoop.

“Ngh, ah~! Mama, please, AH!” He hiccuped as you pounded his ass ferociously, his whole body bouncing due to the ferocity. His tits jiggled alongside him, eyes crossing in pleasure as his tongue lolled outside his mouth.

“God I fucking love this little puppycunt, you’re fucking mine forever. I’ll fuck you every day to remind you of that, do you understand? You’re my husband, I’ll fuck your brains out whenever you ask. Any time that stupid little brain of yours tells you otherwise, I’ll pump you so full of cum you’ll end up pregnant,” you grunted like a fucking animal, hips speeding up at each slap of his ass cheeks.

The room was filled with the sound of skin-on-silicone and a cacophony of harmonious and broken moans that put the choirs of churches to shame.

Katsuki was utterly gone; meaningless babbles of “more” and harder, please!” were reduced to mindless mewls and cries. Your hands found his as you chased your climax together.

“Fuckin’ cum with me baby, that’s it. That’s my good fucking boy, cum for me!” You cried in pleasure, your body feeling white hot as your orgasm peaked. Katsuki looked like he was having an outer body experience; tongue lolling, eyes almost closed and body a deep red.

You pulled your strap out, making a small whine pull out from your fucked out husband. Your hands massaged his cheeks as you simpered at him.

“I know baby, let’s get you cleaned up.”

After Katsuki was wiped down with a damp towel, hand fed a bottle of water and a wasabi mint, he snuggled up next to you. His head was placed over your heart, slowly falling asleep to the steady beat.

“I told you Suki. I’m not going anywhere.” Katsuki opened his eye a crack before snuggling back in.

“If you do, then tell me. Because home is whenever I’m with you.”

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader fluff #bakugou #bnha x reader angst #domestic bakugou #bakugou x reader smut #katsuki Bakugou x reader #sub Bakugou #sub katsuki #bakugou smut #sub Bakugou smut #subby Katsuki best Katsuki #omfg I love this smut piece

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osidius-el-enfatico · 5 months ago

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NICO'S SO YOU WANNA READ SOMETHING OTHER THAN MARVEL AND DC

hello everybody, I'm Nico, you might know me from being a fucking hater and a gross nerd and I'm here to tell you that you don't have to be whipped around by the big 2, there's a world of good shit out there, we can go find it together. come, take my hand.

The ones everyone will tell you about

these are the ones you are supposed to read, even if you mainly read big 2 stuff.

go on, read Hellboy (here's a reading order list, it gets dicey but I believe in you). go on, read saga. go on, read blacksad. go on, read something is killing the children. go on, read Locke and key

ok, with these out of the way, let's begin

so you want to read super hero type stuff

1. black hammer by Jeff lemire et al.

in the past, black hammer (the greatest supper hero) and six superheroes of his team save the city but in the process get sucked into a parallel dimension, in the 10 years since they have tried everything to go back to their world without much success, but there's still superheroing to do.

2. minor threats by Patton oswalt et al.

one of the biggest villains in the city murders the robin analogue in this world. which causes the heroes to go hog wild and turn everything into a police state. in the middle of it all, the small time villains who just want to rob a store or turn dogs into cats or whatever are caught in the line of fire of a fight way above their pay grade.

3. America's got powers by Johnathan Ross and Bryan hitch

18 years ago an alien crystal of unknown origin fell from the sky in San Francisco, at that same moment every pregnant woman in the city gave birth to a superpowered child. today, all of the babies are used as gladiators in a reality show that can bring them fame and fortune or death. the only kid to be born that day without superpowers is thrust all the same into the arena to fend for himself.

4. buzzkill by Donny cates and mark reznicek

imagine you're the biggest superhero there is, but to get each of your individual super powers you had to consume a different drug everytime you wanted to use it. imagine that this breaks every single relationship you have and you want to go clean. imagine also that the city still needs you. what is your obligation to your city over yourself?

the first two titles are more akin to big 2 comics with an expansive universe and several smaller titles to accompany the main one.

so you want to read a little freak

1. bone by Jeff Smith

go read bone. do it now. phoney bone gets expelled from his natal city from his latest scheme to get rich. in the process he drags out of the city his cousins smiley bone and fone bone, our hero. in the process of escaping the three get separated and each one gets into his own adventures that unfold a dark tale in the valley they end up on. a dark fantasy comedy for all ages

2. good bye, chunky rice by Craig thompson

a small turtle leaves his home and his friends because he feels he has done all he can in this particular stage of his life. he explores love and loss throughout his trip

3. Krazy Kat by George herriman

this is one of the most influential newspaper strips of the early 20th century. Krazy is a cat in love with ignatz the mouse who fucking hates him. krazy's biggest want in life is to get his love reciprocated, ignatz just wants to throw bricks at krazy's head

so you want to bawl your eyes out

1. primordial by Jeff lemire and Andrea Sorrentino.

one of the scientists in charge of the Laika space launch is convinced she is still up there somewhere and is adamant to get her back. at the same time the last launch with monkey is going into space. on one side we see the scientists working and dealing with the ethical ramifications of their work, on the other we see the critters and their limited sentience of what is happening.

2. the lil depressed boy by Isabel struble and Sina grace

the lil depressed boy (or ldb as everyone calls him) is a sack boy like the one in little big planet, but one who is a fucking nerd and likes indie music and bowling, he navigates through life without direction, finding temporary relief in one thing or another, but ultimately a lost soul just doing whatever he can to stay afloat. you will find this under the author's deadname, but after her transition Isabel seems to have shed the veil that made this autobiographical story happen. good-for-her.gif

3. essex county by jeff lemire

this is a trilogy of books based around the area in which jeff lemire grew up in with only a geographical connection uniting them. a young boy has his whole world turned upside down with no one to guide him through it. a pair of brothers who did everything together grow apart and end up hating each other in adulthood. a rural nurse reckons with how she can only do so much for the people that depend on her. this was also adapted for canadian tv but i really havent seen it yet, so i dont know how that went

so you want to read about important stuff

1. Maus by art spielgman

this probably should have gone in the first part of things everyone tells you to read but I'd be remiss not mentioning it directly. it is the only comic to win a Pulitzer, art spielgman tells us how his father tells him his story during the Holocaust. it is harrowing, raw, and gruesome. but it still retains a glimmer of better things, art's father is funny in his relationship with art which give you little respites to all the shit going on

2. march by John Lewis with Andrew Aydin and Nate Powell

yes, the John Lewis who marched next to Martin Luther king. this is his autobiographical account of the civil rights movement in the 60s. it is insightful but raw. still feeling it all in the present day.

3. Vaincus mais vivants. chile 1973 by Maximilien leroy

I hate french people but they're good at this comic book shit. this Tells the tale of commandante Carmen and commandante Miguel, heads of the MIR (movimiento de izquierda revolucionaria-revolutionary leftist movement) before and during the USA backed coup in Chile in 1973. how they had worked before it went down, and how they hid to try to survive the persecution.

4. footnotes in Gaza by Joe sacco

Joe sacco is a journalist who does comics on the side. in this stand out he tries to tell the story of the Khan Yunis and rafah massacres in 1956 through interviews with palestinians alive at the time, while interweaving the current (to 2003) situation in rafah. another account of the monster that is Israel and the resilience of the Palestinian people.

so you want to laugh

1. the tick by Ben endlund

you have seen the cartoon. the tick is a dumbass who is also the biggest hero in naked city. go read this shit, just pick up whatever volume you find, continuity isn't really a thing here

2. imagine agents by Brian Joines and bachan

this is basically men in black but instead of aliens they have to control and keep the people from knowing about the reality of imaginary friends kids abandon and how they can get out of control. it's so stupid

so you want to read a western

1. east of west by Jonathan hickman and Nick dragotta

much like in reality, the USA is a dystopian land but in this book there's also science fiction. and the only begins that can save that shit hole are the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

2. Shaolin cowboy by Geoff Darrow

like east of west, this mixes science fiction with western. but this is pretty simple. he's a Shaolin monk who is also a cowboy, and he has to get out of situations. one time it was a flying shark, another one it was zombies. and so on and so forth *zizek voice*

3. six gun gorilla by Simon spurrier and Jeff stokely

in a world colonized in the future after earth was ran dry of respurces by greed, one single gunslinger tries to bring order to the land. he happens to be a biologically enhanced gorilla

so you want to get experimental

jimmy corrigan: the smartest kid on earth by chris ware

simply put, this shit is the house of leaves of comics. some dude get the opportunity to meet his dad for the first time at the age of 36. its simple enough but this takes you for a visual ride.

2. asterios polyp by david mazzuchelli

again, this story is simple enough. a professor gets his house torched by thunder and escapes the city to star anew somewhere else. but you get the story told by people who dont exist, jumping between past and present.

3. almost silent by jason

jason's stories are pantomime. his anthropomorphic characters dont emote too much, but you can feel them. this collection of stories focuses on his stories that have almost no dialogue at all.

so you want gays

are you listening? by tillie walden

this isnt a love story. but it is a story of connection and deep understanding, of someone else and yourself. theres also a magical cat in it.

2. laura dean keeps breaking up with me by mariko tamaki and rosemary valero-o'connell

laura dean is the protagonist's on again, off again girlfriend. she is also a cunt. freddy keeps distancing herself from her circle due to laura's games and manipulation. but she has to learn how to keep herself afloat in this vortex.

shit you need to read because its important to the art form

a contract with god by will eisner

this is the originator of the term graphic novel. its a triology of stories which are in the vein of a lot of eisner's comics, simple pictures of life in a jewish neighborhood in new york. but told with such mastery of the craft that they pull you in like nothing else.

2. calvin & hobbes by bill watterson

yeah, yeah. i know. you know calvin and hobbes. you love calvin and hobbes. go read the whole thing from start to finish tho, go do it right now.

3. hicksville by dylan horrocks

this is universailly described as a love letter to comics as a medium. it tells you a biographical account of dylan horrocks life. it also tells you a biographical account of sam zabel, a character of horrock's that appears in much of his ouvre. it also tells you a story of intrigue and mystery surrounding the biggest comic creator in the world, dick burger (yeah, thats his name). it is also my favorite comic.

list of good shit that i couldnt fit into a theme and im also bored of this now so heres just a loooong list

the many deaths of laila starr by ram v and filipe andrade

judas by jeff loveness and jakub rebelka

the loneliness of the long distance cartoonist by adrian tomine

un homme est mort by etienne davodeau and kris

el hombre que vino del cielo by infame & co.

box office poison by alex robinson

fishflies by jeff lemire

andre the giant. life and legend by box carr

le retorneur by freederik peeters

elks run by joshua hale fialkov and noel tuazon

just so happens by fumio obata

ody-c by matt fraction and chris ward

trenches by scott mills

#comics

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reesespeanutbutterfuck · 2 years ago

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(im)perfectionist

vinny hong x jo!reader

jay jo's imperfectionist sister meets the flawful vinny hong.

part 1

part 2

pairing: vinny hong x jo!fem!reader

warnings: SFW, fem!reader, gifted!reader, cursing, mentions of blood & violence, mentions/flashbacks to vinny's shitty childhood. jo!reader (jay is reader's 1 year older brother, but they're in the same class), physical descriptions (resemblance to jay, jay's mother, heavily implied asian features) intelligent!reader, female rage, implications of academic pressure, middle child trauma, second person's pov (you, you're, your), ANGSTY, lowkey self-indulgent, SPOILERS everywhere, includes momma bear vinny but then reader is also kind of a momma bear, reader is NOT yumi, but yumi still exists here. lmk if i forgot anyth

note: i can't stop tossing and turning while reading s4 lol this is how i cope. vinny pls come back now im bawling my eyes rn

—

None of the recontres you had with Vinny Hong in the entirety of your life was normal.

