#but frustration and anger are my (unwilling) friends

[artisanalpeanutbutter]

I'm happy overall that I was able to work & develop better empathy, but sometimes it makes life much harder than it used to be

[beforetimes]

i know the most popular version of stories where shen yuan is a disciple under shen qingqiu are the ones where he looks identical to him, but i remember seeing someone once a few years ago raise the idea of if shen yuan looked identical to yue qingyuan, instead, and it's stuck in my head ever since

because, like, i think there would be a world of difference between a shen qingqiu forced to look at a younger version of himself and one that's forced to look at a younger version of his qi-ge, especially considering that shen yuan in this au would still be studying on qing jing peak. shen qingqiu in my eyes is someone who holds onto the past so severely while also being absolutely unwilling to acknowledge that it ever happened. think of his never-ending grudge with yue qingyuan that he refuses to confront, only ever avoiding the sect leader and refusing to talk about the actual issue at the root of it all.

with shen yuan on his peak, taking yue qingyuan's young face, it would suddenly be much harder for him to avoid the reminder of his past when it's staring him in the face and wandering around his peak all the time. in my eyes i think that shen qingqiu would oscillate between pretending shen yuan wasn't even there and being overly severe with him when yue qingyuan needles him one too many times at a peak lord meeting, testing his patience until shen qingqiu retreated back to his home to find the reminder of his frustration on his peak. again.

i also think that there's a world where shen qingqiu's very very rare moments of like. very subtle and quiet softness would come out around this iteration of shen yuan. but it's very rare. like, once within the span of two years type of rare. where maybe shen qingqiu remembers long since passed times of huddling for warmth with qi-ge under scraps of a ragged blanket at night and instead of bitter anger he just feels grief at their relationship tearing itself to pieces the way it did.

now, when it comes to yue qingyuan interacting with shen yuan, i think it would be far different from versions of disciple shen yuan fics where he looks like shen jiu. because in these, yue qingyuan is facing a conjuration of himself rather than the friend he left behind, and it's much harder to take pity on and find comfort in the image of his past self — someone i think he's incredibly critical of — when it feels more like looking his mistakes in the face than seeing a student.

which is unfair to the point that it can be argued to be out of character, but i think the way that guilt weighs so heavily on yue qingyuan would lead to it manifesting outside his endless needling of shen qingqiu and unwavering following of him. because those are, objectively, pretty neutral ways to deal with those feelings, but we never really see the uglier side of it all. because i think it would rebel against his image as a calm and collected sect leader. we do know, however, that he got pushed to the point once that he nearly tore himself apart in the ling xi caves, so is it reallyyyy out of the realm of possibility that when he sees a face that is so clearly a reminder of those times that he gives them the cold shoulder?

and imagine shen yuan's reaction to it all! barely a preteen, too young for his adult mind to catch up and feeling like he's thirteen all over again instead of the twenty-something year old he died as. he hears about this kind and partial sect leader through word of mouth and from reading the novel and expects at least one adult to rely on through all the inevitable hardships just to get brushed off and ignored. turned away so politely it's almost like ice. wanting to talk to someone about getting hazed by qing jing / bai zhan but knowing somehow that like. yue qingyuan knows, he's just not particularly motivated to do much because it's not technically his business, it's qing jing peak's. retreating back home just for shen qingqiu to snap at him more than any of his other students combined some days and treat him like a ghost that doesn't exist other days, no matter what rules he breaks or what he does to get his attention.

i just think it would be interesting!! i wonder very much how shen yuan could help to bridge the gap between yue qingyuan and shen qingqiu after being thrown in the mix like that. i feel it'd be out of character to say that shen qingqiu and yue qingyuan would immediately decide they needed to sort this out and get to the bottom of the mess surrounding their childhoods but i think shen yuan there as a fresh reminder to keep it ever on their minds would eventually push one of the two to the point of needing to say something about it after decades of dancing around the elephant in the room so delicately.

shrug. i think it's such a fun concept. i will write it soon. #trust

[cinnamanz]

# ONLY ON CAMERA — chapter forty-six!

when katseye's main dancer daniela avanzini accidentally throws shade at chart-topping singer y/n l/n on an interview, the internet erupts in chaos. with y/n already in hot waters with the press over her latest scandal, both their pr teams scramble for damage control. the solution? a 'picture-perfect' fake relationship to turn the headlines in their favor.

wc: 774

CASUAL

Y/N DIDN’T WANT TO BEAT AROUND THE BUSH THIS TIME, so as soon as daniela had let herself in the house with the spare keys y/n had given her, her voice cut through the air, sharp. “what are we, daniela?”

the question froze her mid-step. when she’d agreed to coming over y/n’s and talking about god knows what, this wasn’t what she had in mind. she looked up, meeting y/n’s eyes—wide, uncertain, and brimming with something that made her chest tighten.

“what do you mean?” daniela asked, her voice quieter, cautious.

“don’t play dumb,” y/n said, crossing her arms as she stood in the middle of the room. “you come here, you stay, you kiss me like i’m the only person in the world, and then… you leave, like it’s nothing. so, tell me. what are we? ‘cause i’m- i’m done with whatever this is.”

daniela sighed, running a hand over her face. “y/n, i don’t know. we’re… friends.”

y/n blinked, the words hitting her like a punch to the chest. “friends?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief.

daniela’s shoulders tensed. “i don’t want anything exclusive right now. i just—i just got out of that mess with him. i can’t handle another relationship.” her brows furrowed as she shifted in her spot, pacing around the living room. “i thought we were on the same page.”

“the same page?” y/n’s voice broke slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “daniela, this doesn’t feel like ‘just friends.’ i’ve been here, letting you into my life, my heart, and you—” she cut herself off, swallowing the lump in her throat. “you’ve been here, too. don’t tell me this doesn’t mean something to you.”

daniela stopped pacing, turning to face y/n with a sharpness that caught her off guard. “of course it means something. but i can’t—i won’t—jump into something serious again. not after him. i just wanted this to be casual, to feel… free for once.”

“you’re here every time, daniela. every time you need comfort, every time you want to forget. is this really what this is to you? something casual? a distraction? something to pass the time while you figure yourself out?” y/n shot back, her voice rising. 

daniela’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing. “that’s not fair.”

“isn’t it?” y/n took a step closer, her chest heaving. “because that’s exactly what it feels like. like i’m just here to fill the gap he left, like i’m not enough for you to want more.”

“don’t do this,” daniela muttered, looking anywhere but at y/n.

“no,” y/n said, her voice rising, the anger bubbling to the surface now. “then give me the truth!” y/n’s voice broke on the last word, frustration toppling over. “because i can’t keep doing this—letting you in, letting myself fall, just for you to pull back the second it gets too real. you don’t get to make me feel like this, and then just brush it off like it’s nothing.”

daniela’s head snapped up, her own frustration boiling over. “you think this is easy for me?” she snapped, her voice shaking. “you think I don’t care? i do! but i told you—i can’t do this right now. i can’t be what you want me to be.”

“then why are you still here?” y/n whispered, the pain in her voice cutting through daniela like a knife.

“because i don’t know how to let you go,” daniela admitted, her voice cracking. the words fell heavy between them, her own vulnerability raw and exposed.

“that’s not enough,” y/n said, shaking her head, jaw set in a tight clench as she inhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair as she screwed her eyes shut, unwilling to look at the other woman. 

daniela stared at her, the words lodging in her throat, suffocating her. “y/n, i—”

“just go,” y/n interrupted, her voice low and trembling, a finality in her tone that made daniela’s chest ache.

“please, don’t—”

“go,” y/n said again, louder this time, though strained as if it hurt her to utter the words. it did, in a way.

daniela hesitated, her own emotions clawing at her throat, but she didn’t know how to fix this. didn’t know if she could. so turned around with clenched fists, movements stiff and hurried, and stormed out the door, leaving y/n standing in the middle of the living room.

y/n didn’t chase after her, didn’t call out. she just sank onto the couch, a deep, exasperated sigh leaving her parted lips as she turned on her phone.

masterlist 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆ next

well well well

taglist : @meganskiendielsbtc @rosiehrs @artrizzler19 @goofymickeyr @sunshinez4 @urmom2314 @meizinisnumberone @yeetaberry127 @xochitlisbest @ssamlovr @saysirhc @nyssalvr @ninguitar @kristalag @1luvkarina @idleyuri @kathleenmikaelson @sed7ction @hazel-tanthamore22 @yazzyminny @vrtualstar @meiphobic @cassiespoiler @yjiminswallet @gtfoiydlyj @taikabui @cceanvvaves @c-yerim @waitsobs @firstclassjaylee @bowforgodjihyo @thepurin @chaepu @bandaidss320 @manonsmartini @haerinkisser @esccecvp @blushmimi TAGLIST CLOSED!

[oldsoul007]

Ultraviolence

dr. charlie mayhew x dr!reader

request: Hi, can I request for a Doc Charlie Mayhew x rival in med school days reader. They haven't seen each other in years then reader got into an accident and *surprise surprise* Charlie gets assigned to treat her. Some enemies to lovers kinda thing

warning: arguing, puking

Charlie Mayhew and I were both top students in our medical school, each driven by a fierce determination to become the best doctor. From the very first day, we found ourselves constantly competing, whether it was for the highest grades, the best clinical evaluations, or the most coveted internships. Our rivalry was well-known among our peers and even the professors, who often marveled at our relentless pursuit of excellence.

Despite our competitive nature, there was a mutual respect between Charlie and I. We pushed each other to new heights, each striving to outdo the other. Late-night study sessions in the library often turned into silent battles of endurance, and clinical rounds became arenas for showcasing our knowledge and skills.

Mine and Charlie’s argument had reached a boiling point. We were standing in the study lounge, faces flushed with anger, each unwilling to back down.

"Charlie, your method is reckless and could jeopardize everything we've worked for!" I shouted, my frustration evident.

"And your way is so safe it's boring, y/n! We need to take risks to make an impact!" Charlie retorted, his voice equally loud.

The tension between us was palpable. Neither was willing to consider the other's perspective, and our stubbornness only fueled the fire.

"You always think you know better than everyone else," I accused, my eyes narrowing.

"And you never take a chance, always playing it safe," Charlie shot back, his tone biting.

Our argument echoed through the study lounge, drawing the attention of our classmates. But Charlie and I were too wrapped up in our own battle to notice. The more we argued, the more entrenched we became in our positions.

Finally, I threw up my hands in exasperation. "Fine, do whatever you want, Charlie. But don't expect me to clean up your mess."

Charlie glared at me, his jaw set. "I don't need your approval, y/n. I'll prove you wrong."

With that, we stormed off in opposite directions, the argument unresolved and our rivalry more intense than ever.

I was in the middle of stitching up a patient's wound, my hands steady despite the exhaustion creeping in. The room was filled with the usual sounds of the ER—monitors beeping, hushed conversations, the occasional shout for assistance. I could feel someone's eyes on me, and it didn't take long to figure out who it was. Charlie.

I glanced up briefly and, sure enough, there he was, staring at me from across the room. His gaze was intense, almost scrutinizing. It felt like he was waiting for me to make a mistake, to prove some unspoken point. Annoyance bubbled up inside me. I didn't need this right now, not after the night we'd had.

Without missing a beat, I shot him a sharp, rude look. It was a silent message: back off. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't look away. I could feel the tension between us, thick and palpable, but I forced myself to focus back on my patient. I didn't have time for Charlie's games

After a grueling night at the hospital, the group of medical school students decided to unwind at our favorite local bar. The dim lighting and the hum of conversations provided a stark contrast to the sterile, high-pressure environment we had just left. Me and Charlie, both exhausted yet wired from the adrenaline, found ourselves at opposite ends of the bar.

As the night wore on, tensions that had been simmering beneath the surface started to bubble up. Charlie, feeling the weight of a particularly difficult case, made a snide remark about me handling of a patient. Me, already on edge, snapped back, my voice cutting through the chatter. Our friends tried to diffuse the situation, but the stress of their demanding schedules and the alcohol only fueled the fire.

"You know, y/n, I really don't understand how you handled that patient today. It was almost like you were trying to make things harder for everyone."

My eyes narrowed, the tension immediately palpable. "Excuse me? At least I didn't stand around second-guessing every decision like you did. Maybe if you spent less time criticizing and more time actually helping, we'd get things done faster."

Our friends exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the brewing storm. Charlie leaned in, his voice low but sharp. "Maybe if you weren't so stubborn and actually listened to someone else's fucking opinion for once, things wouldn't get so chaotic."

My face flushed with anger. "You’re an asshole, You think you're the only one who knows anything? Your arrogance is infuriating, Charlie. Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean it's always right."

The argument escalated quickly, with both me and Charlie hurling accusations and frustrations at each other. It wasn't just about the patient anymore; it was about the long hours, the constant pressure, and the unspoken competition between us. The altercation drew the attention of the entire bar, but neither seemed to care as they vented months of pent-up stress.

I sat at my desk, textbooks and notes scattered around me. I had been studying for hours, but the material just wasn't sticking. The test was looming, and I felt the pressure mounting. With a deep sigh, she realized she needed help. The last person I wanted to ask was Charlie, but I didn't have much choice.

Reluctantly, I picked up my phone and sent Charlie a message. "Hey, I need some help with the study material. Can you spare some time?"

Charlie responded quickly. "What will you give me if I do” moments later another message comes through. “Sure, I can help. When do you want to meet?"

We agreed to meet at the library later that afternoon. I felt a mix of relief and frustration. I didn't like admitting I needed help, especially from Charlie, but I knew it was necessary.

When we met, Charlie was surprisingly patient and thorough. He explained the concepts clearly, breaking down the material in a way that made sense to me. Despite my initial reluctance, I found myself grateful for his help.

"Thanks, Charlie," I said at the end of our session. "I really appreciate it."

Charlie smiled. "No problem, y/n. We all need a little help sometimes."

As we packed up our things, I couldn't help but feel a bit more confident about the upcoming test. Maybe working with Charlie wasn't so bad after all.

Years later, I found myself in a hospital room, my head throbbing from the accident I’d just been in. I couldn't believe my luck when the doctor walked in and it was Charlie. Of course, it had to be him.

Charlie looked just as surprised to see me. "Y/n," he sighed, his tone professional but his eyes betraying a hint of the old tension between us. "What happened?"

"Car accident," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I guess you're my doctor."

"Looks like it," Charlie said, glancing at my chart. "Let's get you checked out."

The examination was awkward, the air thick with unspoken words. Charlie was thorough and professional, but I could sense the tension in his every move. I couldn't help but remember our heated arguments and the unresolved feelings that still lingered between us.

"You're going to be fine," Charlie finally said, stepping back. "Just a few bruises and a mild concussion. You'll need to rest for a few days."

"Thanks," I muttered, not meeting his eyes.

Charlie hesitated for a moment, then added, "If you need anything, let me know. I'll be around."

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and frustration. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was relieved that Charlie was there, even if it meant facing the unresolved tension between us.

Charlie walked into the room, clipboard in hand, ready to do his job. "Alright, y/n, let's get this last check-up done," he said, his tone neutral.

I barely looked at him, my irritation clear. "Just get it over with," I muttered, crossing my arms.

Charlie sighed, trying to keep his cool. "I need you to cooperate, y/n. This is for your own good."

I rolled my eyes, clearly annoyed. "Yeah, whatever. Just do what you have to."

Charlie started the examination, but my attitude was getting under his skin. "You know, a little bit of cooperation would make this easier for both of us."

"Maybe if you weren't so insufferable, I wouldn't be so annoyed," I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Charlie clenched his jaw, trying to stay professional. "I'm just trying to help you. Could you at least try to meet me halfway?"

My eyes flashed with anger. "I don't need your help, Charlie. Just finish the check-up."

Charlie finally snapped. "Fine. But for the record, your attitude isn't helping anyone. I'm just doing my job."

I felt a pang of guilt but quickly pushed it aside. "Whatever."

The rest of the check-up was done in tense silence, both of them stubbornly ignoring the underlying feelings that neither wanted to acknowledge.

Charlie couldn't hold back his frustration any longer. "Y/n, just exactly what were you thinking? You could've been seriously hurt!" he snapped, his voice rising.

I glared at him, my own anger flaring up. "It wasn’t my fault! And why do you even care so much, Charlie? It's not like it matters to you!"

Charlie took a deep breath, trying to calm himself but failing. "Of course it matters! You think I want to see you like this? You need to be more careful."

My eyes softened for a moment as I saw the genuine concern in his eyes. "Why does it matter to you, Charlie? Why do you care so much?"