Just like the first time you encountered him, when you accidentally bumped into him in a vulnerable state while walking home under a light rain shower after a tiring day volunteering at the hospital your parents were working in. The light pouring rain hit your umbrella with soft thuds as you were finding your way through the alley you accidentally passed by after taking an alternative route, but getting a little lost in the process.

You shuddered when you heard a groan. You immediately looked around and kept your guard up in case it was a kidnapper. But no, it sounded like one of pain. Stopping your tracks and pulling over your feet, you looked around the alley. Your eyes expectantly scanned until your eyes found the source of the grumbling noise. There he was, slumped against the wall.

I knew it, you thought. It was a man. How cliché. His head was bowed down so he couldn't see you. Let me guess, a high school boy was mobbed and injured somewhere and now is left to die in a dark alley to be found lifeless once the sun rises?

You scoffed. If only you had all the time in the world to be a delinquent, that will most likely be where you're meant for. These high school boys are wasting their lives when they unknowingly have the time to choose to be a better person. You discreetly envied how these kinds of people can still choose how they'll live their lives, regardless of presence of sense for separating actions between good and bad.

And so you walked past the alley.

Your steps slowed down as the man groaned again, this time followed by a rustle. A slight pang of guilt forming in the pit of your stomach. Damn it, this wasn't–

You reluctantly looked back to where the man sat. You've always sworn your life you wouldn't meddle in anything that wasn't your business. But for some reason, the guilt of having the ability to help but refusing to, drowned your fixed principle.

Just as you were having an inner banter with yourself, your feet made the decision for you instead and took you to him. You pushed the button on your umbrella to automatically close it, pointing the sharp end to the stranger. You weren't even sure if he's still alive because he suddenly quieted down after that last groan. Only the light from the nearest post gave you an unclear sight of the man and the fluff of his fiery red hair.

One of his hands fell limp on the floor while the other was covering his wound. It seemed like he's been in the same spot for minutes yet the distinct bright colour of fresh blood told you the injury happened not very a while ago. You weren't sure of how to approach him properly, so you lightly kicked his leg once, but he didn't respond. So you kicked him for the second time, this time, harder. Finally, he responded by quietly groaning in pain once again.

“Who… the hell… are you…?” He weakly questioned as looked up to squint and take in your face, but your figure was against the light from the lamp post, so your silhouette was the only thing he's capable of registering. Even when in pain, his voice still sounded atrocious. Like he's someone used to speaking to people harshly. Luckily, you weren't intimidated for a single bit. It'll take a lot more than harsh tones to drive you away. You've been there.

You fumbled inside your tote bag to search for your phone, “Who are you to ask?” When you got ahold of your phone, you turned the flashlight on and you got a clearer view of the blood oozing out of this stranger's side, staining his hand in the process. It looked like a stab wound, judging from the volume of the blood oozing out from the wound.

“As expected.” You raised your hand to point the sharp end of your umbrella to him once again. “I will help you. But if you attempt to do anything funny, I'll stab you on your other side, too.”

Your first option as was to call immediate professional help. As you tried to dial the hospital hotline to call an ambulance, your phone kept indicating there was no service. The signal's jammed. You almost threw your phone to the nearest wall out of frustration as you hit the side of it with your palm. You side-eyed the man behind you.

Shit. Now what? This kind of stab wound is fatal, especially because he already lost plenty of blood beforehand. It wouldn't bleed that much if the penetration wasn't deep. It might have even hit a vital spot. Calling for help now will be difficult because of this deserted alley and the continuous pour of the rain didn't help either, plus, your phone has no service.

“I don't need… your help!” he glared at your silhouette and cursed himself as he shut his eyes tightly while attempting to sit upright, enduring the excruciating pain on his side.

“You're quite obnoxious for a dying man.” You looked around to search for more resources. This is a closed alley. If you leave him here for another minute to find help, he might completely lose his consciousness, he was already limp in the first place. You were left with no choice. Your hand hesitantly reached to fumble around your bag once again until you got an OS, gauze pads and sterilized medical stitching needles.

Your mother would be furious if ever she finds out you stitched a stranger's wounds. You can only imagine her yelling, "Patients are not your playthings and the Medical field is not your playground! Who are you to perform Medical procedures? You're not even a Doctor yet!" Yeah, for sure Dra. Jo wouldn't be so pleased to find out her daughter's attempt to fix someone up. You kneeled and looked at the stranger. You needed to gain his trust as professionally as possible.

“I won't ask your name since you're clearly hard to talk to. I'm [Y/N]. I'm no Guardian angel of yours. I do light voluntary work in hospitals and I have current trainings on how to attend to emergency patients. But I'm still a high school student so I'm not yet licensed. Anyway, going to a hospital will always be the safest option, but I have knowledge about stitching wounds, at least. I'm going to temporarily stitch you up so you don't lose more blood, then we'll get you to a hospital once I find phone service.”

You surveyed his overall state, he looked very pale, although it's easy to tell that he's naturally pale, by losing a lot of blood, he's getting even paler each passing second. You were running out of time.

“Do you consent to this?” You asked him calmly through your glasses.

He breathed out heavily. You knew he was wary and reluctant. Which is understandable. But if it's not you, who else will do it? You heaved a sympathetic sigh. As you unemotionally tell him about the circumstances of his skepticality, that you well acknowledge.

“Hey, you might have a family member waiting for you at home. They would be devastated to just hear from the news that you were found dispatched and lifeless out here in the morning.” you looked around, left and right. Right now, you're the best chance he has if he wants to live. “I won't force your consent out. I haven't touched you anywhere yet and I wouldn't if you don't want me to, so I can just leave you here without me being a potential suspect of your murder. But you should probably think about the ones that didn't know their last sight of you alive was the last they'll get, ever.”

He looks at you for a few seconds while he grits his teeth, before he slowly, lightly nods. Shutting his eyes and removing his hand from covering the wound, implying that he had put his trust in you.

You checked his carotid pulse first. Just as you thought. Erratic and weakened. And then looked over to watch the shallow rise and fall of his shoulders. Shallow breathing. He definitely lost a high volume of blood already. You hastily started disinfecting everything—your hands, the tools, even the gloves. You checked his expression. You gave him a heads-up before lifting the side of his shirt to attend to the wound properly. You began working up and stitching the wound on his right side. You looked at his face once again that's being covered by the shade of the unfinished constructions caging the alley, while going through your first stitch.

“I'm sorry, this is the only option, for now. I'll find more professional help after this.”

He had no more energy left to open his mouth and reply. He grunts in pain while you were busy ushing the needle through-and-through. You asked him to bite down on a cloth while enduring the pain, since you didn't have anesthesia and he can feel every poke of the needle on his skin. You stitched him with precision with your skilled hands. Your hands were painted crimson red during the process.

This wouldn't be your first time stitching. You've done this a couple of times, but only to a simulator. You pulled yourself together as you kept in mind that a person's life is in your hands this time.

While you were focusing on the stitches, all the stranger can muster are croaky groans, as the pain of the wound and the stitches stung, so you tried to do it faster. When you were done, while wiping your blood-stained hands, you noticed how his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he was wincing in pain. He tried to look up at you again, but his sight of you was blurry.

“Don't worry, that'll be removed at once when you're taken to the hospital. What I did is only first aid, and you already lost a lot of blood so we still need to get you to the hospital as soon as possible.”

You pushed your knees to stand up and find phone signal, but before you can, his hand rose and reached for yours.

“No.” He clutched your hand to stop you. His hand was rough—and also large. You have large hands for a female, but his hand almost completely enveloped yours.

The side of your lips shifted downward while looking down at him. “When I said 'trust me', I only meant temporarily so I can temporarily close your wound. I didn't mean with all your life."

“Just no hospital.”

“You must really want to die.”

He gripped your hand tightly from the severe pain he's enduring. You know how much pain he's going through right now and he didn't mean to do so, so you let him squeeze your hand.

“I would rather die, than pay a hospital bill.” he weakly held on to you, falling completely unconscious as his head fell on your lap. You furrowed your brows and put his head into a more comfortable position.

Oh, so he was serious on dying?

You coming to his rescue definitely doesn't just end with a few stitches.

***

always remember to put seeking professional help as top priority if you ever encounter this kinda scenario irl

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unholydeukae · 5 months ago

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Hi hello how are you? I hope you are doing alright.

I'm not sure if you will do this one but do you think you could write anything about a reader, who has sexual trauma, wanting to take that step with their Dreamcatcher GF? I'm not sure if this is allowed to be asked. I read the "will not write" list but I wasn't sure if this counted under the noncon no's...

If you won't write this one, I understand

Hello anonie :) your request is absolutely fine, no worries! We say that we don't write non-con and made that post because we don't want to write the members as neither sexual predators nor victims of SA, but your ask doesn't include that, so you're all good!!

I hope you like it 🫶🏼

JiU:

Upon hearing about the trauma, she keeps calm to the outside but is boiling inside

If she ever sees that person in real life she definitely needs a good alibi, because there will be blood (hopefully not literally)

She never pushes anything sexually of course, even makes sure you’re okay before she pecks your lips

Since she’s a service top often, she listens to everything you say and ask her to do very attentively and doesn’t rush anything

The thought of taking the lead doesn’t even cross her mind, she simply does what you tell her and stops at the slightest sign of discomfort

SuA:

She definitely doesn’t keep calm on the outside when she hears about it

It wouldn’t have taken much more for her to run outside to find the person and slap them in the face (in her imagination - in real life she’s all bark no bite but that doesn’t make her reaction less strong and valid)

Tears of anger run down her face and she nearly starts yelling at the monster that did those things to you, despite them obviously not being there with you

Touching others is a difficult thing for you because of what happened to you, but her clear instructions help you a lot and you never feel pushed about anything

It’s very important for her that you never feel like it’s a problem if you can’t or don’t want to do something and that you never ever have to feel bad for stopping, even as the top

Siyeon:

When you tell her she looks at you blankly for a moment, struggling to process that someone would actually do something so awful to you

Upon realizing she’s so worried she’ll hurt you that she holds your hands tightly between hers and repeats a hundred times that you didn’t deserve that and that she’ll never do something like that to you because you’re the most precious person to her

(also, if she ever accidentally crosses that person’s way, she’ll definitely be tempted to make it look like an accident)

She always thought it’d be an amazing experience to make you feel good and while it still is, she’s also very scared to hurt you

Everything goes very slowly over the span of days and weeks until she even touches your bare chest, because nothing would destroy her more than be too rough and hurt you even more

Handong:

As soon as you tell her you want to talk to her, she shifts into her serious mode and listens attentively, but despite her best efforts to be solid as a rock for you, her eyes widen when you tell her everything (and the gears in her mind start shifting if she should maybe do some undercover digital psycho terror)

Feeling her arms around you as you quietly cry into her shoulder is all you need in that moment

When one day you tell her you want to go further than kissing, she asks once if you’re sure but doesn’t repeatedly ask again to not make you insecure about your decision

She asks you for some time and after cooking dinner for you, you walk into a decorated bedroom, candles burning that emit a relaxing scent and rose petals on the bed

During all of it she makes sure that everything is slow and gentle and is assertive to any signs of you being uncomfortable, not wanting you to think she wouldn’t care about you enough

Yoohyeon:

When you tell her about it, she freezes first, then starts bawling her eyes out until she’s calmed down enough to listen intently to what you say

She feels really helpless and doesn’t know how to support you because she thinks holding you and listening to you and making sure you feel valid is not enough

(You tell her that it is but she doesn’t believe you)

Your wish to take things further makes her be a little bit panicky and anxious, she’s really worried she’ll accidentally make everything worse

Checking in what feels like every five seconds is nearly a bit much for you but you know she does it with the best intentions possible, so you’re more than fine to give her what she needs

Dami:

Probably the most collected reaction, together with Handong

Hot chocolate is prepared when you tell her you want to talk about something and she listens quietly the whole time, only rubbing your hand or drying your tears when necessary

After you’re done explaining and getting some cuddles, she asks how you would like to proceed regarding sex

You two talk about boundaries, yes’s and no’s intensely and agree upon the light system and two nonverbal safewords just in case

So once you actually decide to take the next step with her, it goes very smoothly and you feel safe at all times, not doubting a second that she would react immediately once you put a stop to it

Gahyun:

Cries with you at first when you tell her, then gets angry and wants the person’s name and address but you calm her down quickly

Tells you that she’s more than okay with it if you don’t want to do any sexual stuff at all or for as long as you’re not comfortable

After the conversation, she collects a ton of information online and in books, doing a lot of research about both the best ways to go on about such an experience when it comes to sex and the psychological aspects of it

She’s actually the one to approach you about how to continue, suggesting and explaining things she found out and asks about your opinion and stance about it all

You’re so touched that she did so much research that it’s easy to relax enough with her - she made it very clear how much she wants the experience to be the best for you

#dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher smut #dreamcatcher fluff #deukae smut #dreamcatcher x reader #jiu #sua #siyeon #handong #yoohyeon #dami #gahyun #admin ☀️

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maybankiara · 4 months ago

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WHEN MY TIME COMES AROUND

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera summary: Kiara, through grief, has to deal with having JJ's baby. w/c: 1.7k a/n: this is basically just pure angst and written from tumblr spoilers (i haven't seen s4 p2) and i'm sorry. spot the angsty hozier references masterlist read on archive of our own

Kiara never got to tell him she was pregnant.

She found out late, when she was already out of the first trimester, and grief had been consuming her. Excuses flew by, one by one, as she made sense of her missing periods, of her weight gain, of the roundness of her stomach, until she no longer could.

Sarah was by her side when she broke into pieces, four months further along than Kiara was.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t something she’d ever talk about.

Her friend held her as she crumbled to the floor, bawling her eyes out, screaming her dead lover’s name. She never wanted to have kids and if he did, he hadn’t told her so, and the reality of it was a blow after blow.

Sarah cleaned her up. Talked her through the heartbreak, through her own tears.

‘You don’t have to keep it,’ she whispered.

’I do,’ Kiara said.

Before he died, they’d never made it official like Sarah and John B had. There was never a ring, or vows, or a plan for a future that would make them feel like they were last. Their moments were too fleeting, too ephemeral, and Kiara had nothing to hold onto. Nothing to call his.

Until now.

She told the rest of the group a few days later. It was shock—how could that be? he’d been gone for months—but they held her so she wouldn’t break again, and she could see the fear in their eyes.

The fear for her.

Kiara went home at the end of that week. Her parents no longer had a reason to keep her away, with him gone, and they even accepted the situation after initial arguments against.

She was their daughter—they loved her, at the end of everything—and they’d be by her side.

Months passed. Kiara grew bigger.

Sarah gave birth to a boy. They wanted to call him after him, but held back, in case Kiara wanted to do it instead. She didn’t want to know the gender, picked out names, and she appreciated it. She wanted the freedom. She wanted to have every bit of him she could.

Often, she’d stand in front of the mirror, watching the bump. Her skin was full of stretchmarks and sore bits, but in there was something that was hers and his, and Kiara loved it more than she’d loved anything.

Almost.

On par with him.

She’d look into the mirror and see herself, big and bloated and exhausted, but she’d imagine him behind her shoulder, hugging her like he’d used to. She’d imagine his hand on her belly, taking the weight off of her for a few moments, and relaxing into him. She’d imagine what he would’ve been like if he’d gotten the chance to be a dad, and she knew there’d be no better one.

A lot of her time was spent between home and Sarah. She stayed at the house they’d bought, he’d bought, and watched her friends look after the baby boy. She cradled him and loved him as an aunt, wondering how it was possible that something so sweet, so innocent, could come from people like them.

She had nothing but hope for her own.

When the day came, Pope and Cleo drove her to the hospital. Sarah was the one by her side, holding her hand through it, guiding her through the process she’d gone through herself only months before. It was the most excruciating thing Kiara had gone through, but the moment the bundle ended up in her arms, she knew it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

It looked nothing like either of them, but babies take a while to grow into their faces.

She told herself she could see traces of him in her already.

Jodie Jones, she called her, and gave her his surname. She looked like a rascal, screaming and crying and looking, watching, absorbing everything. She was curious and adamant and beautiful, and Kiara began to cry.

He’d never see her. He’d never lay his eyes on her.

It was all she had of him and she begged the world, universe, god, anything, to let him be a part of her life.

Kiara brought her home, and raised her with the Pogues. Her parents came over nearly every day, checking in, but Sarah and John B’s boy, Dean, became like a brother to little Jodie. People joked about the kids growing up and getting together, someday, but nobody liked the idea – they thought of the kids as siblings. They raised them as siblings.

Kiara couldn’t raise her alone.

Pictures of him were all over the house. At first, she brought them down because the memory was too much to bear, but Jodie deserved to grow up knowing that despite everything, her dad was loved. Her dad was the backbone of the group and it was his memory that held them together – existing in a house he’d reclaimed from the man he called Dad, living because rather than in spite of.

When Jodie was three, and Dean held her hand in the park, she asked the question.

‘Where’s Daddy?’

John B and Sarah were in the distance, hugging, and Kiara felt her heart clench. ‘He’s away.’

‘He’s on the walls,’ Jodie said. ‘In the pictures.’

‘Your Daddy’s watching over you,’ Kiara said, stifling tears. ‘He’s looking after you.’

Dean nodded, even though she wasn’t speaking to him. ‘My mum says angels watch over us. Is he an angel?’

Yes, Kiara wanted to say, he’s an angel.

But kids wouldn’t understand that.

‘No,’ she said instead. ‘He’s just away.’

Jodie nodded. ‘He will come back?’

A tear escaped. Sarah and John B came over just in time, scooping the kids up, as and they were giggling, laughing, screaming, as if the conversation never happened.

Sarah came to her side and Kiara cried in the privacy of her shoulder.

It never got easier.

Not when Jodie was a blonde little thing, with dimples, and that wicked little smile Kiara used to love. Not when Jodie was a smartass, reckless, too curious for her own good, too hotheaded. She was nothing if not her father.

It was another two years before Jodie found out.

Kiara didn’t mean for her to – it was the unsaid thing, that she didn’t have a dad, but they never spoke much about it. There was no right way for Kiara to explain death to a kid, and even when she tried, the words would get stuck in her throat.

Pope’s dog brought them a dead crow.

Jodie was there, and Jodie learned about death, and she looked at her mother with those innocent eyes and asked, ‘Is Daddy dead?’

All Kiara could do was nod.

She began telling more stories about him, after that. Every night when Jodie was going to bed, Kiara would tell her stories abotu her father. About the brave boy who stood up to bullies; the boy who helped them find gold; the boy who found El Dorado.

‘My Daddy’s a hero!’ Jodie said.

‘He was.’

Pictures of him still lined the walls, but Kiara looked at them with fondness, now. She saw traces of Jodie in him rather than him in Jodie, and the world began shifting. Never away form him – just to a world where grief wasn’t an enemy, but an acquaintance.

A friend to walk with.

Jodie started school. She was a Maybank, but she was a Carrera, too, and she was wicked smart and did everything but what she had to. She was causing ruckus, but kids loved her, and teachers did, against their will.

She was ten when she got her nickname, from someone at school.

‘You don’t have to let them call you that if you don’t like it,’ Kiara told her.

Kiara’s hands were on the wheel as she drove them back from school. Dean was away for football practice, and Jodie would have lacrosse tomorrow.

‘I don’t mind it,’ Jodie said. ‘It’s what they called Dad.’

‘It is.’

‘I like it. I think it suits me.’

The mother smiled, and knew he’d be proud. Even thought she’d had to raise her without him, the Pogues did a great job with her and Dean. She was grateful she had them, and Jodie turned out ever the Pogue they knew she would, with Dean watching her back. They were inseparable, like John B and her father were, and she knew it was the best she could’ve done for the kid.

For him, too.

At fifteen, nobody called her Jodie anymore. She was the star lacrosse player, slumming it with Dean Routledge, ever the troublemaker, and they had their own little friend group. Pope and Cleo’s kid, ten years younger than them, was the baby of the group and they looked after him like no other.

Dean even took her to prom, when she punched her planned date in the nose after she caught him kissing another girl. It was a whole night of dealing with it, telling her violence wasn’t the answer, but she had enough of her father’s blood to believe otherwise.

Still, Kiara was proud. She loved her as she was, and everything that she’d inherited from her father, the good and the bad alike.

That summer was the best summer of her life. The kids were seventeen, about to leave for college, and little Terrence latched onto them every moment he could, and they adored him. They were drinking beers and going to parties, but Kaira never judged them for it.

‘We did a good job,’ Sarah told her as they watched the bonfire.

Cleo kissed her teeth. ‘Crazy to think something so good came from us.’

The kids gathered around it, in the backyard, and the adults sat on the porch. It was a beautiful summer day, lazy after they’d spent the most of it surfing. They were a lot of things, but nothing more than a family.

John B chuckled. ‘It feels like yesterday we were their age.’

‘I’m just glad they’re not as stupid as we were,’ Pope said.

Kiara scoffed. ‘Don’t speak too soon. That one’s every bit her father. I’m just waiting for the call.’

The mention of him still weighed down conversations, but they’d gotten used to it. There was a lighter tone when he was brought up, but his absence never went away. There was always one spot that felt too empty, the one nobody sat in. There was the lack of rashness, of impulsivity, of things that would get them into trouble.

Kiara’s heart never stopped aching.

But she looked at the kids now, at the next generations of Pogues, and felt pride swell in her chest in place of grief.

She couldn’t have give their child a better life if she tried.

Somewhere, if there was heaven, he was watching them from above. She hoped he was happy, too. She hoped he’d still be waiting for her when her time came.

For now, she watched Dean Routledge and Terrence Heyward and JJ Maybank and thought, it wasn’t all worth it, but they made it.

They’d be alright.

#outer banks #obx #jiara #jj maybank #kiara carrera #jiara fanfic #obx fic #obx fanfiction #jiara angst #obx angst #i needed to get this out of my head bc i knew i'd write it even when the death was just a rumour #i might return to this universe but who knows #obx spoilers #my fic

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maccreadysbaby · 1 month ago

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Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: emeto, violence, gore, major character death (ive always wanted to list that)

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

I don't have any words for you guys except I'm sorry and I'm crying too

part fifty-three

❝ DENIAL ❞

MONDAY — OCTOBER 31 — 12:49AM

BENTLEY LED BELLAMY OUT OF HIS CELL AND INTO THE HALLWAY, WHERE EVERYBODY ELSE WAS WAITING IN THE ELEVATOR, HOLDING THE DOORS OPEN FOR HIM.

“Go,” Bentley said quietly, ushering him along toward the doors. Bellamy was still crying softly, (And, honestly, Bentley was just about two seconds away from bawling his eyeballs out, too.) Rockie was just waiting outside the elevator doors for them, fidgeting anxiously with the keycard he had.

Bellamy glanced back at Bentley when they approached the elevator, and Bentley rubbed his back reassuringly. “Go ahead. It’s going to be okay.”

With a quiet hiccup, Bellamy wiped his eyes and moved forward. Koa reached out for him, drawing him into the elevator and resting his hands on his shoulders to keep him there.

“Get off campus immediately. You’re going to get your powers back when you get to the surface, so if anybody tries anything, kill them,” Rockie ordered to the group, reaching into the elevator and tapping the keycard there. “We’ll be up soon.”

“You’re not coming?” Bellamy asked suddenly, his brown eyes lingering on Bentley’s face, wide with dread, with fear.

“I… I’ll be up soon,” Bentley replied. Rockie pushed a button on the inside of the elevator and stepped away, a piercing beep cutting through the air.