He hesitated, the words hanging in the air between us. "Because... because I still care about you, y/n. I never stopped."

I felt a lump in my throat. Despite all the tension and unresolved feelings, there was something undeniable between us. "Charlie, I..."

He shook his head, cutting me off. "Just promise me you'll be more careful. I don't want to see you hurt again."

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of emotions. "I promise."

As Charlie turned to leave, the unspoken words and lingering feelings between us seemed to fill the room, leaving both of us wondering what might happen next.

The years had softened some of our rough edges, and the intense rivalry that once defined our relationship had faded into a mutual respect.

The silence between us was comfortable, a stark contrast to our earlier years of constant bickering. As I sat in my hospital bed with charlie sitting next to it keeping me company, memories of our past interactions resurfaced, and we couldn't help but laugh at how far we had come.

Charlie broke the silence first. "You know, I used to watch you work and wonder how you managed to stay so focused. It drove me crazy," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I always thought you were just waiting for me to mess up. I guess I never realized you were actually... impressed."

We exchanged a look, and in that moment, it all clicked. The tension, the arguments, the stolen glances—it had all been fueled by something deeper. We had been too stubborn to see it back then, but now, it was undeniable. We had feelings for each other all along.

"Alright, y/n," Charlie began, trying to maintain his professional demeanor. "Let's go over a few things before you leave. First, you'll need to keep an eye on your—"

"—vital signs, particularly any changes in heart rate or blood pressure," I interjected, finishing his sentence with a knowing smirk.

Charlie sighed but continued. "Yes, exactly. And make sure you take your—"

"—pain medication as prescribed, but be mindful of any side effects like dizziness or nausea," I added, my tone light but confident.

He shot me a look, trying to hide his frustration. "Right. Also, you should avoid any strenuous activities for the next—"

"—48 hours, and gradually ease back into your normal routine," I said, my eyes twinkling with amusement.

Charlie couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "You know, it's really hard to be the doctor here when you keep finishing my sentences."

I grinned. "Sorry, force of habit. But thanks for taking care of me, Charlie."

He smiled back, the tension easing. "Anytime. Just try not to make a habit of ending up on the patient side of things, okay?"

"Deal," she replied, her smile widening. And with that, the unspoken bond between them grew just a little bit stronger.

I walked back into the hospital, my heart racing a bit faster than usual. I had told myself I was just coming back to grab something I forgot, but deep down, I knew the real reason. I wanted to see Charlie again.

As I made my way through the familiar hallways, I spotted him at the nurses' station, engrossed in some paperwork. Taking a deep breath, I approached him, trying to appear casual.

"Hey, Charlie," I said, my voice steady. "I think I left my, uh, sweater in my the hospital room."

Charlie looked up, a smile spreading across his face when he saw me. "Y/n, hey! I can help you look."

We walked together to the room , chatting about our day. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach, but I tried to keep my cool. As we reached the room, she pretended to search for my sweater.

"Found it!" I exclaimed, holding up the sweater I had actually had all along.

Charlie laughed. "You know, you could have just said you wanted to see me."

I blushed, but I smiled back. "Yeah, I guess I could have."

We stood there for a moment, the air filled with unspoken words. Finally, Charlie broke the silence. "Well, I'm glad you came back. It's always nice to see you, y/n."

I felt my heart swell. "Same here, Charlie. Same here."

Charlie took a step closer, his eyes locking with mine. The room seemed to shrink around us, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Without a word, he reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. My breath hitched, my heart racing as I realized what was about to happen.

And then, he kissed me. It wasn't tentative or hesitant; it was passionate and full of years of pent-up feelings. The world outside the break room faded away, leaving just the two of them in that moment. I melted into the kiss, my hands finding our way to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. Charlie smiled softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he whispered.

I laughed lightly, my eyes sparkling. "Me too," I admitted. And just like that, the years of unresolved tension and hidden feelings began to unravel, leading us toward a new chapter together.

[the-artist-grimm]

Crimson Angel AU - The Three Remaining Crown Bearers

(Text updated as of Nov 8th, 2024)

More Crimson Angel Lore! This time thinking about some of the previous/current vessels.

(credit to @/waokevale for the inspo! Its from their posts head-cannoning Forneus as a former crown bearer where I got the idea to have her in the lineup!)

Over the course of 1000 years Narinder had in total 13 vessels who bore the red crown, and each were chosen upon their deaths for displaying potential upon arrival into the Gateway. Though the prophecy stated that a lamb would be the final bearer, Narinder did not want to sit idle, and had hoped that others could clear a quicker path for the chosen liberator while he waited. 

Currently named bearers (featuring my SYMBOLISM obsession, deaths/numbers are somewhat related to the character as closely as I manage) 

Forneus - #7 (Lady Luck)

The 7th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately 300 years ago. Captured by heretics after drawing their attention away from a family in trouble whilst on the road, Forneus caught Narinder’s attention for both her fighting prowess and fierce sense of justice, and proved to be one of his more efficient vessels. Quick-witted and clever, she was a seemingly kind leader to her cult, but a ruthless warrior to all others, with her mission being to decimate the Bishops’ higher-ranking witnesses as opposed to taking them on personally. She also appeared to possess a remarkable amount of luck, hardly ever dying whilst on crusades. Yet despite that her term as vessel only lasted approximately 80 years, whereupon finding herself pregnant via one of her lovers, she willingly relinquished the crown so that she could raise her children in peace, not wanting to put them at risk.

Narinder, though somewhat irked, accepted her choice, as she’d managed to kill enough witnesses to set the Bishops internal hierarchies back by several decades of experience. Unbeknownst to him, however, the very children Forneus relinquished the crown for would join him not long after, with the cat herself being bestowed a golden skull and an open promise of reunion with her children in the distant future by the God of Wisdom and War. 

Forneus died of her heart-in saving those sheep, her heart was cut out during her sacrifice 

7 is considered a lucky number

The Chariot is the 7th Tarot Card, representing triumph through determination, self-control, and overcoming obstacles.

Became vessel at approximately age 20, is now over 400 years old

Ratau- #12 (The Shepherd)

The 12th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately over 40 years ago. Killed by heretics after refusing to acknowledge the threat they posed to all within the Lands of the Old Faith. Hailing from a village that willfully ignored the lambs and their warnings of slaughter, it was not until heretics arrived to razed the place to the ground that Ratau realized their threat, yet by then it was too late to act as he was slain. Upon his arrival in the gateway Narinder initially had no plans to make him a vessel, yet the rat’s anger towards both himself and the Bishops appeared to make him an easily manipulated enough target to try. And with the dwindling lamb’s population heralding the final liberator’s rise, the death god was desperate to have a vessel prepared to take on the role of mentor. 

Though a remarkably fast learner, Ratau proved inadequate in regards to his ruthlessness, unwilling to push his followers or himself to their limits. And upon being forced to sacrifice a follower following an incident with a mysterious fox, the resulting guilt led to Ratau relinquishing the crown within only a decade, much to Narinder’s frustration. He left the grounds with his disciples and isolated himself to a self-imposed solitude within the woods, only ever visiting his friends from time to time and trying to put his previous cult-life behind him. 

Yet as fate would have it, twenty years later Ratau would chance across a young, newly orphaned lamb within the woods, and though aware of the prophesied fate ahead of them, decided to take the little one in. Fourteen years later, that little lamb would rise as the final vessel.

Ratau died for turning a blind eye to the world around him, and thus, lost his left eye in turn. It was a slash and a stab through which killed him 

12 is considered a number of stability and order, fitting for a mentor

The Hanged Man is the 12th Tarot Card, representing ultimate surrender, sacrifice, and patience.

Became a vessel at age 25, is currently in his mid 60s.

Anthea- #13 (The Lamb/Unlucky Thirteen)

The 13th and final bearer of the Red Crown. Anthea was killed by heretics upon sacrificing herself to save the life of her guardian, Ratau, and had been a willing sacrifice due to a belief that she already lived on borrowed time. Of all prior vessels Anthea was the only one to have worshiped The One Who Waits prior to resurrection and vesselship, and proved to not only be highly devoted, but also far more empathetic and aware of his situation beyond those who came before them. When it came to their interactions with the god, Anthea often expressed a kindness to not just him but his typically overlooked disciples as well, bring them gifts and befriending the three to try and ease their imprisonments. Though coming from a genuine place of care, it was also born from Anthea’s own lack of self, with the lamb preferring to put everyone but themself first. 

It was through aiding The One Who Waits that Anthea’s perspective of self began to change, as Narinder slowly began to challenge their self-sacrificial tendencies the more he got to know them, with the two growing closer and eventually falling in love. Yet it was right before Anthea planned to confess her feelings that The One Who Waits seemingly betrayed them, ordering them to sacrifice themself just as they finally started wanting to live. 

Anthea died for being unable to express their own will beyond giving themself up for others, sticking their neck out so long as it mean someone else benefited from it. Their death was via beheading. 

13 is considered a number of bad luck, yet also of the ending of one cycle and the beginning of another, a transformation 

Death is the 13th Tarot Card, and represents the ending of one phase of a life and the start of another, change, and new beginnings.

Became vessel at age 26, and finished slaying all the bishops in 3 years, making them 29

Trying to go through and whip the game’s admittedly open-ended-ish/slightly vague lore into something more fleshed-out is really fun lol. Might make more vessels but thus far the only three who remain are 7, 12, and 13-which Narinder doesn't even realize that Forneus is till kicking about.

Also Weapons notes!

Forneus gets a hammer because it in a way represents justice (see a court gavel) and though it hits slow it hits HARD. In an RPG its the tank who usually gets it within the party.

Ratau I gave a staff since he's implied to be somewhat cowardly, or at least appears to not like killing to an extent with how he gave up the crown after sacrificing a follower, and since he gives us the curses in-game (yeah they're on Nari's orders but Ratau's the one handing them out), essentially making him a mage seemed fitting-plus in fantasy the mage is usually a mentor. He also has a staff in-game so it maintains that silhouette, albeit I made this one look more like a shepherd's hook considering it's meant to be his weapon as a cult leader.

Anthea, the Lamb, I gave a sword since it's the weapon of a knight in shinning armor, since their personality is that of someone always saving others after all.

And lastly a little doodle of everyone's death scars!

(Also if anyone wants to send asks about the AU or to the characters go ahead hehehe, this AU is taking over my life :3 )

Boarders are by @lambouillet

[dark-konohagakure2]

hiii I saw that u write for fire emblem that got me SO excited!!!! can u write something for dimitri? lots of misogyny and him being really mean :3

tw: noncon, FE3H spoilers, kidnapping, black eagles!reader, abuse, misogyny, size difference, enslavement, power imbalance, mirror sex, abuse of power

All characters depicted are 18+

Dimitri is no longer the kind young man he used to be, even those outside of his inner circle know this, ever since Edelgard betrayed him in an absolutely unforgivable way, he has completely forgone showing any mercy towards her or anyone who opposes him, even those who aren't explicitly on Edelgard's side in the ongoing way, which means that Dimitri won't take kindly to any Black Eagle students he might encounter by chance in the midst battle.

The old Dimitri, the sane Dimitri, wouldn't be so quick to attack a former schoolmate, someone who he might have even once considered a friendly acquaintance or even a friend, but that version of Dimitri is dead and buried, killed by the very woman this little gnat is defending. The girl's loyalty to Edelgard is infuriating to Dimitri, his savage side wants to kill this loyal mutt where she stands, but his cold and calculated side wins out and he decides to prolong the torment.

Dimitri is the future king of Faerghus and a feared leader of a powerful faction, so he can do nearly anything he wants with little to no consequence, nobody will bat an eye when Dimitri brings in a 'prisoner' from the Adrestain Empire for him to 'interrogate' alone, even Felix, who is usually quick to antagonize the Boar King, doesn't even blink at Dimitri's incredibly out of character decision.

As soon as the doors to his vast personal chambers are closed, Dimitri's intentions towards her become clear as day, torture would have been a preferable fate compared to what he's going to do to her. She's a woman, he's a man, an important, strong, powerful man with a bone to pick, its only logical that she'd be forced to become his slave until further notice, until he gets Edelgard's head on a sphere at the very earliest.

"Filthy empire wench. Did you truly believe that you could side with that woman and get away with it? Perhaps bringing your holes to ruin will teach you some humility..."

Dimitri is savage in battle, and that will also carry over into bed, or at least it would if he deigned to fuck a filthy empire whore like her in his lavish bed, he's not going to sully his fine bedding with her mere presence, instead he'll fuck her right up against the nearest surface he can find, which just so happens to be a mirror.

He'll pound into her hard and fast, his pace and might nearly cracking the mirror, Dimitri will offer no reprieve whatsoever, one gloves hand tangled in her hair and the other gripping her hip tightly enough to draw blood as he takes all his anger out on her pussy, her breasts and face forcibly pressed against the cold glass of the mirror as his much larger, muscular body crowds her's.

Dimitri has never had sex before prior to this brutal session, he's too preoccupied with his royal duties and his revenge for such base desires, but now that he has a convenient and unwilling receptacle for his desires and his frustrations, he's starting to see why silly skirt chasers like Sylvain enjoy plundering some tight cunts so much.

Dimitri won't cum inside of her, he'll be damned if he lets some vile Adrestain harlot taint his revered bloodline with her horrid commoner blood and even more abhorrent allegiances, instead he'll cum on her, blowing his load all over her now red backside. He's disgusted with her for forcing him to waste his seed on her whorish body, but he'll have plenty of time to force her to make up for her apparent misdeeds.

"You disgust me, commoner bitch. There are plenty more worthy women out there who are far more deserving of my seed than you, and you just forced me to waste it. This won't go unpunished. On your knees."

Dimitri isn't sure whether he's going to keep her as his slave permanently, or if he's going to dispose of her once he kills Edelgard and finds a proper woman to marry. But then again, even if he does eventually marry, he might still keep her around anyway as an entertaining little house pet.

[antiquarianfics]

Making Waves

Bucky gives you a pep talk when life’s beating down on you a little too hard.

a/n: unedited as always. this is also just a comfort fic. just bucky making you feel better. this can be read romantic or platonic. whatever floats your boat.

warnings: sexist themes, profanity

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy, repost, or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

“I thought I might find you out here.”

You sigh as you tilt your head up in acknowledgment of your intrusion, unsure if it’s welcome or not. In fact, you’re not sure how you feel about much at the moment. Your mind is swimming in uncertainties and insecurities that you feel a personal obligation to figure out or overcome. Nevertheless, you don’t protest the welcome/unwelcome (pick one, dammit!) company as it sits down next to you, providing a little warmth against the night’s cold to your right.

Your company had found you sitting alone on the beach, right at the shore, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your legs and holding them close, fingers anxiously fiddling with a ring on your finger, and staring at the waves as they crashed against the shore over and over again. The sea, you’d found, is calming. The repetitive nature of the ocean crashing against the shore and retreating back into itself feels honest to you. You may lie to yourself, the world may lie to you, but the sea? The sea will always find a way to reveal to you a hidden treasure you never knew you were looking for.

“That predictable?” You finally ask, responding to your newfound company.

You turn your head and make eye contact with your friend who’d come searching for you. You’re met with concerned eyes the color you’re certain the sea would be if it weren’t dark—the only light coming from the moon reflecting upon the water.

Your friend gives you a look, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips. He’d found out the beach had become your favorite spot to run off to early on in your friendship, but he also knew you only ran for the beach when something was troubling you.

“You seemed upset,” is all he says.

“Bucky, I…” You trail off, not really sure what you meant to even say to him. What do you even want to say to him? That you’re upset by some media rumors about you? That you got your feelings hurt because a stupid clickbait article claims you’re dating a man you hate? That you feel like a failure as an Avenger, or a hero, or whatever the fuck you’re supposed to be anymore if all your worth to the public is tied up in who they think you have in your bed? You don’t finish your thought and return your gaze to the ocean.

Bucky is silent for a long while, just sitting and watching the waves with you. He is absolutely no stranger to needing to sit and sift through feelings, and he is also no stranger to unwanted media attention messing with his sanity. So, he lets you sit for a minute, but he also knows the longer that anger and frustration cook up inside you, the worse off you’ll be. You taught him that.

“Doll, you’ve gotta talk about it or it’s gonna eat you alive. You know that,” Bucky says softly. Empathetically.

“Bucky,” you whine, tired and still unwilling to talk.

“Okay, don’t talk. I will,” he says, swallowing nervously. He’s obviously out of his comfort zone, and you can’t help but look at him.