“What?” Bellamy muttered, seeming almost startled, his eyes flicking to the elevator’s panel on the inside, then back to Bentley in a panic. The doors started closing and Bentley saw Koa hold tight to his shoulders to keep him from running back out, a few sad sobs ripping their way out of him as the doors slid shut. “No, Bentley! They'll kill you!”

The doors closed fully, and the machine whirred to life, leaving Bentley and Rockie in the white hallway alone.

With an exhale, Bentley looked down at his socked feet, lingering for a moment in the silence. What if that was the last time he’d see one of them? Varian? What if Varian didn’t wake up? What if it was the last time he saw Vera? Or Koa? Or Valor? Or Summer? Or Bellamy?

Bentley flinched when Rockie’s gloved hand came to rest on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Bentley said nothing, but gently shrugged his hand off. “Fine.”

Rockie sighed heavily, turning and starting back down the hall, toward the elevator that led back to the main part of the facility. “Asten and Layla are in the medical wing already — I saw them being escorted in there along with some other kids,” Rockie shook his head. “They're moving so fast I guess they decided to cut out steps of the protocol.”

Bentley blinked at him, turning and following closely behind. “So what you’re saying is-“

“They’re probably already getting drained. The process takes about four hours, they've been in there for maybe thirty minutes. Kids... typically start to die about three hours in,” Rockie explained quickly. He made it to the elevator and tapped the keycard on the panel, summoning the elevator back down to them. “And now that security is looking for us, it’s gonna be one hell of a fight to make it there. They’ll shoot on sight.”

Bentley watched the elevator doors slide open, nodding to himself. “Then let’s... stay out of sight.”

“Yeah,” Rockie scoffed, stepping into the elevator. Bentley followed. “Simple.”

“It is simple, when you have me,” A fluttery falsetto came in Bentley’s head. “Hey. Sorry I’m late to the party.”

“Charlie,” He whispered, settling into the elevator and turning his head slightly away from Rockie. “Where have you been?”

“What?” Rockie asked.

“I kept her distracted for a little bit, but then she realized it wasn’t you there,” Charlie explained with a soft sigh. Rockie pushed buttons in his peripheral. “So I went about screwing with the guys who watch the security cameras and made them see nothing. As well as routing all people away from you in the halls, while simultaneously fighting for my life because the Secret Keeper was trying to murder me inside my own head. You’re welcome.”

Bentley exhaled heavily as the doors slid closed and the elevator dinged. That's why he hadn't seen anything? Anyone? That's why everything had gone so good? Because of Charlie?

“Thank you.”

“Are you losing your mind right in front of me?” Rockie questioned, waving a gloved hand in front of Bentley’s face. “Who are you talking to?”

Bentley glanced over at him with a soft sigh as the elevator kicked into its ascent. “It’s complicated.”

Rockie just blinked at him.

"Go on, explain it," Charlie urged.

Bentley sighed heavily. “The Secret Keeper, the telepath? She's like an alter ego forced into a girl's body, so there’s, like, two different people inside of her. The original girl, Charlie Reins, uses the Secret Keeper’s powers to talk to me,” He explained quickly as the elevator rose up the shaft. “She said she’ll help us, but you have to do what I say.”

"Help?" Rockie scoffed.

"Yes. She can read minds and see the future like the Secret Keeper. She's the only reason I made it through this place last time," Bentley continued.

Rockie narrowed his eyes at him, and a long moment of silence came where Bentley glanced anxiously at the elevator doors. Rockie hummed quietly to himself for a minute, glancing around the tiny room. “Are you lying to me right now?”

“What?” Bentley questioned incredulously, scrunching his face up in Rockie's direction. "No, I'm not lying. I'm not like you."

It looked like Rockie debated on saying something, but decided on sighing instead, looking away from Bentley and crossing his arms. "You can stop with the cheap jabs now, they're getting a little old."

The redhead glanced over at him. “Sorry, I just assumed you stopped caring about my opinion when you walked out on us.”

Rockie suddenly turned, and Bentley didn’t even have time to react before he grabbed him by the front of his jumpsuit and shoved him back against the elevator wall with a thud, standing over him unsettlingly. Bentley'd forgotten how tall he was. “If I didn’t go with them, they were going to kill you all, one by one, until I caved,” He hissed, the damn near most venomous sentence Bentley had heard from anyone since he moved into Redwood. “But if I had known you were all going to be fucking assholes about it, maybe I would’ve let them.”

Bentley wedged his hands up between the two of them, channeling all his currently available strength into shoving Rockie in the chest. He stumbled maybe a foot or two away. “Don’t touch me.”

For a few moments, neither of them said anything — they just looked at each other. Rockie’s green eyes were glowing like they always did, but somehow they were different. Bentley wasn’t really sure how. Almost like some aspect of them had been stripped away, peeled off.

Rockie crossed his arms tightly. “I didn’t even do anything to you,” He mumbled, his voice strangely small, his eyes drifting down to the floor. “You're acting like I shot you in the foot and tossed you in a cell myself. All I did was walk away.”

Bentley crossed his arms tightly, too.

“And that was enough,”

Another moment of silence passed.

“When people are scared, they show you what they really care about,” Bentley exhaled lightly, eyes drifting to the floor, then back up to Rockie. “And you walked away.”

“So I’m the bad guy now, for not wanting to die? For not wanting you to die? Is that it?” Rockie questioned, flicking his hands out to the side. “You don’t seem to understand, Bentley. When they said I would be punished for staying, they planned to kill you all. It’s been the deal since the beginning — if I betrayed them, they’d kill everybody I cared about. It never mattered before, because I never had anyone…”

Bentley didn’t say anything, just watched Rockie look back down at the floor, dragging the toe of his tennis shoe there. “Hate me if you want to... But I saved your life by walking out. And I'd do it again.”

Suddenly, the elevator jolted to a very abrupt stop with the loud sound of metal scraping on metal, knocking both Bentley and Rockie off balance. Rockie stumbled into the wall and Bentley nearly fell into him.

Both of them, eyes wide, looked around in a panic.

“What the hell?” Rockie muttered.

“She had them disable the elevators,” Charlie said into Bentley’s head with an irritated sigh. “But the others made it out before they did. Don’t worry. I’m working on it.”

“They disabled it,” Bentley repeated, glancing around the small white box they were trapped in. “Charlie said she’s working on it.”

Rockie moved for the doors, trying futilely to shove his metal gloved fingers in the crevice between them and pry them open. Bentley glanced up — there was what looked like an emergency hatch there on the ceiling, a square outline among the white, but they didn’t need it if Charlie was going to help, right?

He glanced back down at Rockie, who was still pulling on the doors, almost frantically.

“They won’t open. We’re probably stuck between floors anyways,” Bentley said. Rockie didn’t say anything, but kept tugging and pulling at them, not even sparing him a glance.

“Rockie,” Bentley started, taking a step to the side in a bid to see his face. He furrowed his brows when he realized that Rockie was suddenly breathing in a familiar manner — quick, and shallow, like Bentley when he got too stressed out.

“Rockie?” Bentley questioned, taking another step to the side. “Are you claustrophobic?”

“No,” He gritted out, still prying at the doors.

Suddenly, a stab of pain ripped through Bentley’s skull, and he reached a hand out, resting it on the elevator wall to support his weight.

“You think you’re so clever, getting Charlie to distract me. Who’s to say this isn’t all part of my plan? That it’s not all supposed to happen like this?” The Secret Keeper’s voice came in his head, and she laughed; a bubbly, sinister sound. “The babybird’s stuck in a cage while his friends are dying. You’re playing right into my hand, Bentley.”

“Get out of my head,” He ordered softly, bringing his hand up to his right temple when a spike of pain stabbed him there. He didn't see Rockie look back at him.

“It isn’t that easy,”

Suddenly, the elevator melted away around him, replaced with the white abyss he’d grown so accustomed to. With an irritated exhale, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked around at the nothing in the room.

"Well? What're you gonna show me?" He questioned, throwing his hands out to the side. “Get it over with already.”

The Secret Keeper laughed. "Eager, are we?"

“I have somewhere to be,” He replied with the shake of his head. “So, what is it? Asten bleeding to death? Layla with a flatline?”

“Look at you! Growing a spine!” The Secret Keeper chided, fizzling into view only a few feet away from him, giggling and beginning to circle him, slowly, like a vulture. “Baby Bentley isn’t such a baby anymore! It’s a far cry from that ten year old I met four years ago who vomited when I first showed myself.”

“What the hell do you want?” Bentley asked, turning in a circle as she rounded behind him, following her with his eyes. “Why do you insist on being a constant pest?”

A separate voice suddenly came, a whisper among the white; a familiar whisper — Charlie. So faint the Secret Keeper didn’t seem to hear it. “Bentley, don’t believe what she shows you. She can’t kill me if weren’t not in the physical world.”

“I think you should ask yourself that question,” The Secret Keeper sneered, reaching out and dragging her fingers across Bentley’s jawline and chin as she walked. He brought a hand up and whacked hers away; he didn’t really know what he’d expected, for it to feel real or for him to phase right through her, but to his surprise, he was able to slap her hand away from him.

She chuckled at him. “You’re welcome. I’m the one who brought this out in you, you know. I made you this way.”

“You have nothing to do with who I am,” Bentley scoffed, turning as she rounded him. “My family made me who I am.”

“Your family?” She laughed. “You finally stepped up and became brave when you were facing me eye-to-eye on that rooftop. You only grew a spine to defy me. You don’t need a spine to live with the perfect little family — you don’t grow one that way. You grow one through trials. Fighting.”

“I-”

“Even if you were to win, Bentley, you would have my scent all over you for the rest of your life. I’ve left my impression on your personality — you’ll never, ever, ever be able to get away from it,” She explained, not even allowing him time to speak. “I’m part of you now, Babybird. My memory will always be there, crawling across your skin, running through your veins. After all, we’re both just villains, aren’t we? Puppeteer?”

Bentley felt himself tense for a second, but he shifted his weight in an attempt to hide it, blinking in a bid to rid his memory of the name.

“Ooh, struck a nerve?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bentley ordered, his gaze drifting down to the white floor.

“Why? It’s who you are. Pieces of your father, pieces of me — you could be unstoppable, if it weren’t for all of those dreadful emotions you can’t seem to contain,” She chuckled. “I show you the simplest things, and you crumble completely.”

Bentley just watched as she slowed to a stop in front of him, twisted stitched and bleeding smile still stretching wide across her features. “By the way — I have someone for you to see.”

She held a hand out by her side, and smoke swirled under it. Charlie materialized there. She was on the floor on her knees, no longer in her purple dress, but a white jumpsuit like the one Bentley was in.

Bentley inhaled at the sight of her. Her blonde hair was red at the ends with blood, and her jumpsuit, once solid white, was now three quarters crimson. Her face was busted up and scraped and bruised so bad she hardly looked like herself, shallow, precise cuts from a knife arcing up from either side of her mouth to imitate The Secret Keeper’s signature smile. The cuts made almost half of her face red with blood, and it was still coming, running down her neck and all over the rest of her. Her blue eyes were dull, and she wasn’t really looking at him. Or anything. She was just kind of… staring off.

She can’t kill me if we’re not in the physical world.

Bentley, though the sheer amount of blood threatened to make his world swirl out of focus, merely drew in a breath.

The Secret Keeper held out her opposite hand, and the same dagger she’d tried to stab Bentley with appeared in it. Chains came from the abyss above them and latched onto Charlie’s wrists, jerking her arms up above her head.

She can’t kill me if we’re not in the physical world. Bentley forced himself to remember her words. She couldn’t kill her. She couldn’t kill her. She couldn’t kill her.

The Secret Keeper stabbed her in the chest directly in front of Bentley and twisted it with a sickening laugh.

Bentley’s stomach lurched at the explosion of red that immediately stained her jumpsuit even more than it already had, and the blood-curdling, strangled sounding scream she let out made something writhe beneath his skin.

“Don’t react!” Her voice came, a whisper, but he was already snapping a hand over his mouth in a bid to quiet the sudden and intense wave of nausea that made him feel really sick. The Secret Keeper was just laughing. At Charlie. At the knife. “Put your hand down! Be unbothered!”

Bentley snapped his hand down by his side, keeping his lips pressed into a firm line — the last line of defense should his body actually decide to make him throw up. Could he even throw up in the white place? Or would he just be throwing up in real life?

The Secret Keeper pulled the knife out, splattering blood on her face in the process, and she looked over at Bentley. Charlie had gone slack and nearly unconscious in the chains.

Bentley swallowed hard, forcing the nausea down, forcing the terror off of his face and out of his head so maybe she couldn’t feel it. He replaced it with hatred and disdain instead.

She couldn’t kill her.

He crossed his arms over his chest, trying really, really hard to keep his body language natural and free of tension while she was looking at him. With blood all over her face.

“If you react, I’ll kill you myself!” Came Charlie’s whisper, and then a second later: “Okay, inappropriate joke. I won’t. But you get how serious I am! I’ll work to keep her out of your head, but you’ve gotta keep all that disgust off of your face.”

Bentley drew in a breath, trailing his eyes across the blood on her face and pretending it didn’t make his stomach churn unsettlingly. “Are you finished?”

“Oh my God, Bentley!” Charlie whispered, sounding pleasantly surprised. “You’re such a fucking savage.”

I’m literally about to vomit, he made himself think.

“Yeah, well, don’t!”

The Secret Keeper, evidently still hung on his, quote-on-quote, savage question, stepped forward. Her eyes went colder than Asten’s old cell, and she dropped the dagger, the weapon exploding into a puff of smoke when it hit the floor, disappearing entirely. “Excuse me?”

Bentley lifted his brows at her. “Are. You. Finished? I have shit to do.”

The Secret Keeper cocked her head at him like a dog, taking a step forward, without a word.

“Get out of my head,” Bentley demanded, taking a step toward her. She creased her brow at him, almost like he’d… done something she hadn’t expected.

“What?” She growled, her cold gaze turning sinister very, very quickly. She started inching forward; dragging her feet across the floor toward him.

Bentley didn’t move. “I said get out of my head.”

The Secret Keeper didn’t speak; she only twitched. One of her eyes, and her left hand, like she was feeling for something that didn’t exist. A knife, Bentley assumed, since he was so royally pissing her off.

“Get out of my head!” He repeated, stepping forward again. The Secret Keeper looked down at his feet, like she couldn’t believe he was getting closer to her.

She stepped forward, too. “Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that? Why-”

“Get out!”

On the second word, Bentley gathered all the courage and bravery he could muster to step forward and shove her as hard as he could. She wasn’t very big, so she actually staggered maybe a yard away, and stumbled over her own feet, and then fell, and when she hit the white floor-

He jolted back into the real world with a gasp, standing in the elevator, one hand braced on the wall, the other laced in his hair.

At once he remembered the literal stabbing he had witnessed, and the bloodcurdling scream. He’d watched her stab Charlie straight in the chest. Like, stab.

He turned on his heel, dug his fingers into the stomach of his jumpsuit, and threw up a rather pitiful amount of bile in the corner of the disabled elevator.

Rockie, who had been sitting in the corner near the door, diagonal from him, moved with a soft: "Oh, shit."

Bentley's head was throbbing with the same murderous migraine he'd forgotten in his panic earlier; but it was a newer, worse pain. The room threatened to spin with every attempt to open his eyes, and his adrenaline began to be replaced by a toxic exhaustion, clawing up his ankles and making it hard to focus.

Rockie was suddenly touching him, one hand on his back and the other holding tight to his left arm, keeping him from swaying.

"You don't look very good," He oh-so-helpfully stated.

"Don't feel very good," Bentley murmured back, screwing his hand up in the stomach of his jumpsuit when it threatened to lurch again. He kept trying to open his eyes but everything just kept swirling. "I think I might faint."

"What? Please don't," Rockie begged, his head dipping down so Bentley could've seen him if his eyes were open. He could've swore he sounded... desperate, or afraid, or something. He couldn't tell just then.

It was about at that point that Bentley's legs decided that they didn't want to work, and they gave out beneath him; the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor was Rockie's grip, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders.

"Okay. Okay," Bentley vaguely heard him mutter. Rockie moved Bentley carefully, until his head came to rest on something that felt suspiciously like his shoulder, his arms looping around his back gently but tight enough to keep him from falling. "Okay. We'll just stay like this for a minute. That's cool."

Bentley managed to peel the hand that wasn't tangled in his jumpsuit away from his side and bring it loosely around Rockie in return, his eyes suddenly stinging like somebody had sprayed lemon juice in them.

"I wanna go home," He whispered, voice thick and sort of slurred from the strange half-conscious state he was in.

Rockie just sort of rubbed his back. "I'll get you home."

Bentley was conscious for just long enough to feel a couple of tears fall down his face, before the pain and the sound and the emotions all became one big blur of something, and he let the darkness take him away with open arms.

When Bentley came to, he was laying on the floor of the elevator, knees tucked up to his chest, his head situated carefully on Rockie's balled up sweatshirt.

"Hey,"

Bentley glanced up to his right, where Rockie was sitting, now only wearing a white t-shirt with his sweatpants. He looked different -- more tired, maybe? He was just sitting against the wall of the small elevator with one leg tucked, the other outstretched, looking at nothing in particular.

Bentley sat up and rubbed at his eyes, cringing at the weakness he could already feel taking hold of him, grimacing at the taste of bile that still lingered in his mouth. How long was he out? Had they moved at all?

Despite his questions, a small: "What?" was about all he could manage to say.

"You threw up," Rockie stated. "Then passed out. I think you might have a fever, too."

Bentley wasn't quite sure how Rockie would've checked his temperature without taking his gloves off, but he also didn't have the willpower to ask. He just hummed, sitting up and tightening his knees against this chest.

"We've been in here... probably another hour or two. If Charlie doesn't get the elevator up, I'm not sure we're going to make it in time," Rockie stated, still refusing to look over at Bentley, staring down at his hands instead.

Bentley didn't say anything. And then, for a second, his brain drifted off to something completely unrelated -- the fact that earlier, Rockie had been prying at the elevator doors like they were going to kill him.

"Rockie?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"If you don’t intend to insult me after, sure,"

Bentley blinked for a second. "Why were you so scared earlier? Of the elevator?"

Rockie sighed lightly, glancing down at his hands. Fiddling with his fingers.

“I…”

He heard Rockie exhale heavily. He thought at first that he wouldn't respond, and he didn't blame him. They weren't friends anymore, were they? Not-friends didn't tell each other stuff like that; they didn't answer those kinds of questions.

But finally:

"They started locking me in a six-by-six white room when I was eleven, trying to determine if my powers fluctuated based on... heightened emotions. Fear," He replied quietly, absentmindedly fiddling with his glove. "They locked me inside every day, for four hours. Three years straight. With her."

Bentley kept silent.

"It didn't even end up working," He mumbled. “My powers never changed. I guess the elevator just... reminded me of that room.”

Bentley didn’t say anything for a moment.

“But I’m fine. You deciding to puke your guts out distracted me,”

And suddenly, the elevator kicked back on, jostling them in the floor as it continued its ascent.

Bentley blinked, and Charlie’s voice came: “Finally!”

Rockie popped off the floor, wiping his hands on his pants. He turned to Bentley and held a gloved hand out to him. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah,” Bentley replied, reaching up and taking his hand. Rockie tugged him off of the floor and, after a second where he gathered his footing, he let go again. The world threatened to spin, but he blinked and shook his head and didn't let it.

“Are you sure you’re okay enough to-“

“Yes,” Bentley cut him off, despite the fact he felt mere moments from death. “I’m okay. Being passed out for a little while helped.”

“You shouldn’t have to be in a position where passing out helps,” Rockie exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed the keycard out of his sweatpants pocket and held it over to Bentley. Bentley was pretty sure he was supposed to have one on his person, but he didn't, and he wasn't sure where it went. “Here; just go back down and head out through the elevator we sent the others up in. I’ll take care of everything down here.”

“No,” Bentley was quick to reply, shaking his head lightly and looking back up at Rockie. “I’m not leaving.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open right in the midst of their conversation — immediately, both Bentley and Rockie all but threw themselves backwards, thudding against opposite walls on either side of the door so they were out of sight. The sudden and panicky movement made Bentley’s vision swim and headache rage even harder than it had been, and he wanted to groan about it, but he didn’t. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

“Stay still. Don’t move,” Charlie’s voice came.

Bentley caught Rockie’s eye, and mouthed: Don’t move.

Bentley saw Rockie’s fingers twitching as a pair of footsteps grew near to the elevator door. Bentley just pushed himself hard into the corner and kept his eyes laser focused on Rockie's green ones, hoping his gaze would pin him down just enough to keep him from moving. Just for a second.

A man in white armor stepped onto the elevator.

He stood idly in the threshold and glanced around, quickly. His armor looked like metal — Bentley hadn’t noticed that before. He had a huge black assault rifle in his white gloved hands, and a helmet that reminded him of a welding mask.

The man looked around the small room, taking in every corner and crevice of white, nearly looking Bentley straight in the eye. He did a few passes of all the corners, his gaze not seeming to stick on him, or Rockie, not even on the sweatshirt sitting in the floor.

He huffed and stepped back out. Bentley heard the crackle of a walkie talkie coming to life. “They’re not here, boss.”

Rockie looked over at Bentley with this absolutely flabbergasted look on his face, and Bentley mouthed: “Charlie.”

With the shake of his head, Rockie reached over ever-so-slowly and pushed in the open door button, holding it down tightly.

“I’m keeping the Secret Keeper locked out of your minds, for now. She can’t see into them. Which means she can’t get your location,” Charlie said. “But she knows where you’re trying to go. So we’re taking a back way.”

Bentley merely nodded, even though she couldn't see him.

“Go out of the elevator now. Immediately go right. There’s a guard, but I’ve got him,”

Bentley gestured for Rockie to follow and hurried out of the elevator, taking an immediate right. There was a guard there, the same one, back facing them, holding his gun tight in his hand. Almost like he was guarding the elevator, waiting for something suspicious.

Rockie wordlessly grabbed Bentley’s arms from behind in an attempt to pull him the other way, but Bentley merely shook his head, quietly wrenching him arms from his grip.

The guard fell.

Rockie paused and stared, and Bentley moved farther down the hall, past the guard. There was blood running from his nose, ears, and eyes. Bentley looked away with a grimace, taking a few more steps and glancing down the halls.

“There’s a-"

Chi-chink.

Bentley turned at the sound of an assault rifle being chambered behind him.

Much to his relief (and slight terror?) it was Rockie. He'd grabbed the guard’s giant assault rifle despite his metal gloves, and was now scouring his limp body... for ammunition, Bentley guessed.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, glancing anxiously down the hallways around them. "Someone might hear you. We need to go."

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Rockie muttered. He pulled something out of the man’s waistband and slid it across the floor to Bentley.

A pistol. An actual, real pistol.

The thought of picking it up made his head spin.

A second later, the man’s keycard slid up beside it. And then a pistol magazine.

Bentley swallowed thickly. “Charlie’s gonna get us there in secret, Rockie... we don’t need-“

“I’m not going with you,”

Bentley furrowed his brows, his mouth going dry. “What?”

“You can listen to her if you want, but I don’t trust her. She’s part of the Secret Keeper,” He replied nonchalantly. “I’m going for Layla. The girls are drained in a separate room than the boys, so we aren’t going to the same place anyways.”

Bentley inhaled sharply. “But-”

“If she lies to you, the medical wing is at the very right end of the main hall with the siphoning rooms. It’s absolutely massive. The draining rooms have windows. You can’t miss them.”