You let your eyes rest on your friend once more, and you take in his worried demeanor. His stormy blue eyes are set on the ocean, watching the waves as he gathers his thoughts. You realize, then, that he isn’t comfortable with what he’s doing—he’d much rather be listening to you talk. He’d much rather offer a small piece of advice after you talk, or maybe give you a hug and hope that fixes you. But he cares about you, and he’s trying to do the same thing you’ve done for him countless times: voice your observations about what might be upsetting your friend so that the problem is out and a solution can be found.

“You’re upset,” Bucky starts hesitantly, “because of a gossip piece that’s circulating the internet right now.”

You don’t argue with him, and Bucky takes that as confirmation.

“The gossip piece claims that you’re dating John Walker and dubs you the new “it” couple even though you hate the guy and punched him the face the last time you saw him.”

You laugh humorlessly.

“Then, that video clip from Walker’s interview started circulations where he all but confirms the rumors.”

You clench your fist in annoyance.

“That about right?”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” you say.

“I’d be angry, too,” he says.

“It’s just…” You trail off, closing your eyes tight trying to fight off tears. “It’s just that it doesn’t matter to them that I was an Avenger! It doesn’t matter that I helped defeat Loki, or Ultron, or Thanos. I’ve done so much for this city, and they don’t care. Not because they don’t care that New York was saved by the Avengers, but because the boy heroes are just better. I’m turned into an unwilling superhero eye candy, and, despite all my accomplishments, they can’t bring up my name without attaching it to a man’s. One of the articles doesn’t even mention my name! The article is really just titled ‘Mrs. Captain America?’ Like, really? I want to hit something.”

Bucky frowns, nodding as you rant and waiting patiently for you to finish. When you do, you’re breathing heavily, obviously worked up.

“You’re more than just ‘unwilling superhero eye candy,’” Bucky says, nose scrunching in disgust as he repeats your words. You can’t help it, but you laugh. The words sound so silly coming from his mouth. He smiles.

“You’re right. It’s really messed up that the public isn’t acknowledging all you’ve actually done to protect them, but you know that you’re more than that. That’s what matters. Because as long as you remember who you are, what you stand for, and what you do, then that person and her accomplishments are going to be noticed by the people who need to notice them. Do you know how many little girls probably saw you and Natasha fighting in all those fights and realized they could do that, too? When I was growing up, my sister didn’t have anyone like you to look up to. I wish she had.”

Bucky reaches up and wipes away the tears that are silently streaming down your cheeks. You reach up and haphazardly wipe away what he missed with the back of your hand. You hadn’t realized you were crying.

“Thank you, Buck,” you say. “I needed that.”

“I mean it, Doll.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead.

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

Tension on track | L.N.

Lando Norris x friend!reader, slight Carlos x reader

Summary: When Lando scores a bad race you’re left to wonder whether it was just a bad day or your bad influence…

Warnings: angst, angry Lando:(, fluff.

Word count: ~1.7K

Lando stomped into his garage, seething with anger after a disappointing race. You followed him in, concerned for his well-being and wanting to offer support. You had always been there for him, but today, he was in no mood for your company.

"Y/n, can't you just give me some space for once? You're so damn clingy," Lando snapped, his frustration evident in his voice.

You, taken aback by his outburst, stammered, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay, Lando."

Lando's anger flared even brighter. "You're always here, distracting me, annoying everyone with your constant presence. You're not helping, Y/n, you're making everything worse!"

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you tried to keep your composure. "Lando, I'm sorry if I've been a bother. I just thought-"

Lando cut her off, his voice getting louder, "You thought what, that you could just waltz in here and be a part of my life all the time? You're not the only person who cares about me, and I can handle my own problems!"

Your voice quivered as you attempted to defend yourself. "I didn't mean to be a burden, Lando. I just care about you."

Lando, his face red with anger, stepped closer to you and shouted, "Well, I don't want your care! I don't want you here, no one does!"

You were scared now, tears streaming down your face as you tried to reach out and touch his arm. "Lando, please, just calm down. I'll go if you want me to, but I'm your friend, and I'll always be here for you when you need me."

Lando's anger hadn't subsided, and he shoved your hand away. "No, Y/n. I don't need you. I don't want you around. Just leave me alone!" He turned his back on you, unwilling to meet your gaze.

Heartbroken and rejected, you slowly made your way out of the garage, your sobs echoing in the dimly lit space. You left, feeling hurt and abandoned, while Lando remained consumed by his anger and disappointment in the now quiet room.

You, still wiping away tears, stumbled out of the garage and nearly collided with Carlos, one of the other racers. Concern immediately etched across his face as he saw your distressed state.

"Y/n, what happened? Are you okay?" Carlos asked gently, his voice filled with worry.

You sniffled and tried to put on a brave face. "I'm alright, Carlos. Just a bad day, you know..."

Carlos wasn't convinced, but he respected your privacy. "If you say so... But you don't have to be alone right now. How about I give you a ride back to the hotel?"

You hesitated for a moment before nodding, voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you, Carlos."

You two walked to his car, and during the ride, Carlos noticed that you looked lost in your thoughts, eyes distant on the horizon. As you arrived at the hotel, he could tell you didn't want to go to your shared room with Lando, and he guessed there might be a connection between your distress and Lando's post-race outburst.

Carlos suggested, "Hey, Y/n, why don't you come up to my room for a bit? I‘m thinking of making some dinner, it might cheer you up." He was putting on his sweetest smile only to convince you.

You hesitated again, but the idea of avoiding the tense atmosphere with Lando for a while was tempting. "Alright, thanks, Carlos."

Carlos's room was warm and inviting. He served you a plate of delicious pasta and tried his best to make you smile. He cracked jokes, shared stories from the track, and even put on some childish show to lighten the mood. But despite his efforts, you couldn't hide your sadness.

Carlos, sat down beside you and said softly, "Y/n, you can talk to me. I can see something's bothering you. Is it about Lando? You know, you don't have to go through this alone."

You sighed and looked up at him, tears welling up once more. "It's just that... Lando was really upset with me after the race. He said some hurtful things. I... I just don't know what I did wrong..." A few tears escaped your tired eyes.

Carlos put his arm around your shoulders and offered a reassuring smile. "Y/n, sometimes people say things they don't mean when they're angry. I'm sure Lando didn't mean to hurt you. Give him some time, and things will get better. Until then, I'm here for you, okay?"

You managed a weak smile through your tears, appreciating Carlos's kindness and understanding. "Thank you, Carlos. You're a great friend."

Carlos patted your back and continued your conversation, determined to keep you company and offer support until you felt better, hoping to bring a smile back to your  face.

As the night progressed, Carlos poured a glass of wine for you, hoping it might help you open up and relax. You sat on the sofa, facing each other, wine glasses now empty and forgotten on the coffee table. You began to speak, voice quivering as you recounted the events of the race earlier in the day.

"I could see it in Lando's eyes, Carlos. He was being so hard on himself, with his comments and everything. All I wanted was to hug all that pain and frustration out of him, but then he just... he blew up on me," you said, your voice breaking as tears welled up once again.

Carlos wiped away your tears with his big, surprisingly soft hands, holding you close to him. "Do I annoy you?" you asked the spaniard, your voice filled with doubt.

Carlos shook his head and kissed the top of your head. "Never, sweetheart. What makes you think that?"

You buried your face in Carlos's shoulder, sobs subsiding as you leaned into his comforting brotherly embrace. "It's just something that Lando said... and I thought it might be true..."

Carlos continued to caress your head, his voice filled with warmth, "Forget everything he said, Y/n. He's an idiot."

You let out a small, relieved laugh and looked up at Carlos. "Thank you, Carlos. You're like a comforting golden retriever."

Carlos chuckled, his heartwarming presence bringing a sense of calm to the room. "I'll take that as a compliment. Now, let's finish this wine and forget about all the drama. You‘re here to have a good time."

The next day, you and Carlos arrived at the paddock together, and there was still some time before practice. Carlos noticed you looking a bit out of place, and his instinct was to bring a smile to your face. He dashed up to you and playfully hoisted you onto his back, starting to run around the garages. Laughter filled the air as the paddock members enjoyed the cheerful sight.

Suddenly, Lando appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and the atmosphere tensed as Carlos noticed your expression changing from joy to discomfort. Lando's question hit the room like a cold breeze, "What the hell are you doing?"

Carlos, his protective instincts kicking in, replied, "Nothing, just waiting for practice to start."

Lando, his throat feeling scratchy after his outburst yesterday, harshly retorted, "I didn't ask you, I asked her."

Carlos couldn't stand the tone, and he stepped closer to Lando, his voice stern and firm. "Whether you talk to me or her, you better put some respect in that tone, understand? I don't care if you don't want to grow up, go ahead and stay a little kid if that's what you want. But never talk to me or Y/n like that ever again."

Lando's eyes filled with tears as Carlos's words hit him hard. He turned away from the older driver and left the Ferrari garage, mumbling a small, "I'm sorry, Carlos."

The tension in the air slowly dissipated as Lando left and as happy as you were for Carlos‘s protection, you could not get your friend‘s broken eyes out of your mind...

You had been watching Lando's dismal performance during practice, and your heart ached as you couldn't bear to see him beat himself up any longer. You decided to confront him, following him to his room. As you walked in, the déjà vu from the previous night was eerie, but you gathered your courage and stepped inside.

Lando was on the floor, a towel covering his face, and his soft cries escaped through the fabric. The sound of your voice calling him startled him, and he hastily discarded the towel, sitting up straighter.

"Y/n, what are you doing here?" Lando stammered, hurriedly wiping at his tears, leaving red marks on his face. Before he could do more harm to himself, you knelt next to him, caught his hands in your grip and gently wiped away his tears with the sleeve of your McLaren hoodie.

"Tell me what's wrong, Lando. Please, you know I only want to help," you implored, avoiding his gaze as his eyes burned through you.

"I'm so sorry," Lando exhaled and lowered his head before more tears threatened to escape.

You pushed gently, determined to get to the root of his pain. "Why, Lando?"

Lando's voice trembled as he spoke, "For being an absolute loser, for embarrassing you, and then for telling you all those horrible things. You must know I don't think you're annoying or clingy, and I absolutely love having you here and so do the others. But I just feel like I'm disappointing you with my races, and I don't want you to be known as the friend of a loser..."

Tears cascaded down Lando's cheeks, and your heart broke for him. You shifted closer and wrapped your arms around him, offering comfort and understanding.

"Lando, you're not a loser, and you're definitely not disappointing me. You're an incredible driver, and I believe in you. We all have bad days, but that doesn't change how I feel about you as a friend. You can always lean on me, okay?"

Lando clung to you, his sobs gradually subsiding as he found solace in your comforting presence. You held him tightly, assuring him that you weren't going anywhere and that you‘d always be there to support him through the ups and downs of your friendship and racing career.

[desceros]

in light of recent events in this fandom, i am no longer going to accept fic or headcanon requests until further notice.

disgust at the actions in this community have sapped my creativity and desire to publish my fics. hurt and anger have made me unwilling to participate in this fandom. disappointment in others makes me question if i want to even continue interacting here, knowing the dark underbelly i've seen of people from whom i expected better.

however, i have close friends that i know are eager to share in the stories in my head, and i do still want to participate in this fandom. i like seeing art. i like reading others' stories. i like laughing with people about funny headcanons. it doesn't feel fair to punish people who love my stories and respected my boundaries because of the actions of a few selfish individuals. i'm not going to deprive myself of things i love because of the selfish, immoral acts of others.

however, my trust has been violated. and i don't take lightly to this.

i'm going to delete all anon requests that are currently in my askbox and i will not be filling any of them. i can no longer trust that they were not sent in by minors, or people who don't see any issue with minors interacting with adults in fandom.

in the possible event that i do decide to open requests again—heavy, heavy emphasis on if—i will not accept any from anonymous senders. this trust has been broken, and it will never return.

that said, i have decided after much deliberation to keep my inbox open. i love this community that we've built together. i love hearing what parts of my fics made you excited, or which ones made you scream with frustration. i love getting song recommendations. i love getting art.

i have also decided that i'm not going to delete any of the requests i've already filled, anonymous or not. i'm very passionate about information archival, and it feels wrong of me to eradicate my art on behalf of the behavior of others. but those will be the last anonymous requests i will ever fill.

thank you for understanding, and thank you everyone for helping me make this a safe place for everyone.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Deku refusing to pass out because Tomura needs to be healed and he's afraid no one will heal him but kill him while he's knocked out.

Deku still using blackwhip to keep his body in one piece as he guards Tomura's body, shaking from the strain, still refusing to leave his side.

Deku who cannot explain all he saw in their shared memories yet because he's still processing all the grief and hatred and trauma, he's still struggling to understand the man before him. He is the same man who ruined his life and got people he loved killed, the same that had made him suffer again and again. He is the kid he needed to save, the kid no one else cared about. He's all of those things and more and Deku is way too tired right now to do anything except promise they'll have another chance. A tomorrow.

Ochako who hugs Toga to her own body, covered in both their blood. Ochako screaming to get her a transfusion because Toga used almost all her own blood to keep Ochako alive. Ochako who won't let Toga out of her sight after all they went through, because she doesn't want Toga to wake up alone and confused.

Ochako who can't tell anyone how it felt to float in the sky with Toga while they exchanged a part of themselves, how it feels to have Toga's blood on her veins keeping her alive, how it feels to wake up to her own face lying next to her knowing now how much Toga admires her.

Ochako who cleans Toga's face as much as she can and thinks of braiding Toga's hair after taking a nap (she says). Toga is really pretty, even more when she smiles genuinely and she's not trying to murder everyone around her.

Shouto who panics as soon as he wakes up, afraid of it all being a dream. He's dazed from sleep and he doesn't call Dabi either of his names when he asks for him. No, he says " where is my brother? " and Natsuo next to him knows who he's asking form immediately. Their brother is back home.

Shouto who becomes insufferable until they take him to see Dabi, who sits next to him and looks at him, really looks at him for the first time maybe in his whole life. Finally, all his family in one room. No one being isolated, no one being rejected, no one crying tears of anger or fear or frustration. Even when they are all tired and hurt, Shouto has never felt happier. He really really wanted to bring Touya home. He wanted to give him a chance to heal.

Shouto who can't wait to ask Touya if he likes cold soba. Shouto who sits there and catalogues the damage and wonders how he survived so many years alone in the streets. Shouto who memorizes the scars and burns, who counts the staples, who looks at his own hair and then Dabi's. How can he explain the mental image he got of hugging the child version of his big brother while they were fighting? How can he even begin to explain why he believes so much in the criminal who hurt his friends and killed thousands and wanted to end their family? Who to explain his family, at all?

Class 1A taking turns watching over the villains to offer some reassurance to their friends. Most of them are unable to understand what's going on in their heads, some are wisely unwilling to ignore all the damage those villains caused them. In the end though, they trust Deku, Ochako and Shouto and if they want the villain trio alive and well, they will guard them up with their lives so that the heroes can rest.

Bakugo who should be dead by all means, but who wakes up and forces his way up to Deku and Tomura and sits there, telling Deku to accept the medical treatment. He killed AFO, he's not going to allow Tomura to escape or get hurt. Deku can rest, he can trust him. They'll be there when he wakes up. Even after all Tomura did to Bakugo, he owns Deku and he trusts Deku and he'd do that for him a million times if necessary.

Iida who sits next to Dabi to monitor him, because Shouto must stay in bed and stop making the trip up to his brother's hospital room. Iida who lived it with Tensei once, so he goes and tells all the news (or the lack of them) to Shouto. Iida who tells his friends that everything will be alright, that they'll figure it out, Iida who reassures Shouto and tries to distract him by talking where and when and how he'll take Touya to eat cold soba.

Tsuyu who might not be a big fan of Toga, but her friend is barely conscious and for whatever reason she refuses to let Toga's side. Tsuyu who promises to take good care of Toga, who carries her on her back for a while, who remembers all the terrible things and can't understand the fondness in her friend's face when she looks at the villain, but she respects it anyway. No matter what, Ochako can be sure they'll take care of it. She doesn't have to fear anymore. She can go to sleep.

The villains who wake up warm and safe for the first time in many many years. When was the last time they woke up with someone watching over them? They were convinced they'd be murdered in their sleep and yet... They're getting treatment. Clean clothing. They're bathed. When was the last time someone cared to give them medicine to lessen their pain? Although their first instinct is to run, when the person watching over them realizes they're awake, it's immediately pandemonium. They are screaming for Deku, Ochako and Shouto and there are people running and so many voices.