“Please don’t leave,” Bentley mumbled, taking a step toward him as Rockie rose with the gun, putting a few full magazines in his sweatpants pockets. His hoodie had been long abandoned in the elevator.

“Bentley-”

“I don’t want to be alone,”

Rockie merely looked at him for a few moments. “Then come with me.”

“No! Bentley, you’ll die!” Charlie ordered frantically.

“No,” Bentley half-whispered. “If you go and try to shoot them all, you’ll... die.”

“If I’m going down, I want to take as many of these bastards with me as I can,” Rockie replied, turning on his heel, and heading for the main hall that was shining bright in Bentley's eyes. “Good luck, Bentley.”

“No, Rockie!” Bentley took a couple steps to follow him, but stopped short, a gnarly burn surfacing behind his eyes. “Charlie? Is… is he the one?”

Charlie resigned to silence.

And then, a few quiet moments later, after the burning had turned into watery eyes as had then turned into tears that fell down his face, Charlie whispered: “Don’t follow him.”

“Oh my God,”

Rockie disappeared around the corner.

“Bentley, focus. Don’t follow him. Keep going straight,”

“Was that the last time I’ll see-”

“Bentley, listen to me. There are guards coming. You have to move, now,” She ordered in his head. “You don’t have much time. Thirty minutes tops. This place has a filter and distribution system created for widespread use of sedatives integrated into the air conditioning, but the system was disabled years ago when they decided it would be a danger to personnel. The system goes through the entire facility, and the vents needed to be large enough for repairs throughout the whole thing. So the answer is, yes. You’re going to be crawling through the vents like a spy movie.”

Bentley said nothing, his mind still utterly stuck on the fact that Rockie was going to... die.

“Get the keycard and go into the next cell closest to you. Now!”

Bentley did as he was told, numbly heading to the next metal door, opening it, going inside, and closing it behind him. There was no one in it.

Rockie was already dead.

“I’ll tell you when it’s safe to leave,”

Bentley didn’t say anything, but just focused on keeping himself together, for Asten’s sake. What if Rockie didn’t make it to Layla? Would she die, too? Had they messed up somewhere?

“Stop thinking about it, Bentley,” Charlie ordered. “The guard passed. Go now.”

Bentley forced himself up and tapped the keycard again, the doors sliding open.

“Go back where you came from, near the elevator. There’s a mechanical room right next to it where you’ll have access to the vents,”

Bentley made his way back into the dark hall, the one with the elevator, scanning the walls for the doors she'd mentioned.

Suddenly, the loud, terror inducing, horrendous noise of several assault rifles plagued his ears from the main hall.

He stopped right after he'd passed the elevator, just short of the next door, the one he was meant to go in. The hall spun and he put his hand against the wall there to hold himself up, clinging tight to the keycard to keep from dropping it.

“Rockie…”

“Don’t go back for him, Bentley. Don’t,” Charlie ordered in his head, solemnly. “I’m… helping him where I can. Open the door, inside there will be lots of machines, and a vent large enough for you to fit inside.”

Bentley didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept his hand planted firmly against the wall and stayed exactly where he was, poorly fighting away a very sudden urge to vomit again.

“Bentley,”

He shook his head. “I don’t… feel good.”

“I know. I know. You can push through it. I know you can,”

Bentley exhaled heavily. He wanted Bruce. He wanted to go home. He didn’t want to be sick with a fever alone in the hallways of a facility where they were trying to kill his friends. He didn't want to listen to the gunshots that were probably tearing through Rockie's body, aiming to leave him nothing more than a lump on the floor. He wanted to go home.

He threw up on the facility's white floor instead.

By the time his stupid muscles stopped spasming and his stupid stomach stopped evicting everything from inside itself, he was crying, fully. Most of it was thanks to the fact that he'd probably just heard Rockie die, but there was a little bit of it, too, that came from how badly he wanted to go home, how terrible felt, how hopeless he was. How was he supposed to save everyone like this? Falling apart? Alone? Sick?

“I can’t do it,” He sobbed, his full weight still resting on the wall next to him. Tears were streaming down his face but he didn't see the point in wiping them off. “I can’t… I won’t make it in time.”

“You definitely won’t if you don’t try,” Charlie replied softly. “It’s not like you to give up. You can do it. You’re so close.”

Bentley exhaled, and then inhaled. He thought about Asten.

Without another word, he pushed himself on. To the next door, through it, and into a large room that had a bunch of machines, consoles, and a large air vent close to the floor.

He closed the door behind him and went over to it, ignoring everything else. It had a grate, but it wasn't screwed in like normal -- it was latched, and had hinges so it could be opened easily by workers.

He unlatched it and pulled it open, looking into the vents beyond.

There was maybe a six foot drop before the vent turned out of his sight. There were various pipes and tubes and ducting curling and swirling around in there, probably the systems Charlie had talked about.

With an exhale, he pushed himself inside.

—

He was in the vents for a good fifteen, twenty minutes. Thumping around like an elephant in heels, stopping occasionally to flinch at a myriad of gunshots he heard from above, to panic about Rockie until Charlie calmed him down enough to go on. He stopped once because he needed to throw up again. He was pretty sure he really was sick.

By the time Charlie told him he was ‘there’, he was pretty sure he was five seconds away from actually dying. But then he had to not, because he was there.

He had to climb up a maybe six foot span of vent that went straight up — much like the vent he’d come in. It wouldn’t have been so hard on a normal day, but today wasn’t a normal day, so it was hard. He managed to use the pipes and ducts for the whatever system organized around the vents to get him up there. And it was only when Charlie said ‘now’ that he managed to use every bit of remaining strength to kick the vent grate out.

He climbed out into a very, very white room. He couldn’t see all the way across it because there were privacy curtains everywhere, like the curtains in s hospital. But, from what he could see, it looked big. He’d come out in a spot that seemed like he was in a corner, surrounded by shelves full of medical supplies and boxes.

“Go out. Put the grate back as best you can,”

Bentley followed her orders, climbing fully into the room and grabbing the grate, propping it where it had once been in a bid to make it look normal. The alarms were still blaring, and he could hear people talking, footsteps pounding across the floor. He could hear the sound of nearby chaos — gunshots, hundreds of them somewhere outside the room.

“Bentley, the room is set up like stripes. There’s rows of medical beds surrounded by these privacy curtains that have kids in them. Right now, you’re in the corner directly across from the corner with the door,” Charlie explained. “You see that privacy curtain to your right?”

Bentley turned and looked at the large, bluish-green plastic curtain to his right, past a few shelves. “Yeah?”

“Go in it. Get in the bed. Grab the IV tube and hide it under the blanket near your arm. Now,”

With a sharp exhale, Bentley squeezed himself between two shelves and ducked under the plastic-ey curtains. There was a large, white stretcher on the other side, and a big, white machine with buttons, dials, and a few different long tubes sticking out of it.

Bentley all but tossed himself at the bed, squirming to get under the covers and grabbing the bundle of tubes from the machine, shoving them under the blanket and playing dead there.

As soon as he stopped moving, the curtain whipped open with a whoosh.

He held his breath and made his whole body still, trying his hardest not to actually pass out in the presence of a blanket and bed. He heard a few footsteps come into the tiny space, and then a hum. “Looks like someone forgot to start you up.”

There were a few beeps and a whir from the machine next to him, and he heard the person leave, the privacy curtain whooshing shut behind them.

There was a moment of silence that ensued before Charlie said: “Go.”

Bentley shoved himself out of the hospital bed, fighting off a wave of vertigo from standing so fast that was dutifully accompanied by a wave of nausea. He swallowed all the sickness down and pushed himself through the curtain and back into the empty space between them.

“Go right. Then turn right again — there’s only one walkway up here against the wall, you can’t miss it,”

Bentley merely went, his legs pushing him along with more willpower than his actual brain. He turned right, met with a long walkway, the left side lined with privacy curtains, the right with the wall. There was a break in the curtains every dozen feet or so that indicated a row.

“Walk ten paces, then go into the privacy curtain on your immediate left,”

Bentley started down the hall, counted to ten steps. On nine, he saw someone turn into the walkway from one of the rows ahead of him, so he practically threw himself to the side and through the next curtain.

“Feet up!” Charlie shouted.

The nearest thing Bentley could actually use to get his feet up was the hospital bed, but this one had a person in it. A boy he didn’t know, maybe eleven or twelve, with bright blonde hair and long eyelashes that reminded him of Dick. He was connected to several large whirring machines, and an IV tube was coming out from under his blanket, filled with something suspiciously crimson.

Sitting on the edge of the bed next to him just to get his own feet out of sight made Bentley feel a little sick again.

The person padded by without suspecting a thing.

“You can go now.”

Bentley climbed off the bed and turned back, looking at the boy. He whispered: “How do I shut them all down?”

There was a moment of silence. “What? No, Bentley, you’re here for Asten.”

“No, I…” He glanced at the whirring machine. At the evil, evil machine. “I can’t let them all die. Just tell me how to shut them down.”

“Bentley-”

“Please! It’ll stop draining everyone and I’ll still be able to get him,” Bentley begged. “I can’t leave them, Charlie.”

“Hold on! Hold on, just let me think,”

A few moments of silence passed, and Bentley merely stood there.

“Okay,” Charlie finally breathed. “Okay. Okay. Listen to me. There’s a main pump that controls all the smaller pumps in here, carries all the blood to another room where it gets filtered and stuff. You’re going to cut power to that pump. But you only have five minutes.”

“Okay,”

“Go back in the vents. If you run now, you should be able to slip in unseen,”

Numbly, Bentley listened to her. He climbed back in the vent and went to the next room over, (a control room, she said.), where his job was to beat the absolute hell out of some control panel and rip wires out of it until it stopped making noise. So he did.

After that, she claimed that he’d done it. She said something, told him a number of how many kids he’d saved, but he didn’t hear it. He threw up again in that room.

He blindly followed her orders back to the medical room he’d been in, and switched from curtained area to curtained area, narrowly avoiding all of the scrambling doctors and scientists who were trying to figure out why everything had stopped working. He was numb, blank, and he didn’t feel much of anything until Charlie directed him into one of the privacy curtains — the fourth one on the seventh row.

And when he opened it, all the feelings and stuff he’d been trying to keep an arm's length away slammed back into place inside of him.

Because Asten was laying in the bed.

He was hooked up to all the same machines as everybody else, but his blood wasn’t moving through the tubes anymore. His chest was rising and falling; somewhat quickly, but it didn’t matter to Bentley, as long as it was. He looked almost as white as a sheet of paper, and his lips were slightly blue from the loss of blood. But he was there.

Bentley made a sound akin to a wheeze as every emotion he'd ever felt in his life washed over him. He wanted to cry and scream and smile and kill something and dance and all kinds of things that, when he felt them all at once, simply resulted in him standing there.

“Through the curtain to your left, Bentley, there’s a tray with a few syringes on it; it’s a reversal drug. It will wake him up from the anesthesia. You can do it, okay?”

With a few poor excuses of breaths, Bentley swiped open the curtain next to him, trying hard not to look at the teenage boy in the bed. He scoured the small space for syringes instead, and he found them, on a small cart next to the quiet machines.

He grabbed one, turned around, and jammed it into Asten’s arm.

It took a little bit — maybe two minutes or so? — before he groaned lightly, his green eyes fluttering slowly open.

“Asten,” Bentley whispered, heading to the other side of the bed and starting to pull all the needles and tubing out of his arm. Asten stirred more, probably at the pain, his green irises flicking around until they finally landed on Bentley’s face.

“B’ntley?”

“Asten,” He breathed, a sense of relief washing over him that nearly made him bawl again. Asten went about sitting up, but proved to be really weak, so Bentley had to help him by hiding his back off the mattress. As soon as he was sitting upright, Bentley hugged him as tight as he dared.

“Bentley,” Asten continued. His arms came up very vaguely, and Bentley felt him grab onto his jumpsuit gently, his head lolling down onto his shoulder seemingly by itself. “M’ feel like shit.”

“Me, too,” Bentley muttered. “But we have to get out of here, okay? We have to get out of here. We have to leave.”

“You’ve created a distraction with the pump failure, and Rockie’s creating a massive diversion himself. If you go now, toward the exit that goes to your building, I can keep all the stragglers off of you. You’re home free.”

Bentley, as badly as he wanted to hold onto Asten and never let go ever, pulled away after a few seconds. “Can you stand?”

Asten didn’t say anything, but he did push himself off of the bed and onto the floor; which was immediately followed by the buckling of his weak knees and Bentley having to muster up strength enough to catch him himself.

“I’ve got you, buddy,” Bentley mumbled, trying his damn hardest to bare Asten's weight with his weak body. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Asten merely whined: “Bentley.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” He continued, pulling one of Asten's arms around his shoulders in an attempt to keep him upright. "Just try to walk as best you can okay?"

"Okay..."

"All you have to focus on is getting out, I promise. I'll keep everything else away. All you have to do is walk," Charlie said in his head. "You're going to come out of his privacy curtain and go right, down the walkway -- then left. The door is there."

Bentley, with some sort of strength he had to be getting from a place he didn't even know of, pushed himself and Asten out of the makeshift hospital room and out into the walkways, following Charlie's directions as best he could. After the right and left turn, and a little bit of a walk, the door to the room was there -- it led back to the main hallway. The bright one, that led all the way back to his building.

One long hallway, and then they were out.

"Only focus on walking, Bentley," Charlie reminded. "You're done fighting. I've got you."

Bentley didn't do anything but obey her. He opened the door with the keycard and went out into the hall. The gunshots were still audible, but had faded further away, so much so that they sounded like something different. Or maybe that noise was his ears ringing.

With every single step, Bentley was pushing towards complete failure. He could feel his strength slipping away like someone had shot a hole in the tank -- everything that had been bearing down on him for the past month; the stress, the sickness, the lack of self-preservation, the fear, the neglect; it was all coming back to haunt him at the worst time in the worst way. Asten's life depended on him, and here he was, sick and weak and hardly able to think a coherent sentence through the absolute agony that he was embodying.

Still, somehow, he kept walking. He wasn't sure what it was that was pushing him on; determination, or willpower, or spite, or fear, or hope. He couldn't decide what feeling was most prominent in the tornado that was him. He merely focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and holding Asten up, for a long, long time.

Until they made it a mere ten yards from the stairs and exit, so close he could see it, so close he could practically feel the EM field begging to give him his power back...

Asten said something.

"B, I'm... about to pass out,"

And then he did.

It took every ounce of strength left inside of Bentley to keep him from hitting the floor when he fell. The second pair of legs that had been somewhat spurring him on turned into dead weight in a split second. Bentley managed to grab him under the arms and pull him off to the side -- into a small hallway, the last small hallway before they made it out.

"Asten," He mumbled as he laid him down on the floor. He was still pale as snow, and still breathing, but completely unconscious.

Bentley grabbed at his shoulders and touched him, tried to poke and prod him back into consciousness, fighting off a horrendous migraine and the urge to vomit. "Asten, we're almost out, come on. Please. We're almost done."

Cli-click.

"Get away from him. Hands up in the air,"

Bentley drew in a sudden breath and grew eerily still at the sound of a gun being chambered behind him.

"Now. Get up,"

He knew that voice. He knew it, and he'd known it would come back to haunt him.

Slowly, hands raised in the air, he stood up, leaving Asten's limp form on the floor -- a silent hope that he would be left alone.

Bentley looked up. Back into the bright main hallway.

And there stood Mr. Keene. His math teacher. Dr. Keene's little brother. With a big, shiny pistol, aimed right at Bentley's head, and big, amber eyes instead of grey-blue, visible behind big glasses.

He flicked the gun to the left. "Well? Come into the light. Don't make any sudden moves."

Bentley stepped gingerly back into the main hallway with his hands up near his head, keeping his eye trained on the barrel of the gun as it followed his every movement, puppeteered his direction. He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. His breaths were trying to force themselves in and out with a violence, but he didn't let them.

"Please," He mumbled. "Please. Just let us go."

"You destroyed my family. What are we supposed to do now? Let our legacy die because one kid couldn't follow the rules?" He asked; though Bentley realized it was probably her talking more than him. "I can't let you leave. Your story ends here, now, Bentley Whittaker."

"Bentley Wayne," He corrected. The gun was shaking in the man's hand, but stayed pointed at his head anyway, hovering probably eight or ten feet away from him.

"You ran from me, you cried because of me, you fought me, and you deceived me," The man mumbled, a look of relief, of contentment crossing his features. "And now... you'll die by my hand. It's the only ending. The only true way this story can end."

"Charlie-"

"THAT'S NOT MY NAME!" She roared through the man's mouth, the gun trembling vigorously in his hand. "I have no name. I am no one. I am everyones worst nightmare, and their perfect dream. And you, Bentley Wayne," He spat, she spat. "Are going... to sleep."

Bentley watched the barrel of the gun tremble as his grip tightened on the weapon, to pull the trigger, and-

Someone stepped in front of him.

"No,"

It was Asten.

"Get out of the way, boy," The man with the amber eyes ordered.

By the looks of it, Asten was having a hard enough time keeping himself up as it was. With his own head settling right between Bentley's and the barrel of the gun, his body begging to give out so badly Bentley could practically hear it. He was mere moments from collapse. They all knew. But even then, he didn't move.

Bentley stepped forward. "Asten, move."

"...No,"

"Asten,"

"No,"

"Get out of my way," The Secret Keeper growled through the man's mouth. "Or I'll shoot through both of you."

"Asten, move," Bentley ordered, his eyes burning, heart slamming around in his chest. "Asten, please, move."

"No,"

"Asten!"

"No,"

BANG!

Bentley and Asten and even the man with the gun flinched when the shot sounded, so loud and deafening it seemed to reverberate through the facility halls. Bentley's world spun, and his vision suddenly had dots swimming in it, though he didn't feel any pain.

Thump.

He forced his body to work. Forced his vision to return. Forced his brain to come back on.

The man with the gun was laying on the floor, the back of his head blown wide open, coating the white floor with crimson.

Red Hood was standing a few meters behind his corpse, pistol outstretched and smoking at the barrel.

"Jason," Bentley mumbled, taking a few steps forward in disbelief, settling just in front of Asten. "Asten, its Jason."

Chloe had done it.

They were going to be okay.

Bentley took another step toward the vigilante, but his socked foot nudged something that dinged across the white floor.

Bentley glanced down at it.

A bullet casing.

A gold bullet casing, right near his foot, rolling lazily across the floor from where he'd kicked it.

His eyes trailed to the dead man, from his exploded head to his hands, to the pistol on the floor a few feet from him, which had smoke slowly seeping from its barrel.

"...Bentley?"

Bentley turned around, his gaze catching on Asten's face. It was whiter than before; his green eyes were blown wide and glistening with something he couldn't place. His mouth was hung open in shock. His hands were hovering in the air near his torso, uncertainly, and-

There was a really, really large stain of crimson growing there.

Bentley's entire world came crashing down on his head as soon as he realized.

He lurched forward just in time to catch Asten before he hit the white tile, all but falling with him, keeping him from hitting the floor. He tried to make words but he couldn't; the only coherent noise that managed to escape him was a desperate scream:

"Jason!"

A mere second and the vigilante was by his side. Red Hood all but ripped his helmed off with a thunk, uncaring, tossing it to the side and letting it bounce across the floor with the sound of metal on tile.

"Talk to him," Jason ordered, his black and white hair frazzled and damp from the helmet, his face trained into neutrality even though Bentley knew him good enough to see the panic through it. "Talk to him, Bentley."

Bentley looked down at Asten. He was sort of laying across his lap, and Bentley had his head gathered in his hands, cradling it close to his chest, keeping him from looking down at the wound Jason was now putting pressure on. Jason spoke to someone, but it wasn't him. Did he have an earpiece in?

Asten kept taking quick, ragged breaths, and his hands, soaked with blood, came up to hold onto Bentley's arms that were around his head. "I guess..." He sort of gasped, sort of choked. "I guess that... plot armor isn't so thick a...anymore, huh?"

Bentley could feel the way his entire body seemed to be buzzing and trembling, and so he held his head higher to his own chest, brushing a couple of fingers across the hair near his forehead in a means of comfort. "It... It, it isn't... Its..."

"It's okay," Asten mumbled, his green eyes staying trained on Bentley's, his hands gripping harder at his arms. "It's okay. I'm okay, B, don't.. don't be scared. I'm okay."

Jason was talking. Bentley didn't hear it. Someone skidded into Bentley's view, a little ways down the hallway. A quick flinch and glance up revealed that it was Rockie, bloody and looking suddenly sick, with Layla wrapped tightly around one arm. His inhuman green eyes were scouring Asten's frame and when they met Bentley's, they were brimming with tears.

"It's okay," Asten continued to ramble shakily, grabbing and gripping at Bentley's arms sort of frantically, leaving blood everywhere. "It's okay. I'm okay."

His entire torso was red. Jason's hands were red. Bentley could see it in his peripheral.

"Asten..." Bentley said, vibrating from terror and adrenaline, unable to produce any real sentences. "Asten."

"It's okay. I'm okay. Don't look at it. It's okay," Asten continued to ramble, balling up Bentley's sleeves in his hands, keeping his eyes trained solely on Bentley's. For some reason, the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile. A moment of silence passed.

"That's funny," He snickered quietly, his green eyes building with tears that fell over, down the sides of his face not a second later. "It... It doesn't hurt. Is Summer here?"

Bentley tried to ignore the fact that the entire right side of his peripheral vision was red. "Jason is," Bentley gritted out.

"Jason," Asten seemed to snap into reality a little bit more at the realization, and he tried to look down at Jason, at his torso, but Bentley's grip around his neck and head wouldn't let him. "Jason."

"I'm right here," Jason said. It sounded well-trained and vigilante like, but it wobbled at the end, and Bentley caught it.

"Jason," Asten seemed to relax his struggling to look for him, instead, just turning his gaze back up into Bentley's eyes. "Jason. I'm scared."

"It's going to be alright, okay? Just keep talking to us," Jason ordered.

"Jason. I'm scared," He repeated. "Is it... dark? I don't like the dark."

"Asten-"

"What is it like?" He asked, though his eyes were trained solely on Bentley's. "Is it dark?"

"Don't be afraid," Jason continued. Bentley realized that he'd stopped moving so much. Not a few seconds later he was on the opposite side of Asten, leaning forward so Asten could see his face. Why wasn't he tending to the wound anymore? "It's just like falling asleep."

Asten blinked, a few more tears falling down the sides of his face. "I don't wanna fall asleep."

He reached numbly for Jason with bloody hands until Jason peeled his crimson gloves off and grabbed them, holding them tightly so the three of them were just a tangle of arms with Asten's head in the middle.

"There's... something you need to tell Bruce," Asten said, his eyes flicking over to Jason, then back to Bentley. "You... you have to tell him I changed my mind, okay? He asked me, but... but I told him no, I don't... I don't know why I did that..."

"What is it, buddy?" Jason asked softly. "What do you want us to tell him?"

"That I changed my mind," Asten suddenly coughed, a little bit of blood splattering from his lips onto his chin. "That I do want... I do want to be..."

He gasped strangely, and an unidentifiable expression crossed his features.

"That you want to be what?" Jason pressed.

Asten looked over at him, and smiled slightly, with crimson stained teeth. A few more tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. "A Wayne."

Jason choked.

Jason choking was the last thing Bentley heard before Asten's arms, tangled up in both of theirs, went slack, and he went completely limp in his grip.