Deku, Ochako and the Todorokis who rush to their side. Never again will they have to face the world all alone. Deku reminds Tomura that he has been saved, he waited for 15 years, but it's finally over. Ochako tells Toga how pretty she is and yes, they are friends and there are still consequences, but she will be there, they'll be there for them. Touya wakes up to his family and isn't that funny? The last time he woke up in a hospital, he thought he was dead. He had to run away soon after burning it to the ground, but now there they are, gathered around him, crying, relieved, a bit scared and a lot concerned. They are looking at him, really looking at him. It breaks him. He had given up on that particular dream the day he burned.

[delusionalfanficwriter]

illness pt. 2

A few days later, Y/N's friends decided to take matters into their own hands. They were deeply concerned about her health and knew that waiting any longer wasn't an option. Jessie, Kristie, and Sam hatched a plan to trick Y/N into seeing a doctor, despite her reluctance.

"Hey, Y/N," Jessie said one morning, her tone casual, "how about we go grab some coffee today? There's this new café I've been wanting to check out."

Y/N, still under the impression that her friends had respected her wish to avoid the topic, readily agreed. "Sure, sounds great. I could use a good cup of coffee."

Little did Y/N know that the coffee shop was just a cover for their true intention—a doctor's appointment that Kristie had secretly scheduled. They believed that once Y/N was at the clinic, she would be more likely to follow through.

As they arrived at the medical clinic, Y/N's confusion and frustration grew. She had expected a coffee shop, not a doctor's office. Her anger flared as they entered the building.

"What's going on here, Jessie?" Y/N demanded, her voice sharp with irritation.

Jessie exchanged a glance with Kristie and Sam, their determination unwavering. "Y/N, we're just taking a little detour. Trust us, it's for your own good."

Y/N felt a surge of anger rise within her. "This is not what I agreed to! You had no right to do this."

Despite her protests and frustration, Y/N found herself sitting in the doctor's waiting room, her arms crossed and her mood decidedly foul. Her friends had tricked her, and she couldn't believe they would go to such lengths.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and Y/N's anger simmered beneath the surface as she waited for her appointment. She shot occasional glares at her friends, who remained resolute in their decision. They knew that Y/N needed to get checked out, even if she was furious with them in the process.

“Y/N?” A nurse came out before Y/N stood up to follow her.

“No, you guys can stay out here,” Y/N snapped when she saw them wanting to go in with her.

… … … … … … … … … … 

Y/N continued to seethe with frustration and anger as they left the doctor's office, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. Her friends, Jessie, Kristie, and Sam, walked alongside her, trying to offer words of comfort and support, but her mood remained dark.

"I can't believe you all did this," Y/N muttered, her voice tinged with resentment. "I could have handled it on my own."

Jessie reached out, attempting to hold Y/N's hand, but Y/N pulled away, unwilling to accept their gestures of reassurance. She was furious that her friends had tricked her into the appointment.

The ride back home was tense and filled with awkward silence, with Y/N stewing in her anger. When they finally reached their destination, Y/N stormed inside her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her while Jessie, Kristie, and Sam felt the repercussions of their actions.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done that.” Jessie sighs feeling a tremendous amount of guilt. “We know how much she values trust and honesty and that stunt we pulled wasn’t the right approach.”

“She wouldn’t have gone.” Kristie tries to reason. “It happened before. She refused to seek medical attention during one camp a few years ago despite everyone trying to convince her she needed it. Coach had to give her an ultimatum and it saved her because it turns out she was playing with a broken rib that was centimeters from puncturing her lung. One wrong hit or twist and it would have had terrible circumstances. She’ll refuse doctors until someone forces her.”

“Still feels wrong.”

… … … … … … … … … …

Y/N phone rang a few hours later and when she saw the caller ID, her heart skipped a beat. It was the doctor. She knows better than the doctor's calling after hours. With trembling hands, she answered the call.

As she listened to the doctor's words, her world seemed to spin out of control. Shock, fear, and disbelief washed over her, and she could hardly process the devastating news.

After hanging up the phone, Y/N was in a daze. She needed to clear her head, to escape the suffocating reality that had suddenly encased her. Without a word, she grabbed her shoes and jacket and headed for the door, determined to go for a walk to gather her thoughts.

As Y/N walked past Jessie, Kristie, and Sam, her friends immediately sensed that something was terribly amiss. The weight of their concern bore down on her, but she remained resolute, refusing to acknowledge their inquiries.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" Jessie asked, her voice laced with genuine worry. She exchanged a concerned glance with Kristie and Sam, who were equally perplexed by Y/N's demeanor.

Y/N's steps slowed briefly, a hint of hesitation in her gait, but she quickly pushed it aside. She couldn't bear to let them in, not when her world had just been shattered by the doctor's call. Without a word, she continued to move toward the door.

Kristie reached out, gently placing a hand on Y/N's arm, trying to get her attention. "Y/N, please, talk to us. Something's clearly bothering you."

Y/N jerked her arm away, her emotions boiling over. She couldn't keep up the façade any longer. Her voice trembled as she finally addressed them, her eyes brimming with tears of frustration and despair.

"You want to know what's wrong?" Y/N snapped, her tone bitter and broken. "The doctor called me with the results. You want the answer so bad?!” Y/N paused, “It's cancer. Are you guys happy now?"

Her revelation hung heavily in the air, a crushing weight that sent shockwaves through their hearts. Jessie, Kristie, and Sam were stunned into silence, their expressions shifting from concern to disbelief. None of them had expected such a devastating diagnosis, and they were left grappling with their own guilt and remorse for how they had handled the situation.

Jessie stepped forward, her heart aching for her girlfriend, and she instinctively moved in to offer a comforting hug. But Y/N's reaction was visceral. She pushed Jessie away with a force that surprised them all.

"Y/N…" Jessie began, her voice trembling with concern.

Tears streamed down her face as she lashed out at her friends, her voice filled with bitterness and betrayal. "No, fuck you all for ruining my trust. I need to be alone."

Her words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. Y/N's anger and pain were palpable, and she felt like her world had crumbled around her.

"Y/N, you shouldn't be alone after that news," Sam spoke up, her voice gentle but firm. She understood Y/N's need for space, but she also recognized the immense weight of the diagnosis and the importance of being there for their friend in her darkest hour.

“I need space. If you have any respect for me and what I need, you will not follow me. Just let me be by myself.” Y/N opens the door to leave before turning back and requesting one more thing. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

[wandering-winchesters]

Don't Push Your Luck

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,707

Summary: After a bad argument with Dean, over the reader putting herself in danger, another hunt goes wrong. Will there be time to reveal the feelings that lie beneath the anger?

Trigger Warnings: SPN level violence, injuries and blood. Mentions of punching a wall, anger

A/N: It has been terribly long since I have posted and I am very sorry! Life has been utterly crazy and I have not had much time or motivation to write. Please let me know what you think!

Masterlist

Arguing with Dean was one of the most frustrating things in the entire world, once he was fixated on something it was nearly impossible to change his perspective on it. Which is how we wound up here, my chest heaving with exertion as I tried my best to calm my nerves. I can barely stop my body from trembling, anger pulsating through me enough to exhibit a physical response. My voice shakes when I try to speak, causing me to stop and take a few deeps breaths, unwilling to appear weak in front of my best friends brother. 

“Just because you have been doing this longer than I have, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do, Dean.” I respond, my voice as even and low as I can manage. A sharp contrast to moments before, when our raised voices carried throughout the entirety of the bunker. Rippling through the numerous rooms and corridors, alerting Sam to our disagreement. He had made an appearance, carefully placing himself between the two of us, but off to the side, just incase anything got out of hand. Not that it would get physical, but Dean and I have a track record of saying things that we shouldn’t when anger is raging between us. 

“I never claimed I could tell you what to do, Y/N. But I know that you have been reckless, ignorant and foolish the last few times we have gone on a hunt. You throw yourself into places that you shouldn’t be, you take risks that aren’t necessary. And you’ve just been an absolute idiot!” He yells, his fist slamming into the wall beside him. I flinch, shocked by his sudden movement, his words stinging as they rush over my ears. I take a few steps away from him, crossing my arms across my chest and steeling my nerves, willing the tears that were pricking my eyes to fade. 

“You really think you know everything, huh.” I reply, my voice shaky and thick with emotion, a single tear falls from my red rimmed eyes. I hurriedly brush it away and in that moment, I can see Dean break. His shoulders release and his face falls slightly, he runs a hand over his face letting a sigh of frustration pass his lips. 

“Maybe you two should call a truce, it seems like enough damage has been done.” Sam chimes in quietly as he shoots Dean a look of disapproval, his earlier words hanging heavy in the tension filled air. Without a word, I turn on my heel, seeking refuge in my room. I can hear their voices as I flee, distant murmurs of a conversation that I have no desire to take part in. 

By the time I close the door to my room, tears are flowing freely. I stifle a sob, my hands coming up to cover my mouth, as more course through my body. Reckless, ignorant, foolish and idiotic. All descriptors that Dean knew would strike a nerve, insecurities I have voiced to him in the past. Things that I had shared with Sam and Dean on one of our many late night dinner conversations, shared between the four walls of a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere. I could see the regret spreading through his features the moment the words left his lips, but there was nothing he could do to take them back. He spoke them into existence and there they would stay, a permanent stain on my subconscious. I let myself fall into the comfort of my bed, tension escaping my body. What was left was a void. My lungs that had been so full of air to scream into his face now merely pumped enough oxygen for a sigh to leave my lips. The argument was spurred on by a recent incident on a hunt from a few days back, the tension had been simmering, threatening to boil over all of that time. For whatever reason, today was the day where it became too much. The heat grew and the water overflowed. I had been jolted out of my thoughts by the slamming of the front door to the bunker, followed by Deans booming voice. Even though I knew it was coming, that didn’t make it any easier. 

There is a knock on my door, quiet yet enough to alert me to their presence. I ignore it, unwilling to budge from my place underneath the sheets on my bed. The desire to speak with either one of the Winchester men tonight was at a resounding nonexistent. My silence is not accepted, however, another knock follows. There are a few seconds of silence before Sam’s voice travels through the door. “Y/N, it’s me. I just wanted to check on you, talk for a bit.” He sounds upset, concern flowing through his tone. 

“I’m fine Sam, I don’t want to talk.” I call back, willing him to listen and not press me for more social interaction than I have energy. 

“Okay, you know where I am if you need anything. Goodnight, Y/N.” I respond in turn and wait for him to leave, confirmation comes in the form of his footsteps retreating down the hallway. 

My sleep that night is filled with numerous nightmares, each one worse than the last. A spattering of different conclusions to the hunt that had spurred on the argument with Dean. I had pushed him out of the way of danger, throwing myself into the path instead. Something that I had done for both of the boys numerous times, a fact that I was not ashamed of in the slightest. They were needed and had jobs to do. These nightmares were all of the numerous ways that the night could have ended if I hadn’t put myself in the path of death. Dean’s body, slumped against the wall, his final breath being drawn as Sam and I stood helpless in the room. Sam replacing Dean in the path of the bullet and both of them meeting their demise. Over and over, the nightmare repeated, changing slightly each time. No matter how many times I woke up, every time I returned to sleep it continued. 

I pull myself into a sitting position, the last nightmare had been the worst. I had been helpless and forced to watch Dean be tortured by the monster of man that had us cornered. I had watched him bleed, watched Dean beg for him to spare Sam and myself. I jump as my door swings open, soft barefoot steps resounding through the otherwise silent bunker. My eyes land on Dean, disheveled and tired. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the handle of the Bowie knife that he often uses, clutched between his fingers. I blink, staring back at him, hurt still fresh in my mind. 

“I-uh, you screamed my name. So, I had to make sure you were okay.” He mutters, shame present throughout his features. The hand that isn’t holding his knife, comes up and rubs the back of his neck, before falling back to his side. 

“I’m fine, just a dream. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep, we have to be up early tomorrow.” I respond, my voice even. I am unwilling to show him any weakness or emotion, the fight still hanging fresh between us. He nods, but hesitates in the doorway to my bedroom. I can see that he is searching for the words and I pray he doesn’t find them, I can’t hear them tonight. He nods once again, murmurs a goodnight and shuts my door behind him. 

—

I manage to make it through the next morning with zero interaction with the older Winchester, both of them are distracted by preparations for the next hunt. No words are exchanged at all until we are an hour into the drive, the radio on but low as Dean focuses on the road ahead of us. I pretend to be oblivious to his glances through the rear view mirror, unwilling to be the first to speak. But I notice. I notice the way his eyes land on me, scanning my face for any hint of emotion. I notice the way he has destroyed his bottom lip, by the constant anxious biting. I notice the way his hair isn’t combed into place like it normally is, how his appearance in general is disheveled. He didn’t sleep last night. Good, he deserves to be upset by the things that he said to me. 

“Y/N?” Sam calls, and I turn to look at him. The look on his face leads me to realize that he had been talking to me and I had not heard him. 

“Hmm? What’s up?” I ask, giving him a small sheepish smile. His eyes are questioning but he doesn’t speak on it, simply repeating his earlier statement. “According to Bobby, he thinks we are dealing with a Harpy.” I groan, letting my head fall back against the seat of the Impala. A harpy hunt is one of my least favorite, something I have only encountered a couple of times before, but I have the scars to prove it. 

“You can stay behind at the motel, if you prefer.” Dean chimes in, “Sam and I can handle it.” His words catch me off guard, it was an offer that was by no means wanted. 

“I can handle myself, thanks. It’s not like this is the first hunt I am participating in, Winchester.” I bite back, my voice cold. Sam shakes his head, in a manner that displays the smile tugging at his lips, even though I can’t see it. 

"I am aware that you've done this a hundred times Y/N, but maybe a little caution wouldn't hurt.” Dean says, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering wheel of the impala. 

“Don’t push your luck, Winchester.” I mutter, returning to looking out the window of the Impala. 

Unfortunately, Deans words would ring true. The anger and desperation I had to prove him wrong, land me in a very sticky situation. I threw caution to the wind and wound up paying for it ten fold.

—

“Dammit,” I cuss, a gasp leaving my lips as I struggle to pull myself into a sitting position. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, screams of protest are rising from deep within me. The hard wood wall of the old house provides support as I slump against it, my hands cradle my abdomen, pressed tightly against the gaping wound, that was caused by a violent stabbing moments earlier. I listen carefully, searching for any sign of the boys. 

In the fight with the Harpies, we had gotten separated and I was unsure of where they were, or if they were still alive. A wave of pain rushes over me and I let out a groan, blinking rapidly to try to clear my field of vision that is rapidly fading around me. “Y/N?! Where are you?” Dean yells, his voice traveling through the house, panic evident. I try my best to draw enough oxygen into my lungs to respond, but it is a losing battle. My lungs are on fire, along with the rest of my body. My ribcage is a vice and I cannot inhale enough to begin to speak, let alone yell. All I can do, is sit and wait. Hope that he finds me in time. Frantic footsteps fill my ears, barely heard over the rushing of blood through my head. A small rush of relief floods my body as Dean rounds the corner, our eyes meet and he crumples. His face is defeated ever so briefly, before he puts on a brave front, his eyes scanning my body an explanation of the amount of blood surrounding me. He’s at my side In record time, his hands gently prying mine away. He surveys the situation quickly, before pressing the fabric of his flannel against my stomach. A motion that pulls a guttural scream from my lips, I beg him to stop but he doesn��t, his lips pull into a tight smile and he brushes the sweat soaked hair from my forehead. 

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.” He murmurs, searching around frantically for something, anything to add to the flannel that he already has pressed against my body. I glance down and quickly realize, its even worse than I could have imagined. The material he had pressed against me moments before, was already soaked red. 

“No, look at me. Right here.” He says, gesturing for me to focus on his eyes and not the blood soaked flannel. 

“Guess you were right after all,” I whisper, a small laugh that quickly turns to a cough leaving my lips. Once I catch my breath, I continue. “ I was being reckless.”

“Stop, don’t think like that. I am so sorry for what I said, but we can’t focus on that right now sweetheart, we gotta get you out of here.” Dean says, his eyes growing sadder with every passing moment. “You think you can hold pressure on this while I carry you? Can you do that for me?” The desperation in his voice pains me, I know I don’t have the strength to do what he asks, but I nod anyways. I know that if he doesn’t do everything he can, he will always blame himself for my death. So I will try, I’ll try for him. I grab onto the flannel and pull it against me with all of the strength that I possess, as he carefully picks me up. His attempts to avoid causing me pain are useless, every step and motion causes a wave of nausea and dizziness to overtake me, but I do my best to not let him see. 

“Dean, I have to tell you now, just incase,” I stop myself, unable to finish the what if scenario that is playing in my head, outloud. “Dean, I love you, always.” 

“Hush, I’m not confessing my feelings to you until you are better.” Dean says, his breath catching in his throat as he focuses on each step he takes. 

I can’t tell you how we made it to the Impala. My eyes are closed for the majority of the journey, only opening when Dean demands that I look at him. His voice begs me to stay with him, stay awake. Stay Alive. 

—

“She lost so much blood, what if- if she doesn’t wake up?” I can feel a hand grasping my own, gently stroking my skin. Dean’s voice is there, he’s talking to someone. Warmth is covering my skin. It is almost peaceful, until it is interrupted by my nerves screaming out in protest. A groan leaves my lips and the hand on my own jerks away.

“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?” It’s Dean again, I can feel the mattress shift underneath me as he sits on it, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. 

“Sweetheart is new, what happened to idiot?” I whisper, my throat dry and my tongue faltering to enunciate the words. 

“You almost died and I couldn’t bear that thought, that’s what happened.” Dean says, his hand brushing over my skin. I open my eyes, squinting at the sunlight pouring in through the open blind. It takes me a second to realize that I am in fact in a motel and not the bunker.

“Who knew you had feelings, Winchester, thought you were all tough and no mush.” I say, moving to push myself into a sitting position, but quickly regretting that and abandoning the motion. He laughs, a clear and full sound. One that lifted my spirits ever so slightly. 

“It’s no fun making you miserable, Y/N, not when you are already miserable. So I need you to get better, okay?” He says, pressing a very unexpected, but desired kiss against my forehead.

“Now who’s being the idiot?” I meet his gaze and smirk. He shakes his head, still smiling at me. He presses another kiss to my forehead, the breath he lets out through his nose rushing over my skin. “I love you, too, Y/N. Always have, always will.” 

Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

[sorvqlz]

Songs I believe fit the CRP's 3/?

Tim Wright / Brian Thomas (Marble Hornets)

(Before becoming Masky & Hoody)

(Warning! this might be not accurate bc I don't remember too much about the MH series I literally watched it like over a year ago)

“The truth is hiding in your eyes / And it’s hanging on your tongue, just boiling in my blood”

- This could reflect Tim’s suspicion that Brian is hiding something from him. As the series progresses, Tim begins to suspect that Brian knows more about what’s happening with Alex and Slender Man than he’s letting on. Tim can see something in Brian’s eyes—the guilt, the fear—but Brian is either unwilling or unable to speak the full truth, which causes tension and frustration for Tim. The “boiling in my blood” part reflects Tim’s anger and the emotional turmoil of realizing that someone close to him may be hiding crucial information.

“But you think that I can’t see what kind of man that you are / If you’re a man at all”

- This line is particularly powerful when applied to Tim’s view of Brian. As Tim digs deeper into the mystery, he begins to notice the darker side of Brian, especially as Brian becomes more involved with the twisted events surrounding Slender Man. Tim might start questioning Brian’s integrity, wondering if he’s still the same person he thought he knew. It’s possible that Tim sees Brian as someone who has lost his humanity or who is making questionable decisions, adding to the emotional conflict between them.

“Oh, I will figure this one out on my own”

- Tim’s determination to uncover the truth on his own is a major theme in Marble Hornets, and this lyric fits his mindset. He feels increasingly isolated as he uncovers the dark realities of the situation. Despite his suspicions about Brian’s involvement and the sense of betrayal, Tim decides to continue investigating alone, especially after realizing how deep the mystery goes. The sense of being alone, even when surrounded by others, is something Tim grapples with throughout the series.

”(I’m screaming, ‘I love you so’) on my own / (But my thoughts you can’t decode)”

- This part is particularly poignant in relation to Tim and Brian’s relationship. Tim likely still has deep care and love for his friend, but the emotional distance between them grows as the situation becomes more complex. Tim wants to trust Brian, but Brian’s actions and the secrecy around him make it impossible to fully understand what’s happening. The “my thoughts you can’t decode” part speaks to the lack of communication and the growing rift between them. Brian may be withholding information, or Tim may be misreading his intentions, but the emotional divide is widening.

“How did we get here?”

- Tim might be asking this question in regard to his relationship with Brian. Initially, Tim and Brian had a solid friendship, but over time, as Brian becomes more entangled with the events and darker forces, Tim is left wondering how things went so wrong. How did Brian, who he once trusted, become someone he can’t fully understand or rely on? The increasing tension and mistrust between them might make Tim feel like they’ve both lost the connection they once had.

Author's note: Tim and Brian’s relationship in Marble Hornets shifts from friendship to suspicion as Tim uncovers unsettling truths. The growing emotional distance and distrust reflect the themes of betrayal and confusion in “Decode,” with Tim struggling to reconcile his feelings for Brian while facing harsh realities.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

On The Hunt: You Broke and I Shattered

Summary- 3.9k Alpha Steve x Little One. You and Steve find where Ulysses is storing his stolen goods; vibranium from Wakanda. Scouting the building, you and Steve separate and Steve struggles with this lone wolf mentality.

Warnings- Steve being upset and lashing out about your relationship with Pan. Reader goes into her heat finally and confronts Steve during it.

A/N- Okay I know it's been a while, LONG WHILE since I have posted these two. Part of me is still apprehensive about your Steve feelings. Be mad and hate him if that is the vibe! I get it, honestly, I do. I can't help but love him as strongly as I always have because I love a broken character that I created. Thank you so much @yenzys-lucky-charm for walking through this and holding my hand with them. For always giving me reassurance to continue this story. You, my dear friend, are a saint for all you do behind the scenes. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics Enjoy, and if you did, please share and reblog. I also love hearing your thoughts and rants about them.

Chapter Seven / Masterlist

It smelled bad. 

The Little Wolf’s nose wrinkled as she scouted the side of the large warehouse. You lost track of Steve after he shifted, the Alpha whisking his muzzle against the Little Wolf’s and then leapt away along the edge of the warehouse. As large as the Alpha was, he was easily able to meld into nothing when he didn’t want to be seen. A skill from many years of hunting. 

The Little Wolf weaved through the large piles of garbage and pallets, using them to keep her hidden from the multitude of cameras outside of the building. The installers had attempted to keep them hidden, but your time working with T’Challa had taught you where to look. 

The Little Wolf was also good at getting by unnoticed, the smaller stature and slinking nature could make her easily pass for a street dog that ran wild. 

The scents assaulting her were so foul and strong. The heavy acidic scent of fear permeates the stone and steel walls, making the Little Wolf’s ears lay flat against her skull, her nose wrinkling in discomfort. 

A scuffle of footsteps caught her attention, sending her into hiding with her radar-sharp ears swiveling towards the footsteps scuttling down the alleyway towards where you were hiding. 

“The shipment’s ready, just need the boss's sign-off.” You heard the man say into a phone and the Little Wolf pricked her ears to catch the last of the conversation. “Yeah, Klaue is expected in a couple days.”

He is not here yet. You mentally sighed, frustrated that there would be a period of waiting around for you and Steve.

<But he will be here soon for us. The Alpha should be coming around any moment, maybe we can get inside.> She was quiet in her movements, easing away from the rambling man whose conversation turned elsewhere, giving them no more vital information. Catching sight of the unlatched door, the Little Wolf paused, glancing around to see that no one was nearby. <Should we wait?> 

We could lose our chance. You urged her, unwilling to wait now that the opportunity of getting inside was just so available to you. 

<The Alpha…> The Little Wolf hesitated, glancing back at the direction Steve should be coming around. 

Will catch up. He can follow our trail and we might lose this entrance if that man comes back to lock this door. This is our chance to see the inside and be prepared for Ulysses. 

She finally relented, using her muzzle to ease the door open further and sneak into the dark interior of the warehouse, a sliver of light the only source into the belly of the beast. 

It was easy remaining out of sight on the main floor, various containers of weapons that all smelled tinged with vibranium littered haphazardly around and in the center of the building were cages, all emptied but you could see that they had been recently used. All providing cover even as a silent snarl flirted across Little One’s muzzle, anger simmering in your chest as well as sadness that you had been too late to save those souls from whomever they were sold too. 

Flashes of your old life, the sales floor clouding your memories while you wandered between them. The fear and pain at being dragged in front of buyers, their hands running all over your naked body and the false promises of giving you a better life if you just bonded with them. 

The vileness of it made the Little Wolf shiver and a soft barely there whine escape. <Never again.> She assured you, the fur along her back bristling in agitation. 

Never again. You agreed with her, calming once more. You escaped, you had known love and safety with your pack and with Steve. Even now with you two separated, you knew Steve still wouldn’t ever allow anyone to use you like that again. 

The Little Wolf eased closer, edging along the last line of containers holding vibranium and weapons, trying to map the building. 

There was a huff nearby and you caught sight of silver fur rows back. Steve found us. The Little Wolf stopped, the tip of her tail wagging in a greeting but the Alpha stalked nearby, his eyes blazing furiously at the Little Wolf. 

She lowered further, feeling the anger roll from him while he slid up next to her, pressing in against her for a moment just to feel her before he silently let his nose wander along the edge of the containers. 

Loud shouts just out of sight called out directions to load pallets onto the truck, making you and the Alpha both freeze for a second. The Alpha turned away and returned to the Little Wolf’s side, rumbling enough so you felt the vibrations rising off him. Not an order from the Alpha but a suggestion that it was time to go. 

You pulled back, leading the way out, and once back outside, no one the wiser, you both bolted away from the warehouse. 

It had been a while since you had returned to the apartment, Steve had been silent most of the time, both of you sketching out the warehouse's interior and tensley comparing notes with one another. But you could feel the tension crackling between you and Steve. All his responses clipped in a tone that you were just not used to from him. 

It was making your Little Wolf uneasy in your mind, pacing back and forth in a skittish way, making you feel like you were about to snap. 

You finally pushed away the notes and sketches of the warehouse, making Steve’s gaze snap to you curiously. “What’s wrong Steve?” 

His brows furrowed together and his mouth thinned with whatever he wanted to say being held back. “Nothing is wrong Y/N. We should contact T’Challa to let him know what we found.” He pulled away, going to grab his phone when you grabbed his forearm to keep him from avoiding the question. Steve stiffened, a shiver going through him and you saw his nostrils flare a bit, dragging in a breath of you. 

“Stop the bullshit Steve, you’re pissed and I don’t know why.” Your Little Wolf yipped anxiously, making you tense up all that much more. 

Clear blue eyes snapped, flaring slightly in a glowing color as the Alpha in him rose to challenge him before he turned to you with a slight bare of his teeth. “You didn’t wait for me Y/N. You charged into that warehouse alone.” 

Your hand dropped from his arm and you immediately snapped back, if you had hackles, they would be raised at the tension finally breaking. “This is what you are pissed about Steve? I was doing the mission. I don’t need your permission to do that.” A snarl emitted from you, daring Steve to bite back. “Not anymore.” 

He rose to the challenge, rounding onto you, his size a sheer force but you held tight, refusing to step back from him. “That’s right Little One, I gave you up and set you free from me.” 

A warning growl escaped you as a bit of tears threatening to well up hearing him. “That you did.”

“You have no regard for your safety, we are supposed to be hunting together and you just go into that building without me and that wasn’t the plan, I don’t care that you went in, but I didn’t know where you were, I just happened to catch your scent in the open door. What if they found you and caught you, what if I couldn’t follow you in?” He pulled away with a yank of his hand through his hair. 

You squared your shoulders, anger making your tone bite in your words. “It’s not your fucking job Steven to keep me safe. Why are you always trying to shield me?” 

��Cause Little One! It still feels like you’re fucking mine, even now while we are unbonded all I feel…” His hand slapped against his chest, where you knew his heart pounded its rhythm. 

“Well that sounds like your problem that you need to figure out. I’m not your Little One.” You tossed out, the pain searing into anger at the Alpha in front of you. “You ‘set me free’ which is utter bullshit, you don’t get to dictate how I work now.” 

It was like whiplash, his brow wrinkling as his sadness seeped through before anger masked his features once again. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. You remind me, you had moved on right… to him?” 

You knew exactly who he was talking about and that made those tears finally fall, your hand lifting and slapping sharply across Steve’s face hard, enough that his head turned with the impact. 

“How dare you, Steve, Pan was my friend when I was broken. My friend Steve, he was exactly who I needed when I was alone. You did this to us. You and that fucking drive to keep me safe. Newsflash Steve, my whole life I fought and I’m never going to stop. Now I’m doing it alone without you. You just thought of how you hurt me while being collared, it was NOTHING compared to what you did in that hospital room. I lost you that day and had to learn how to live without my mate because he didn’t want me anymore.” 

“Fuck Y/N, I never said I didn’t want you.” Steve’s jaw clenched tightly, but the anger from his features was gone, disbelief crowning his features now. His hand reached out to draw you in, but you stepped away, unable to handle the contact.

“You broke me that day Steve and now you don’t like this version I turned into? You have no right to be mad about that.” Your voice cracked, a shiver wracking up your body while the Little Wolf started singing in the back of your mind, her own pain breaking in the song. “I survived being used, I survived beatings in attempts to make me submissive, I survived other Alpha’s scarring me with their bites, I survived all the times they tried purposely to break me into bowing for them and being this meek little pup. But you, Steve I barely survived you.”  

You let out a breath, feeling your chest lighten as Steve stood before you like he was at a loss for words for a moment. Before you would let him say anything, you turned away to your room and let the door shut him out. Exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks and as you crawled into your bed to sink into that dark place you yet again were hovering in, your Little Wolf crooning to you, you curled into a ball in your bed and let yourself go. 

Steve sat on the edge of the uncomfortable bed in the apartment. It had been hours since you just dropped it all on him, which he knew but hearing it come from you, how your voice became so vulnerable like you were laid open and left to pick up the pieces. To top it off, he knew he was an utter asshole for what he said to you, wishing he could take it back. But it was out there now and he knew he couldn’t take back what he said in a moment of frustration. 

There was no way to take any of the last year back, he knew he acted on instinct back then and he was wrong. All of it was wrong, but he had to live with his actions. Actions had consequences and all he could do now was live with those choices, and give you that freedom. You were right, he couldn’t be mad at what you turned into because he was a part of it all. Something in him shattered that day, hard broken shards that fed all his fears and he was still struggling to not give in to them.

It still didn’t make it easier for him, or the Alpha. The Alpha was furious with him once more. A snarling beast who lashed out to make Steve wince at the rage. But he felt he deserved it, he took each one without a snap back. 

To top the whole fuck up of a day there was a soft wail through the wall of disbelief and it hit every one of Steve’s senses.

Your heat finally arrived and right now you two were stuck together, with no way to give one another space during this vulnerable intimate time. 

And it was almost torture to Steve as his muscles cramped with restraint, resisting the urge to go to you. 

The Wolf simmered somewhere, Steve sensed him close, but he was still staying away from the conscious side. Your scent was heavy with need and that made a ping of guilt well up in him that your heat was going to be worse for you because he was there. 

If you were back in Wakanda he would slip away, leave you in peace to choose the partner you would want to help you through this. But not in the middle of a mission like this.  

<Coward> The Wolf snarled at him, his ears laid flat against his skull and showing his fangs with a snap of his jaw, jolting Steve back to his awareness of his beast. <You would run away instead of staying to take care of her.> 

His head hung from his shoulders, gritting his eyes and clenching his jaw as his own beast tried to take over, howling your song to call for you. His rut was going to be rough, more of his wolfish side coming through, the overbearing need to fuck and take care of his mate would be a whole other torture. 

“Fuck off.” He snarled loudly, aiming at the Alpha but your soft voice cut through his snarl, making his head snap up, his hair disheveled and eyes flashing a brighter color as his nose tilted up to catch your warm honeysuckle scent. 

“Steve.” Your voice was soft in tone and loud in every other way as it broke his inner battle, your hands clutching at a blanket around you, miserable looking. “She won’t stop…” 

Steve guessed, as much as his wolf was trying to take over, the Little Wolf would be too. You were so distressed-looking, shaking in the blanket even though it wasn’t cold. He straightened up, holding out a hand to you. “Come here Y/N.” He growled, unable to contain more of the Wolf coming through. 

It was all it took, the blanket fell from around you, your body to sensitive for anything on you, as you streaked to Steve, his arms circling around your waist and made you straddle his lap. Getting as close as you could be without pinning you underneath him in the bed. His clothes felt so constricting as you settled in close, tears starting to race down your cheeks while your hands slid up his chest, pulling his shirt over his head so you could get skin to skin, which he was thankful for. “I tried Alpha, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You leaned into him, your breasts pressing against his chest as your face tucked into his neck, hiding away. 