Silence ensued.

"Asten," Bentley muttered, cradling his head closer to his chest, lifting it up, higher. "Asten."

Asten's eyes were looking at nothing.

"Asten," Bentley tried again, softly, holding tight to him and blinking. He looked down at him and brushed his hair away again with a few fingers. "Asten."

Asten never moved.

Bentley stopped saying his name. Instead, he just pulled him closer, and Jason held his hands, and Bentley let his own head fall until his face was hidden in his black and blue hair.

And he didn't move.

Asten Evans...

was dead.

HOLY SHIT

tag list that KINDA works

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

@custommadeazula

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drarrily-we-row-along · 1 year ago

Text

Hey everyone.

Maybe some of you have noticed that my writing's been super sporadic since like June (if you haven't that's very okay) but I just wanted to write a little bit about what's been happening in my life because it's had a pretty big impact on my writing.

It turns out that I'm actually ace.

So, if you happen to notice an uptick in me writing fics with ace characters who still get to be loved, I'm just trying to process a thing.

Please feel free to skip the rest of this post if you're not interested in the harrowing journey of self discovery. I am absolutely giving too much information about my life, I'm just really working at processing everything and I'm hoping writing it out will help. And honestly, there have been some beautiful souls in the Tumblr community who have given me some beautiful encouragement (including but not limited to @basicallyahedgehog who answered an anon ask I sent them the other day with so much kindness and encouragement because I'd bawled my eyes out about one of their fics featuring ace Harry/Draco.).

(Anyway. If you want to read a ramble about all of the things I'm struggling with at the present moment, I'm gladly accepting advice and kindness at this time. Please read below the cut and chime in if you have anything hopeful to add.)

For most of my life I've pretty comfortably called myself a "picky bi" and in the past couple of years have labeled myself "demisexual" because I'm not sex repulsed; I've had sex, it was fine/good when it's with someone who I'm in love with. I moved on from the labeling, content with the label I'd given myself and whatnot.

It's been a minute (read: 8+ years) since I've been in a relationship that got to the point where I've considered having sex but I didn't really think all that much of it. In retrospect, I think this is largely because I've grown a lot in terms of self respect and honoring my own autonomy. Somewhere around 25, I started saying no when I didn't want something and if the other person didn't respect that decision they were not worth my time.

Anyway, it didn't really occur to me that perhaps going nearly a decade without thinking about/wanting to have sex with anyone (and without experiencing even vague aesthetic attraction to someone with only the odd exception here and there- some of you saw that post a couple of months ago, apparently just having the thought that someone is pretty isn't the same as attraction that allo people experience- so that panic now seems pretty unnecessary. It literally boggles my mind that people can just see a person they've never met and want to have sex with them. Anyway, I'm digressing.) Apparently, it's not a common occurrence even among demisexuals to go that long without thinking about sex if you have emotional intimacy with people (which I do). So fast forward to June when I went to a conference for lgbtqia christians and started listening to people talk about attraction.

To say that my experience of attraction and desire for sex is profoundly different than that of nearly all of the people that I talked to at that conference would be an understatement.

After that conference, I started talking to a lot of friends about their experience of attraction and their desire for sex (eventually this also included some new friends who are demi/ace) and have been a little flabbergasted by their responses. Suddenly, in light of the fact that my body doesn't interpret a lot of things the way that other peoples' seem to, a lot of things started to make sense.

I've been called a flirt (at best, and a [cock]tease in more unpleasant moments) my entire life because I always want to give people gentle physical affection; I love holding hands, touching people on the arm while we're having a conversation, playing with peoples' hair, hugging, leaning, the list is long- none of those things have ever felt like flirting to me. Every one of those actions was the end in itself, there was no artifice in my touches, no desire or even thought for more, but APPARENTLY that is not the thing that happens in a lot of peoples' bodies. It is incomprehensible to me that simple, affectionate touches are not something that everyone just wants to do to anyone that they harbor platonic affection for. This also applies to the way that I communicate with people. Again, I've been called a flirt, been told that I'm intense, been told that I'm trying to 'steal' peoples' boy/girl friends simply by being friends with them. APPARENTLY, showing "too much" interest in other peoples' lives and hobbies is flirting. APPARENTLY, getting really excited for people who are excited and doing cool things is flirting. Because (or so I have been told) the emotional energy I expend is too much to just be friends; surely, I have another angle.

Next, in terms of attraction, I experience attraction to beautiful things in nature in the same way that I experience it to people. If I'm being honest, nature makes my heart sing in a way that people usually don't. I can get caught up in the beauty of the world; the vastness of the ocean for literal hours, in the majesty of the mountains, the strength of trees, the way water carves a path through the rocks in glens and waterfalls. The world takes my breath away, it makes me weep just to exist in nature. Apparently, this in not everyone's experience of nature and apparently, many people who want to have sex don't think that trees, or bodies of water, or mountains have as much (or more, in my humble opinion) appeal than humans.

It's come to my attention that even the way that I have experienced heart break from relationships where I was "in love" and having sex is not the way that people typically experience heartbreak. All heart break feels the same to me; grieving leaving a job, grieving the death of a loved one, grieving horrible things that happen to my students, grieving the loss of friendships, and grieving the loss of a relationship feel like the same heart break. (Like some of those things hurt worse than others but the heart break over the loss of a relationship isn't worse.) One of my friends mentioned that I grieve the passing of summer into autumn (I fucking hate the winter) like the loss of a relationship and I wish I could say that she is wrong. I've been told my whole life that I experience my emotions too big and I just can't help but wonder if there is some sort of correlation there, but I digress.

The literal dream for my life is to have someone who wants to get in the car or on a plane and travel with me. Someone who I can make coffee for in the mornings and who wants to cook me dinner at night. Someone who wants to sit on the couch after a long day at work and talk about nothing, or watch a show, or just exist together. Someone who wants to dance with me in the kitchen, and hold my hand while we walk, who wants to smile at me while I ramble about nature. I want someone who wants to hold me when I cry, who wants to listen to me when I'm mad, someone who will remind me to take a break when I'm working too hard. The only thing that I actually want from a partner is just someone to do life with. It's not that I'm opposed to sex, it's just that it literally doesn't matter.

(So many things in past relationships, so many fights, so many of the reasons that I was left, so many things that I JUST DIDN'T UNDERSTAND make sense now. Or at least they're starting to.)

So. In the process of understanding this complete fuckery, of trying to put all of the pieces that haven't quite made sense in my life into order, in the end of July my best friend told me that she's in love with me.

And on the one hand, I'm fucking over the moon, delighted, honored, speechless, crazy-happy. She's literally the best person I have ever known, she's the kindest, sweetest, most loyal, loving, amazing human being to ever exist. She loves me so well, so completely, like all of the things that I said above that are my dream; that is her. We road trip together, and she lets me braid her hair, and we snuggle on the couch and watch movies, and we talk for hours (literally hours, when we road trip we go for 7-10 days at a time and I like do not shut the fuck up for more than like 5 minutes total the entire day and she loves me; loves listening to me talk about whatever is in my brain), and when I'm going on and on about how pretty things are in nature she looks at me like I'm the pretty thing (when I say, 'oh my gosh. that mountain, tree, lake, ocean, etc. is so beautiful.' she literally says 'you're so beautiful' and I am deceased, my heart can't take it, I can't fucking stop smiling- I don't even want to), and she lets me info dump about whatever I'm learning, and she loves my brain and my stupid adhd, and she plays me sappy love songs and sings them to me (and she sings in my car, sings to me even though she doesn't sing in front of people) and and and... she makes me feel like I'm good. She makes me feel like I'm all of the things that other people have said I'm not.

And I am constantly terrified of hurting her.

There are a variety of reasons we're not planning on having sex (partially because it's not really something that I want) that I'm not going to get into but I'm afraid of being what I've been to other people. I'm afraid of her feeling like I'm pushing her buttons because I just always want to be touching her (very platonically) like just having our shoulders bumping while we walk, or putting my head on her shoulder when we're on the couch, or letting our elbows press against one another while we're in the car. BUT what happens in our bodies when we're touching like that is really different. Like I described above, for me any type of touch is really the end goal in and of itself (if I'm braiding her hair, it's safe to assume that that is all I want to be doing. If I'm leaning against her on the couch, that too is what I'm wanting.) But that's not always how her body wants to interpret touch, even if she logically knows that I'm not intentionally teasing (she would never say that she feels like I'm trying to tease her, for the record, it's just the easiest way for me to articulate what it feels like could be happening).

And I love her so much, like so much; I'd do anything for her but it's not the same kind of love that she feels for me. By which I mean that she is just really gay and actively attracted to me emotionally/physically but for me if she started dating someone else, I'd be actually fine with that. If she was dating/having sex with someone I wouldn't be jealous, as long as we still get to be friends. (And maybe her dating would necessarily change the dynamic of our friendship and that would be really hard but that's a different mental exercise.) This isn't the way that she feels.

She is so special and important to me but even the way that we are aware of the other person's presence is different. For me, if I'm in a group of people and she's there, I'm aware of that on some level but it's not at the forefront of my mind. My brain is always sort of 'triaging' the people around me when they're my friends; who's being too quiet? who has been going through a rough patch with work/family, etc? who has an exciting new thing they need someone to squeal about with them? who hasn't been included in the conversation in too long? (see the paragraph above about flirting. haha.) She's there but she often isn't the first person I'm thinking about because I talk to her almost every day, I get to love her every day, and odds are good that we either drove together or will talk on the phone our way home from the event- I see the other people there less, so my brain just prioritizes them since I have less time to love them. (This is actually really good, healthy progress for me in terms of healthy attachment and not forming a codependent relationship. My therapist and I are really proud of the work I'm doing, but I'm digressing again.) For her, though, she always knows exactly where I am. It is work for her to pay attention to other conversations, work to be in a different room. In most situations, I am the person she defaults to thinking about and wanting to be near and she has to actively choose other things if she wants to. (And I don't mean to sound like an absolute asshole, it's not like I ignore her or anything, and I'm delighted for us to be in the same conversations, it's just a different way that we engage with the world.)

I love her so much. And I'm afraid of messing everything up. Of hurting her. Of asking too much of her without asking for anything at all. I try to let her be the one to initiate physical touch (or I ask first) because sometimes it's too hard on her body and that's fair. I feel frustrated with the different ways that we experience love for each other because the way that she loves me feels so good and safe to me and it makes me feel so happy. I'm afraid that the way that I love her doesn't feel as nice for her, that it feels less than, that the way I express my love and devotion isn't as good. I'm afraid that the way she loves me is going to wear her out. She always says she knows I love her just as much as she loves me, it's just different. She says she's okay, she says that the way I love her is good for her and she's happy. But it's hard to believe.

I'm afraid that she'll fall in love with someone else who can love her the way she loves and I won't matter to her anymore (partially because that's been my experience of people who have said they're in love with me). I'm afraid.

Is it even fair to entertain the idea of maybe having a whole life together? (we're already entertaining the ideas, already daydreaming about 'what if we lived together', where we're going on our next road trip, etc. And I'm terrified.) Is it asking her to give up too much? I would spend the rest of my life with her. I'd be good and kind to her, I would love her with so much tenderness. But is it enough? Am I enough with just the things that I have to give? Is it actually possible for someone to love me for just me and not for the ways that I could contort myself to be something I'm not?

I recognize the irony in what I'm asking. I know that that's what all of these hundreds of stories I've written here say, it's what I want to believe. But is it even possible when it's reality?

I don't know. Does anyone have any good advice? Any ace people out there living with a person who's in love with them? Does anyone have something that's lasted?

#please send help #c rambles #i'm ace and i'm having a hard time with it #genuinely- I do know this is way too much information #I won't blame anyone if no one reads all of this #but i'll love you forever if you reply with something that makes me feel a little less lost and terrified #ace

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