“For what Y/N?” he let his nose press against the back of your neck, inhaling deeply. That alone made the wolf ease back, and let him regain control. Heavy calloused hands went up and down your back as you started sobbing in his neck, your thighs squeezing against him as you rocked your hips slightly to rub against him. 

“For being here with you.” You pushed against him and stared at him with sorrow and pain that Steve couldn’t stop the kisses he flushed over your eyes as more of your tears escaped, tears that he caused. Salty on his lips as they escaped into his beard. His gentleness at the moment, although both of your bodies were screaming to mate with one another, seemed to break you. 

“I’m so mad at you for doing this to me.” You dug your nails into his shoulders, rocking again as he matched your movement, pushing up to give you some relief in your grinding. “I did what you said, I left you alone and you followed me here. I couldn’t escape you with the pack and I still can’t Steve. Why do you make this impossible for me?” You hissed as your mouth sought his, while his kiss stayed gentle, you bit at him, gasping against him as your nails clawed into the muscles of his back. “You left me Steve and it broke me more than anything else that has happened.” If this was your punishment, Steve would take it. Every sharp claw and hissing bite you lashed at him. 

Steve clenched his jaw, unwilling to defend himself and his choices. He did this to you and it was the least he could do was listen. Instead, he pressed you in closer to him, touching you in all the ways he knew made you feel safe and cared for, his lips pressing against yours while you broke because of him. Your pain you lashed onto his back with your nails sharply dragging up to grasp his shoulder and rock yourself in against him once again, he welcomed the pain as he would any of your touches. 

You shook in his hold, pushing away from him enough to look at him, your anger melding into sheer pain. “Was I too weak to be an Alpha’s mate, your mate? Do you regret taking a broken and used Omega? I need to know Steve.”

This he couldn’t stand, not from you of all people. With a sweep of his hold, he twisted you to the bed, on your back while he hovered over you with a bare of his teeth at you, all the long hair falling forward around his face, making Steve look wild above you. Your hands went to cup his face, studying the man you and your little wolf still fiercely loved, your fingers pushing up to weave into his hair. “Is that what you actually believe Little One?” Steve’s tone was graveled, a mix of his voice and the Alpha growling at the same time. “Do you?” He said sharper, making you roll your body up into his solid one, giving a nod when you couldn't say anything. 

His hands caught your wrists and let his nose trace the inside on each one, you went pliant against him finally and he let his whirlwind of emotions settle. He had you and wasn’t planning on letting you go till you knew in your soul that he never would have left you because of those reasons. 

Your hands were pinned swiftly, slamming them into the pillows scattered around his bed. “Little One.” He growled when his lips descended to the soft warmth of your neck column. Kissing behind your ear with much more gentleness than how his hand caged yours over your head. “You really don’t know do you, how much power you have.” His growls were edging on violent, wracking through your body while his touch remained loving, each glide of his hand tracing your side passionate while the other encircled your wrists above your head with controlled strength, the flick of his tongue gliding on your skin and light pressure of sharpened fangs all affection in worshipping you. “How I would do anything for you. You think me walking away didn’t destroy my sanity, made the beast try to claw from his cage?” 

You whined under Steve, your heat simmering on unbearable but his words were making you want to scream. All this time he felt this way and he still managed to walk away, leaving you shattered, your fingers curled, digging into his palm keeping you pinned down. He hissed at the pain but never loosened or pulled away from you. “You still did it, you claim to protect me from you.” 

Steve rose above you, his touch on your waist going to your face, turning your head till you couldn't look away from him. So much filled his gaze locking with yours and your unshed tears of anger, frustration, and pain were mirrored in his. “Because I am weak, scared, and broken. All I could see in that moment was you dead at my feet, that I had destroyed my mate, half of my soul. Alpha’s might seem powerful, but actually, we are empty without our other halves, made to serve our packs but never finding anything beyond that. That day I almost killed mine and I was powerless to stop it." His throat bobbed, swallowing past the emotion that almost seemed to overtake him. "I made a mistake and I see that now Little One, I let fear control me, and look what it did to us. I can’t take it back and will always live with what I did. You are right, I can’t be mad about who you are now because of it, you became stronger. You don’t need me, not really. You, my mate, you have all the power. Fuck, that day I was breaking down thinking I was powerless to control myself...”  His shoulders sagged like admitting this out loud to you took everything out of him. “I should have talked to you about what I was going through instead of running.” 

You eased up the grasp of your fingers digging into his palm, allowing yourself to soften slightly under him. Pulling a hand from his hold, your touch drifted up, sliding around the curve of his neck while you silently counted every little ragged scar circling his throat. Every little barb that dug into him and controlled him. This shattered your Alpha and he was struggling to be better. "I see you Steve." You whispered up at him while letting your thumb wipe under his eyes, clearing away the moisture welling up in those sharp blue eyes.

He reached up to take your palm, curling it against his jaw while he tilted into it, pressing his lips to the center. "I see you too Y/N, I'm so sorry I pushed you away."

Your Little Wolf called out his song again while his eyes scanned over your face, feeling the change in you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him closer. “I could throttle you.” You chirped with a crack in your voice and Steve gave a soft sad chuckle as his head dropped to lean his forehead against yours, giving a little sniffle.

“I know I deserve it.” 

“And what do you want now Steve?” You asked softly, almost a whisper between you two. 

The Alpha was silent, his inhales drawing you in to smother all his other senses, if he could drown in you, he would so happily. “A chance for us, to be the Alpha and your mate you deserve from me.” He pulled away to catch your eyes, such a sharp blue with tinges of yellow melding to give hints of green, the Alpha bleeding through, showing while Steve gave you the answers you sought. “To give you all of me, even the broken parts that need fixing Little One.” 

“If I said I need you to talk to me Steve, you need to let me in instead of just trying to keep me safe from the world.” Your hand twisted in his hold, sliding your fingers through his above your head. “That you won’t shut me out because you are trying to keep me safe.” 

“I will spend my life showing you I can be your partner.” This next kiss was gentle, a brush of his lips to yours as you pulled him back into your hold, his heavy weight on you making you finally feel like you were where you belonged. “And I will wait, as long as you need to be ready for us again, if that is what you want.” 

Ready to be us again… You repeated to yourself, letting his words really take hold. The Little Wolf was a calming presence now, the heat sated enough in just this rebonding moment for you two. You pushed up your hips enough to push against Steve and he instinctively released his hold on you to fall back and take you with him, letting you straddle him while he laid underneath you now, his hands caressing down till they settled on your waist, content to let you decide what you wanted from him next. “I missed you, Steve, we missed you.” 

Your touch slipped up his chest while you moved to settle in against him, ease relaxing through you as his arms slipped around you, hugging you to lay against him and nothing more in the moment. You let your cheek lay against his chest, your head tucked under his bristled chin. You could feel his words as he spoke them out loud. “We were wanderers without our home Little One, we missed you too.” 

[fall0utmind]

Medical Leak AU pt 12

Hi friends!!

Finally got around to finishing this chapter - after almost a full rewrite - I hope you like it. Thank you sooooo much to everyone who has shown me love, appreciation and support for my works. I feel v lucky x

Anyways I hope this lovely almost 6k chapter makes up for the delay. It's very very angsty - finally all that Vale guilt you wanted.

TW// Suicide (more graphic than anything else I have written) - crashes - death - injury

Probably about 2-3 more chapters left!!!!!

Love you all - ch below cut

AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59751640/chapters/158547442

CH 12 - REGRET

Valentino gets home late on Monday evening with a million thoughts in his head and the heavy weight of exhaustion clinging to him. The beginnings of a headache are throbbing behind his temples, an indicator of a long weekend of overthinking. Despite this, Valentino cannot rest, too wired from a weekend full of mistakes and surprises. It has categorically been one of the worst weekends of Vale’s life. From finding out about Marc’s past and watching him fall apart in front of his eyes, to somehow making it even worse by opening his mouth. In hindsight, he realises that historical emotions with no place in the present fuelled their exchanges, lighting the spark for an inevitable detonation. He let his ego rule his mind, took it out on Marc and was disbelieving even as he stared down the truth. Not his finest moments. It has taken too many years to realise that he loves Marc and now he is faced with the incomprehensible fact that he might lose him altogether if he can’t make amends.

He used to know Marc so well; he doesn’t know when he stopped understanding every intricacy and started attributing them all to some form of evil. But somewhere along the way, every little thing Marc did was labelled as corrupt and dangerous in his mind. It costs his pride to set the habitual instinct aside, knowing he has made mistakes along the way. He is now going against years of conditioning intended to forget the affection he once felt for Marc. And yet here he is sitting in his kitchen, back at square one, after years of messing things up for both himself and Marc, with that same affection reignited and his heart shattered by his own mistakes.

Despite a greater acceptance of his shortcomings in the past years, Valentino struggles to swallow the realisation that this was his fault. Somewhere deep inside, a stubborn part of him protests the concept; it is the same fragment which is still bitter about 2015 and the loss of his tenth title. When Valentino allows himself to think about it, he still feels some frustration about the 2015 season, both with himself and Marc. But he can also look back and realise that he was a grown adult and Marc was 22; one of them should have known better, and it wasn’t Marc. Moreover, instead of choking down his anger at the time, and talking to Marc privately, Valentino decided to air it out to the world at large. He tries to push the feelings down and bottle them up, unwilling to let something as fragile as an ego ruin this. Valentino’s ego destroyed their relationship last time- a combination of his self-importance and visceral need to win. Alongside, there was a self-doubt which niggled at the back of his mind for years until he let it engulf him. He began to doubt Marc’s loyalty and trustworthiness, even though Marc looked at him like he held the sun. He can now identify that his feelings were a combination of the dread that Marc could be better than him and the fear of his overwhelming and undeniably romantic feelings for the younger man.

It's all irrelevant now. Valentino has spent a decade screwing it up and denying his feelings. Now, he must weigh up whether Marc, the continuation of his legacy as the best, or his pride are more important.

(The choice is surprisingly easy)

Valentino takes a deep breath, blowing it out between his teeth and screwing his eyes shut. He needs a plan. And yet, he’s still at a loss about how to get Marc back. He has tried begging, reasoning, and telling the truth but none have worked.

 Albeit, he thinks bitterly, after each attempt, he promptly screwed it up again. He imagines it might take time for Marc to come around. It had taken Valentino years to destroy him and almost a decade to realise his own stupidity - he should give Marc time now. But patience has never been Valentino’s virtue, and he reckons he can speed up the process a little – some more positive interviews, or some flowers and much sweet talking. Nothing too overbearing, but Marc has always had a bit of a thing for praise, especially from Valentino.

No matter how hard he tries though, it is uncertain whether Marc will ever be able to trust him again. After everything that has happened between them, it feels like a far-off prospect. It doesn’t help that Marc had physically run away from him in Misano, fleeing his motorhome and leaving Vale standing there like an idiot, feeling bereft.

Now he almost wishes that he stayed, waiting for Marc to come back. He doesn’t focus too much on the small voice saying that he probably deserved to be abandoned by Marc. Thankfully, he didn’t have a long drive afterwards, and it was even quicker when he had barely paid attention to the road, too tied up in his thoughts. He was glad that the winding roads had been almost deserted, allowing him to follow the route by muscle memory, barely twitching at the occasional set of oncoming headlights.

His thoughts are running away from him, spinning off on tangents like what his journey home was like, rather than the task at hand. It is a solid indicator of his fatigue. The next time he looks at the clock, it’s almost midnight, signifying that he’s been sitting in one position for far too long. He groans as he hauls himself out of his chair, his knees cracking. He feels like this weekend has aged him. He pops his back and stretches his arms above his head, shifting as he tries to gather the will to move to his bedroom.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on him whilst he half heartedly brushes his teeth, skipping along shower until tomorrow.  He shucks his clothes off before throwing himself into bed, feeling overwhelmingly grateful that he has the money for the fancy mattresses he adores. He falls asleep quickly, his overactive mind shutting down to give him a brief respite. Before he retired, sleeping used to be tough after a race weekend fuelled by adrenaline, now though he usually sleeps like a baby.  Dreams come in hazy wisps of half-formed scenes. A young Marc giggles at something Valentino has said, an older version of him studiously avoiding his eyes. A flash of tanned skins and thundering engines. The harsh words which were cruelly spat at each other all those years ago. He is thrown from dream to dream, his imagination running wild.

Valentino sleeps until the sun is already high in the sky. He is endlessly grateful for mornings in bed on Mondays. The joys of retiring early. He showers quickly, perfunctory, and avoids thinking of Marc or his perfect face and plush lips lest his body betrays him. He towels himself down in much the same way and sets to start his day. He’s already written off a productive week, content to relax and wallow in self-pity after the shit show of a weekend. He putters around the kitchen for a bit, making himself some breakfast and a coffee, taking the time to do it in the fancy way that he usually brushes off as too excessive. Clutching his mug and plate, he wanders into the living room, laying his breakfast on the coffee table. He grabs his laptop and settles on the sofa. Now that he has returned to the safety of his own home, Valentino has plans to go online to read watch and consume every piece of literature about Marc Marquez that he had missed over the last decade. Thankfully, he already knows plenty: his rookie years, family, and success he is intimately familiar with. But he’s shied away from much of it: the crashes, his recovery, relationships, and the recent news. He has to start somewhere – for some reason, he thinks the crashes (and there are many) might be easiest.

Before he even consciously thinks about it, the video of Jerez is loading on his laptop – go big or go home and all of that. He watches in a half-daze and winces when Marc is thrown off the bike; the high side seems to happen in slow motion as he is flung through the air before slamming back into the earth. Valentino’s sharp gaze focuses on how Marc grits his teeth, his arm hanging limply by his side. He knows it was bad; he was there. He hadn’t seen the actual crash, and it is different now seeing it as it happened. He remembers that day, his bitter and forced indifference at the time. The vicious kind of vindication that Marc could not finish after Vale’s race had ended prematurely. Looking back now, it was fairly indicative of Valentino’s not-normal feelings. Afterwards, when he became aware of the surgery, an odd combination of panic and pleasure coursed through him. It was one less championship to Marc’s name, but Valentino also dedicated himself to researching the surgery and ensuring the doctors were the very best that money could buy. He had stopped looking into Marc's treatment after the second surgery, attempting to distance himself and by surgery number four, he thought Marc would retire – he didn’t know how to feel about that.

The video loops. He rewatches it until he can memorise the exact second Marc lost the bike, the angle at which it bucks, and the pain on his face when he thinks the cameras are no longer watching. Marc looks like he wants to scream in agony every time. Valentino wants to burn the circuit to the ground. The next time through, Valentino doesn’t click replay, staring numbly at the screen, the vision of Marc falling seared behind his eyelids. The next video loads before he can stop it. It’s a clip of Marc talking to a camera, a distant look in his eyes; it’s from that stupid documentary - the one Valentino has been avoiding for years. He hums thoughtfully, if he wants to get to know Marc again, this might be a good idea. How bad could it be? A quick Google search tells him where to watch it and it’s all too easy to set it up on his too-large TV and press play.

Valentino didn’t expect it to be so excruciating, seeing it so clearly laid out in front of his eyes. It’s difficult to watch. Whenever Valentino is mentioned, Marc’s face shutters slightly and Valentino finds himself physically recoiling from the pain in Marc’s voice. He trains his eyes on the screen, no matter how much he wants to look away. Surprisingly, the documentary cements that Marc is willing to rip himself apart to win, sinking his teeth into success and clutching on for dear life. Although Valentino already knew this; he didn’t realise Marc was willing to show everyone else. What he didn’t know is that, before it all fell apart, every time Marc did something wildly impressive, he looked to Valentino after, as if to seek his approval. In this light, Marc looks unbearably enamoured and so keen to please. He can see how Marc tore his heart open to keep Vale, only to be left with the tattered remains of their relationship – it aches. Unsurprisingly, there is also venom in Marc’s family’s descriptions of Valentino. Watching Roser talk about throwing his merchandise away after their fallout makes him wince. He remembers the smugness he felt when he lied to the Italian media as if he didn’t see the awe in Marc’s eyes. He remembers the first time he met a young Marc and the startling clarity that he was Marc’s world back then. (He remembered then too). Guilt engulfs him. He turns off the documentary and closes his eyes, unable to continue. His coffee is cold.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur, he organises his bookcase and then his room. He ambles around the track and rewatches some races from before Marc’s premier class debut. He locks himself in his office, passing the time by organising and doing trivial admin tasks which he has been putting off for months. He doesn’t feel like eating but forces himself to choke down a slice of plain toast, it still makes him nauseous. By the time he’s settled on the sofa again, the clock has struck nine and the light has faded to a pale dusk. The TV feels like it’s taunting him, its red light winking threateningly. He stares at the black screen.

A memory springs to life from the depth of his mind, unbidden. Marc, baby-faced and eager in 2013, in some shitty bar God knows where. He was drunk, absolutely hammered, his phone clutched in his hand as he waved it around, showing Valentino the pictures of his childhood room, full of old merch (most of it was Valentino’s). He remembers being unbearably fond, incredibly old, and slightly embarrassed on Marc’s behalf. A strangled noise erupts from the back of his throat. He had lied, to everyone; he had always known Marc had idolised him and he had taken that vulnerability and stabbed him in the back. Valentino feels sick, a vivid picture of Marc’s mum in the documentary, her disapproval clear to the world, even as Marc had remained hopeful.

Valentino can’t bring himself to turn the TV back on. He is a coward. He stumbles to his feet and fills a tumbler from the kitchen with whiskey - the expensive shit that Pecco got him last Christmas. He doesn’t want to think about it, about Marc, and he certainly doesn’t want to feel anything. So, he does what he does best and ignores it all, playing melancholy music through his too-expensive sound speaker and drinking away his sorrows and regrets. He doesn’t think of anything, or maybe he does – it all passes in a blur. The remnant shred of his sanity takes charge after three drinks, reminding him that alcohol is not actually the solution to all his problems. He leaves the glass on the side, promising himself that he will wash it up tomorrow. Staggering to his bedroom is an unwelcome reminder that he is far too old to be drinking alone in his empty house, he suddenly feels strangely lonely. He avoids looking the single toothbrush in the holder and the shower which only contains one set of body wash and shampoo. He ignores the thought that he wishes there were two. By the time he has finished in the ensuite and crossed the room to his bed, his eyes are already drooping. Valentino falls into a dreamless sleep the minute he hits the mattress.

*

The next day, Vale plans to watch the 2015 season from start to finish, and then study the replays of all the worst races across their time as competitors - Sepang, Argentina, Jerez, and Philip Island, the ones Valentino considers the turning points for their relationship. He is determined to pick apart the catalysts of their supernova implosion. It is a strange sensation to watch the worsening of their relationship as an outsider on the screen. He can barely bring himself to watch Sepang, too embarrassed by his childish and unsportsmanlike behaviour. He didn’t like Marc’s behaviour that year and didn’t enjoy losing (he never had). But the lies were atrocious, let alone thinking of what they led to. He turns it off before the press conference. He remembers how Marc had looked all too well, how he looked amused at first like it was all some elaborate joke before his face fell and shock took over.

He watches some of the better ones too, where he would pull Marc close in parc fermé and spray him with champagne on the podium. Marc looked so happy, so young, and in awe of Valentino. A startling difference from the Marc he now knows, to the one he created. His current Marc ignores Vale, putting up his walls whenever they interact, so much so that Valentino can barely recognise the real him. In his head, he can’t seem to reconcile all the Marcs, the real and the fake, the ones he knows and doesn’t. Valentino wonders which Marc is real, which Alex gets, and which Dovi gets. Is there even a real one, is it all an act, or is he all the Marcs in one?

It is a testament to how little Valentino knows Marc because, as much as he doesn’t want to think about it, apparently, he also relied on painkillers and was so hurt after everything that happened that he tried to end his life (twice). And even though he was there to witness it all, Valentino hadn't even realised. Marc fears vulnerability (he didn’t before), keeps his cards close to his chest, and doesn’t let anyone in; it makes him want to scream. He doesn’t understand how he missed it. He watches the end of the 2015 season particularly closely, searching for an indicator that Marc was feeling so low, any slip of his mask to see the true feelings beneath. He tries to find the clues that he missed, back then, the hints that Marc was struggling, if only he had looked. It hurts, watching, seeing Marc go from joyful and naive to guarded over a year is so obvious now that he is not overwhelmed by resentment. The pain wrenches at his gut, pulling painfully like a fishhook and making unnamed emotions rise within him. To the rest of the world, Marc is indifferent, a jokester, portraying a happy persona despite his internal turbulence, just like he was before Valentino. It is almost unfathomable that he didn’t notice him shutting down, the way his face would fall when Valentino was cruel or blasé. In the early years, of 2015 and 16, Marc hadn’t learnt how to throw up his walls quickly enough and his eyes betrayed him, if you knew what to look for. Over time he got better, or maybe he just stopped caring and became numb to it all.  He did this, he hurt Marc in unspeakable ways. He thinks that if he were Marc, he would never forgive himself.

For a split second, he pauses and wonders why he is doing this to himself, putting himself through all this pain. But then he considers the pain he caused for Marc, how his face had crumbled at the press conference of Friday, and the awful truth of the past which stares him down. Marc deserves better, and Valentino wants to give him that. He imagines his face after winning, looking so alive, his beautiful smile which lights up a room, and his ability to overcome anything. So, Valentino mentally prepares himself, turns on the documentary and wades his way through the rest of the programme, for Marc. Occasionally, he must tear his eyes away when it becomes too much, and Marc’s pain becomes too apparent. He feels sick at the end of it, sick and wrung out. So weighed down by his guilt that he doesn’t think he will ever stand up again.

Valentino’s curious though, wondering quite how bad it all was medically, how much he fucked up. He opens his phone, searching for every article he can find about Marc’s extensive injuries and hospital records. It is like one of those sick fascinations where he doesn’t want to keep reading, to torture himself, but he cannot help it, he wants to know more. He reads it all until it’s tattooed on his brain. The surgeries, the failed attempts at recovery, mainly due to Marc’s frankly stupid plan to get onto a bike again so soon. The man has always had a death wish, unafraid of falling, throwing himself into the deep end. Fall or win – die or live. Marc ran on a scale of dichotomy. He looks at the scars marring Marc’s skin, how they transform him into something unbearably more attractive, determination written on his skin. The medical records are difficult to digest. Of course, he has already seen them, but this time he imagines, feels, and believes it (he still feels guilty about that too). He is shocked that the descriptions are so… vivid. He puts himself in Marc’s shoes, well as much as he can, and considers how he would feel if suddenly everyone knew his secrets, an intimately private part of his life. Evidently, the whole arm situation isn’t new, but Valentino doesn’t think that anyone knew Marc experienced chronic pain – every day. He must admit, riding through that is incredibly impressive, but also terrifying. He can’t believe that Marc hides it so well, the fact that he is constantly in agony is chilling.

Valentino reads on. He didn’t know about the medication, but why would he? The word addiction haunts him. He doesn’t think too much about the suicide, he just reads. If he does it will break him. He might already be broken. At some point, he switches from putting himself in Marc’s shoes to imagining if he was there. What if he had been the one to find Marc and not Alex? If he and Marc were still friends, would Marc fall asleep on him as he does with Dovi? Would he trust Marc to give him the right dose of painkillers when he needs them? The more he thinks about it, he realises that he wants to be the person Marc turns to when his arm aches; the one to massage it and look after Marc when he’s on the strong shit that they give you for this kind of pain. The domesticity of the fantasy shocks him, it was never like this before. He wishes he could turn back time, to be that person, but instead, he is sitting alone in his empty house, reading about the man he used to adore because he has been too busy lamenting in hatred to care.

Valentino gives up on functioning afterwards, devastated by the loss of the life and love he could have had if he had opened his eyes. He cries until he can’t produce another tear. He gets drunk on an expensive bottle of wine and wrecks his kitchen in a fit of anger. He flits between despair, rage, and depression. He sobs into his hands, before he throws his glass against the wall, spilling red wine everywhere, staining the floor. It’ll be a bitch to clean. He doesn’t care, not when he’s staring into the face of a reality where he almost lost Marc. His Marc, who overdosed twice because of Valentino's stupid actions and his belief that it was a God-given right for him to win a tenth title. He doesn’t think Marc was wholly right, even now, for what he did back then, for how he raced. But he never needed to react the way he did, to cause a stir and turn everyone against him. He let them break into Marc’s home, threatening him and his family. At the time, he had thought it was funny, now he recognises the concealed fear and anger in Marc’s eyes. Upset. Not for himself, but for his family, especially his little brother. He imagines if it was him in Marc’s position. If it was Luca. His stomach sinks. Suddenly he is filled with an overwhelming sense of self-hatred. The most painful part is his own failings- that he wasn’t there for Marc when he needed it most, that he caused it. If it wasn’t for his own stubborn misconceptions or his overinflated ego, this might have all been prevented. Guilt eats him alive. He is a horrible person, he hates himself. He does not deserve Marc.

The dreams start that night. He begins to have nightmares, screaming himself awake at 2 am as he once again watches Marc hit the gravel and fall still, lying motionless on the ground. Lifeless, like he had thought for a heart-stopping moment on Saturday. He sits bolt upright, drenched in sweat and panting like a dog. He has to make himself tea to calm down. After, he sits in bed, with the light on, staring at the wall for an undetermined amount of time. By the time he settles, it’s 4 am and the first cracks of dawn are rising – he doesn’t sleep again.

The next night is the same, this time an endless montage of Marc screaming in pain after Jerez, of him high siding so severely that he gets double vision again, or shatters both arms, an ambulance taking him away on a stretcher as he shouts himself hoarse. It shifts into something different, darker. It starts okay, a normal race weekend, except Valentino is on the bike again and he kicks out at Marc, who goes flying. He doesn’t move again after that, dead or paralysed or some other awful fate. He shouts himself awake in the middle of the night once more. There is a soft, wet nose pushing against his leg – one of the dogs. He must have woken them. He shifts, moving to the side of the bed and letting his toes dig into the soft rug, trying to ground himself. He stands quietly and pads down into the kitchen. He has only slept a few hours, but the thought of going back to bed makes him feel sick. He makes a coffee and goes outside. He walks until the sun is rising and his feet hurt. He is aware he must look crazy, in sleep clothes and hair mused. He is glad no one else can see.

When he gets back, he looks in the cupboard for food but then he imagines Marc, still as a statue, and promptly loses his appetite. He doesn’t know what he does that day, time is thick and sticky, moving slowly as he simply exists. He dreams again at night, Valentino is stuck in the garage, unable to move or help as Marc slips from his bike, high sides, and crashes. Again, and again. Misano, Jerez, Silverstone, Sepang, Malaysia.  It turns fuzzy after the 30th crash, the 30th time he watches Marc die. This time he is in an unfamiliar home, empty and quiet. He calls out but gets no answer, so he begins to wander. The house is huge, cavernous and bare – all stark whites and polished surfaces. It feels vaguely familiar, certain items on the sides that tickle his memory. He pushes a door open, there’s an unmade bed and a helmet on the side. It clicks - Marc’s house. Valentino wants to run, but he also wants to stay. Curiosity gets the best of him. Marc’s room is the only part of the house which looks like him, it is strange to have such exuberance and such a boring house. He pushes open the adjoining door, opposite the bed, it leads to an ensuite – he sees the gigantic shower head. Then he sees the body. It’s Marc’s body with blood pooled around him and soaking his clothes, the source unidentifiable. There is an empty box of pills and a half-full vodka bottle next to him. Valentino dry heaves. He bends down, touching Marc’s face, searching for a pulse. Valentino screams.

He's crying when he opens his eyes, tears that roll down his cheek and turn into big, gasping sobs. He can barely breathe and he’s shaking. Getting his legs steady enough to walk into his ensuite takes nearly half an hour. He looks at the shower and automatically scans the floor. Almost immediately he is bent over the toilet, throwing up the minimal food he has eaten recently. He doesn’t look at the floor again, he is smart enough not to make the same mistake twice. When he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t recognise himself. There are dark purple bags under his eyes and his cheeks look gaunt. His face looks puffy and red from crying. He washes his face and cleans his teeth without meeting his gaze. It's like déjà vu, silently tiptoeing down his hallway to the kitchen before the sun has risen for the third time in as many days. They have blurred together into a montage of his own imagination. Between daytime and nighttime, he is plagued by horrible thoughts. He imagines Marc not recovering after Jerez or 2015, a life without Marc, and MotoGP without Marc. He doesn’t sleep again.

It’s Pecco who finds him, maybe 4 days later, barely functioning and no longer sleeping at all. He doesn’t know what day it is, and his only indicator of time is the sun in the sky. His house is a mess, and he doesn’t remember the last time he ate, let alone cooked. There is still glass on the floor from when he smashed it. Pecco looks at him with barely disguised panic which melts into sympathy when Vale feels tears burn in his eyes. Valentino guesses there's something rather off-putting about seeing your mentor in such a state. He watches in a daze as Pecco begins to tidy before ordering Valentino to shower. He finds new clothes out of his dresser, wincing when he realises how disgusting he is. The shower is nice, he turns up the heat as high as it will go, almost scorching, trying to burn the feelings out of him. Once he’s out of the shower, feeling slightly more human, he wanders back into the living after. Luca is pushing through the front door simultaneously, his eyes wide as he takes in the messy house and Valentino’s appearance.

“Oh, Vale” he whispers, striding forward and pulling his big brother into a hug. Valentino lets go, sobbing into Luca’s shoulder and letting the younger man haul him to the sofa. He clutches onto his little brother’s hoodie, shoving his face into the crook between his shoulder and neck. He tries to quieten his crying, but still ends up gasping in between sobs, it is slightly mortifying. At some point, he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows a glass of water is being pushed into his hands and a bowl of soup placed on the table. The washing machine is humming in the background, the curtains have been opened, letting in midmorning light, and the room is much tidier. Luce is standing over him, with Pecco loitering over his shoulder.

“When did you last eat?” Pecco asks, his trepidation apparent.

“Um, I’m not sure”, Valentino answers under his breath, embarrassed.

Luca sighs but does not reply, pushing the bowl towards Vale and staring at him expectantly until he begins eating. He hums appreciatively. It’s good, probably home cooked, and he is a little hungry. He knows once he’s finished, they’ll try to talk to him, he’s endlessly grateful to them for helping but it’s humiliating; he’s 46, and he should have his life under control. Pecco and Luca continue to tidy the house and feed him as if he is in his twenties and not them – he did not think he would ever sink so low. Once they are done, and Valentino has finished eating, they come back into the room, sitting on the opposite sofa and observing Vale in silence. He clears his throat awkwardly; it makes Luca sigh.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” He starts, “you are going have to talk to him at some point, rather than wallowing in self-pity”.

Valentino stares at the floor, gulping a deep breath before he speaks.

“Did you know? About Marc, the surgeries, chronic pain, the suicide.” He asks; it is unclear whether he is directing the question at Luca or Pecco.

Pecco shakes his head, trying to catch Valentino’s eyes to convey his earnestness.

“No, not the suicide, or the painkillers – I don’t think anyone had any idea, apart from Alex. Dovi said he didn’t know either.” Pecco whispers. At the mention of Dovi, Vale whips his head towards Pecco.

“You spoke to Dovi?” Valentino questions, he knows his voice is doing something funny, the now familiar feeling of jealousy stirring within. Luca groans.

 “On Sunday, after the race. I knew about the pain, Marc never quite rode the same since Jerez, I asked him about it ages ago but knew that he was lying – I pieced together the rest myself.” Pecco reveals. “He hides it well, I am not sure how he does it, considering everything that we now know”

Luca interrupts him, “Vale, what happened?”

Valentino sighs, telling them about the past few days – researching Marc, freaking out, the nightmares. By the time he is done, they have established that it is Saturday, 3pm. Luca suggests that he should contact Marc, get some closure to it all or try again, but Valentino immediately vetoes the idea, countering that now is not the right time. Luca rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath about it never being the right time and then he changes tact. He suggests that the boys should come over, they could stay a few nights, maybe practice. Even though Valentino knows it is to keep an eye on him (because he's incapable of being an adult), he doesn’t protest. Some company sounds nice right now, he doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts at the moment, and maybe it could also distract him from Marc.

(Wishful thinking)

[mysteria157]

Chapter 8

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~6.8k

CW: Profanity, mentions of mental health (anxiety), pregnancy complications

Summary: You deal with the fallout. An unexpected visitor puts your life in jeopardy. Nanami tries to pick up the pieces.

Notes: Hi! I have a habit of writing long chapters. That’s just what works for me and helps my pacing for this story. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

He was livid, body seething with rage as he paced back and forth in his office.

It made sense to reduce workforce and implement layoffs, that much he had known. He also knew you were someone who would take that in stride. It was just business, this happened to corporations all the time.

He never thought you of all people would be part of those layoffs. For what reason? You were marvelous at your job.

Something had happened. The hurt in your eyes was more than enough to show that.

He had an inkling of who it could have been.

Jin Itadori would never. He was truly his son’s father, capable of running a cut-throat business but never harboring a malicious bone in his body. So it had to have been someone else on the board of higherups.

Maybe it was Gakuganji. An old man that always hung in the background during board meetings, face leathery and eyes low and set in stone as he barely communicated but executed the harshest decisions through others. Gojo despised him. Nanami always held a high regard for rules and authority but the board were filled with people that made his skin crawl.

Especially Gakuganji. It could have been him.

Or Mahito. He was new and far too young for the amount of power he had but capable of devious things that would upset you.

The thought of what could have happened, if Mahito was in the room, made his stomach churn.

You weren’t answering his calls or texts as the first hour of you walking out of his office had neared his mark.

He was familiar with your anger, knew the way your eyebrows pinched together in frustration like the back of his hand. It had only taken him that first week when he met you, but he could detect the slight agitation in your voice when it clipped the edges of your sentences. From every glare you had sent his way, every snide remark, every smirk of dominance when you had caught him on his toes, he knew you.

But the look on your face as you tried to yank his door open, eyes filled with tears, voice tight and heavy with disappointment, he felt something he was still trying to put together.

A strange sense of protection, to find whoever was responsible for making you less jovial, less determined, less willing to laugh into the air like he was used to.

Gojo had waltzed into his office only minutes after you stormed out, determined to spend the rest of his day teasing Nanami before he saw the look on his friend’s face. Nanami, while normally not a very outspoken man, had told Gojo the entire conversation, barely containing the rage in his voice.

Gojo had placated him briefly, before disappearing to find Omelia because he knew the minute she got wind of what happened, she would burn the place to the ground with everyone inside.

Still no response from you, his latest message simply left on read. It made him growl softly under his breath as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

He was trying.

Nanami was rarely wrong, especially when it came to his work and the character of others. But he was wrong about you to a degree that made him nervous to be around you. And a little ashamed. He had belittled you to the point of despair, highlighting your weakness of wanting to prove yourself to others. If it were anyone else, they would have regarded Nanami as a stiff rod that was unwilling to bend and would simply keep their distance, never thinking more about his disagreeing nature and simply moving on to something else that didn’t involve him.

To others, his behavior may have even been a small lesson to not pry where things were doing just fine. To not rock the boat if the waters were already steady.

But not you.

He could tell there was something deeper when it came to you.

You worked hard to make yourself be seen and despite what he may have told you, your work was exemplary. And yet the very company you gave your all for had walked over you and kept you stagnant.

It was your courage, your intelligence, your ability to never stop until others saw reason, always pushing, always challenging. It was maddening to him, but he couldn’t imagine anyone else pushing back against the system and showing people like Yuji to never fall into step with others if there was no need to.

His reasoning for keeping you away had begun to crumble the minute he met you, slipping through the cracks of the wall he had pushed out to others who walked into his office with the same mentality time and time again and always having an ulterior motive.

The moment you snapped at him in his office during the summit, asserting your dominance and sneering at him, he knew that you would be in his mind forever. Pestering, pushing, worming your way into every decision he usually made in the office even when you were 4 hours away in Sendai.

But he caused you all of this pain and for what? Because he was embarrassed, and he had let his kindness with others get the better of him? Allowed just one person to take advantage and steal the hard work of the pink-haired boy that looked up to him? He couldn’t bear to see Yuji so upset again, couldn’t bear to acknowledge the guilt of letting his guard down.

He knew you were different.

Nanami rarely entertained the thoughts of others but you oozed intelligence and beauty in a way that made the entire office incline their heads towards you, always wanting to listen. Back then, he had hated so much of the situation the universe had put him in. He hated how much you challenged him, hated the way the sound of your laugh made his skin prickle when Gojo told you a harmless joke, hated the way your unusual curls escaped the frame of your professional bun when you were walking down a hall. He hated how attracted he was to you. If it were anyone else, he could have thrown an offhand comment about staying in their place and be none the wiser.

But it had to be you. It had to be someone that pulled him in and reciprocated the intense lust he had failed to keep under control with his snide remarks. It had to be you that he fell into bed with. Of all the people he had slept with, double layered with birth control and a condom, youwere the one who got the rotten luck.

It had to be you.

And he had gone too far, said something to you that he didn’t mean and felt the sting of your hand on his face before letting him know sadly that he would be a father.

Haibara had talked some sense in him, made him feel small and pathetic, and he deserved every bit of it. If his mother knew any other details, she would pull him by his ear, drag him to your doorstep and then tear through him with words that would probably make him afraid to leave his own house.

So when he finally swallowed his pride and guilt, when he finally admitted to himself that he had overstepped, he vowed to make it right with you. Especially with a baby on the way.

You were worth it. In every way, were you worth it.

He just needed you to pick up the phone.

The commotion from outside his door made him pause, one voice hushed and the other seething.

“Ome, he’s in a meeting. Come on!” Gojo sounded desperate, his voice serious for once.

“Lie to me again Gojo and I’ll really choke you out. Get out of my way you blue eyed albino fucker, I swear to god I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

She was livid. He should have known it was coming. And the minute his office door opened, and she twisted at Gojo’s hand to make him move, Nanami immediately prayed that someone above was listening.

Gojo whimpered, pulling away from her to grip his hand, his eyes pained even if they held a tinge of lust to them.

Why did he have to be such a freak?

Nanami opened his mouth to speak.

“Omelia, you don’t need to hurt him—”

She whipped her face from Gojo to glare at the source of words. Her silver eyes were shining, an odd contrast against her chocolate skin that made her seem almost alien.

“I’m sorry? I don’t recall saying you could speak.” Nanami tried to protest and her eyes flared again. “Shut. Up.” Her shoulders were moving deeply with her heavy breaths, her body radiating a protective anger that a mother would have for her child.

“I’m not going go into detail and try to placate you and ask ‘oh my what happened?’ or ‘I wonder who could have done this?’ Because none of that matters. Whether you were indirectly responsible or not, you still hold some fault. You disregarded her ideas at every opportunity and in every meeting. Did you honestly not think the higherups wouldn’t be paying attention??”

“I didn’t—”

“I said shut up!”

Her raspy voice cracked on the edges, the timbre making even Gojo widen his eyes slightly in shock.

“Y/n has worked so fucking hard. She’s spent years at this company doing what she could to make things better and she’s fucking good at it. She’s spent her entire life being told that she holds no value unless she’s the best at what she does. But she adored you, thought that if anyone could see just how hard she was working…if anyone could give her the experience she needed to make something of herself, it would be you. To her, you were the best at what you did. Asked the best questions, fostered the most intense conversations, compiled the most detailed reports. She always had a little crush on you. Clearly, I don’t see it, but go off I guess.”

She pulled in a large breath, her anger slowly receding, giving way to exhaustion.

“Gojo told me why you act the way you do. He told me about what happened to Yuji and I understand your response, truly I do. But y/n was different, and even you can’t deny that.”

Nanami swallowed, a large bulge of bile sliding back down his throat and sitting uncomfortably in his belly.

“She may not directly blame you, but she might realize that even your actions put her on the radar of the higherups. And they used her skills one last time, took what they needed, and then tossed her away. That’s going to hurt her, and she’s going to blame you and everyone for a very long time. That last time you hurt her; I gave you a chance because I knew it was the right thing to do. But not this time.”

She pointed a finger in his direction, her relaxed gaze beginning to boil over with rage again, silver eyes gleaming.

“Do you want to be in her life?”

“I do.” He answered it before she could even finish, his tone resolute and without question. She studied him sternly, picking at his skin with her gaze, tearing through the cracks and staring right into the guts. “Please understand that I do.”

“I don’t need to understand shit. She does. She has one parent in her life and that person could hardly be called a mother. I don’t want her child to only have one parent as well. That’s the only reason I’m talking to you. I’m not interfering anymore. You’re going to work for it Nanami. In every sense of the word. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care who you need to call, what you have to do or say. Grovel if you have to. Get down on your hands and knees and show her that you’re worth it. Fix. This. Now.”

Even Gojo swallowed loudly, his tall body glued in the crevices of his chair. Nanami hadn’t given away any other expression, but internally his blood was ice cold. Omelia was a force to be reckoned with.

“I will. I promise, I will.”

Omelia lowered her finger, her face still angry but her eyes seeming to accept his response.

“And if you ever. Ever. Hurt her again, there won’t be a place you’ll be able to hide. It wont take me long to find you. I’ll do whatever I can to protect her and I’ll make sure that you will have wished you never spoken to her in the first place.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his shoulders stiff, stomach coiling in unease and a slight twinge of fear through the overwhelming mass of respect that he held for the woman in front of him. You seemed to only attract people around you who radiated confidence, intelligence, and protection without even knowing it. A kind and hard working person surrounded by equally hard working people who saw your worth and personality and would do anything to keep it from being damaged.

His actions only made him feel more and more like a fool.

Omelia didn’t offer anything else, choosing instead to smooth down her grey dress before turning around and walking briskly from the room, the office door shutting closed behind her.

Everything was quiet for a few moments, Nanami still rooted to the floor, head throbbing in guilt and despair.

Gojo was still in his chair, hands on the armrests and clutching the wood before he sighed (forlornly?) and sagged into the seat.

“God she’s fucking amazing isn’t she Nanamin?”

“Get out.”

It took two weeks and hitting your 14th week to finally grow tired of Ome’s hovering. She was the best of course, in every sense of the word. But she was constantly doting; making sure you were eating, going on walks to get you out of the house, staying late with you so you wouldn’t feel so alone.

But after a while, you needed some peace and going to Yoyogi to be with Rory who was quiet and unimposing was the best choice.

It wasn’t as if you were unhappy with the attention. If anything, it made you feel warm to see messages from everyone.

Satoru Gojo: Is Ome there? Show her this meme and describe her face in detail as she reads it. Oh and yes, hello. I miss you, how is my godchild?

1 New Voicemail: Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori: Y/n! I left you a voicemail to tell you all about my day so you can rest! I miss you! Nanamin is more quiet than usual but he swears I don’t notice.

Geto Suguru: Hope you’re doing well. I mailed you some goodies that I hope you’ll like :)

Ieiri Shoko: Hi sweetie! I miss you! Nanami wont stop moping, would you like me to key his car? I need something to do.

Kento Nanami: My messages are going through so I know you have yet to block me. Please call me. 

Kento Nanami: At least make sure you’re eating enough protein. And monitor your calcium, its low in the second trimester. 

“It may be best if you just answer him, honey.”

It was the second time Rory had muttered the sentence in your ear that afternoon as he hovered over you in the studio.

“My hands are a little busy actually.”

And they were, helping a child smooth the edges of clay on her small pottery wheel. It wasn’t as fast as a more ideal piece of equipment. But it was still a wheel built for children and beginners. The girl held her wet hands beneath yours, using them as a guide to fashion what should have been a cup but may just be a bowl at this point. She had to have been no older than three, maybe even four, but her personality made her years older. Dark brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail, hazel eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, and never ending with questions.

Being in Rory’s studio took your mind off things, made you feel just a little more important to someone. You had offered to help him with a few classes just to keep your mind busy.

And if that was in the eyes of children in their beginners throwing class then you would take it. Being able to watch them use their imagination gave you a pry into their minds just a little, made you feel like you could see your own child doing the same.

“You never let me do it on my own!” She protested softly even though her eyes were focused on the clay in front of her, eyebrows pinched.

“You smushed the last one when I left you alone, Aiko. If you want this to be a cup then you should let me help you.”

She grumbled beneath her breath, a small but serious noise that made you chuckle against her back.

“At least let me control one side.”

You conceded quietly, removing one of your hands from hers and watching with a small amount of joy as she smiled.

Your phone buzzed again, pushing a grimace on your face.

“You should answer that.” Her voice was matter of fact, face still focused on your work. “Is it your boyfriend?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You guys fighting? When Mommy is mad at Daddy, he gets really sad. Uncle Ken always teases him about it.” You hummed against her, content to let her ramble as you brought a wooden rib to the side of her cup (bowl?). “Daddy always teases Uncle Ken though, he’s got a crush on someone. Wont tell me who it is but I guess she’s pretty. Uncle Ken is always talking about her, its pretty funny—”

“Aiko, please let Miss l/n rest.” The familiar voice of Yu Haibara echoed over your shoulder before he walked to sit in an empty chair across from you both. He was a familiar face the past week of bringing his daughter to lessons. He smiled up at you softly, bright eyes slightly weary from a long day of work. “I apologize. She loves her Uncle Ken far more than me. Though I cant blame her.”

“That’s not true, Daddy. I love you both. But Uncle Ken tells the best jokes.”

She pulled her hands away, letting you run a wet sponge along the sides to remoisten before moving her hands back. Your phone buzzed again and Aiko chuckled.

“Nanami usually isn’t persistent in anyone unless they are important to him.”

Your gaze darted up to his, eyes wide and surprised. He only reflected a small sense of mirth, eyes happy if a little concerned. Even though he was playing along, his gaze held a firm sense of seriousness that even his daughter couldn’t detect. You offered him a small smile to placate him before looking back down at your current task.

“You know him?”

“I do. Little over 15 years. He tells me everything, if you can believe that.”

You couldn’t.

“And I suppose you’re here to defend his honor?” You guided Aiko’s hand along the curve of the clay, smiling at her amazement as it gave under the pressure.

“Not really. He knows what he needs to do. He deserves your wrath more than anything.”

You took a slow breath, the anxiety spiking in your body, smoothing along your veins and once again wreaking havoc on your life. You were mad at everyone. Nanami, Jin, the entire company you poured your life to, your fucking self. And it was doing nothing but making you worry more, sweat randomly with the thought of ‘what do I do now?’ You felt worthless, so absolutely worthless and you knew deep down it was your upbringing.

But it didn’t make the thoughts and emotions go away.

It only made everything too intense, too stressful, too fucking loud.

You own mother had yet to know about your recent change in employment and once she found out it would probably be the only conversation you both had with each other in a while.

“Miss l/n, your hands are shaking!”

Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back down to your hands that were trembling minutely and cradling Aiko’s. You steadied them, offering a small smile behind her that she couldn’t see.

“He won’t tell me what’s going on, but Gojo has been heavily involved and I barely see him willingly help anyone. Nanami hardly respects him so this speaks volumes. Whatever happened…I hope you forgive him. He asked me to join him for a run this morning and I almost smacked him. He knows that I hate running so I imagine the delirium has set in.”

That pulled a chuckle from you, earning an equally charming smile from Yu as well. He was a kind man, truly incapable of any evil. And to have a child like Aiko, definitely spoke to his character.

“How have you two been friends for this long?” You came to a stop with Aiko’s creation, using a wire to cut along the bottom and slide the cup onto a slab for drying. Aiko hopped up to wash her hands, disappearing from you both.

Yu smiled, watching you idly clean.

“It’s always been hard to explain. But I think we just pushed each other growing up and once his little wall of seriousness fell around me, I saw him for who he really was. And he’s a really good man that not a lot of people deserve. A man that took his own personal ideals too far and hurt you in the process. I’m no person who will rush anyone. But…I think he’d like to talk to you if you let him. Plus I want to see him grovel, it will make great memories.”

Aiko rushed back just in time, prompting her father to pull her into his lap before he kissed her cheek.

In the back of your mind you knew Yu was right and you were talking with Rory about it on the drive home until you fell silent completely, a familiar and unwelcome car parked in your uncle’s driveway.

She never came to visit. Not even for holidays or even her brother’s birthday.

But your mother’s silver Sedan was unmistakable through the car window, her own stiff form leaning against it.

“Do you want to stay in the car?” Rory’s voice was calm even though your heart was soaring in your chest, reawakening anxiety you had been battling since you’d been laid off. You shook your head, choosing to step out with him, the cold air hitting your cheeks as your mother’s icy stare hit you both.

“What are you doing here, Naveah?”

You mother scoffed, short dark curls bouncing in the air as she glared at her brother.

“I’ve come to take my daughter home. Clearly I care more about her wellbeing than you.”

You felt you heart roll in your chest, a sense of unease brushing under your skin, an odd tightening in your lower abdomen.

“Mom, I’m fine here—”

“I heard you were fired. And I won’t let my only child be unemployed and endanger her future and embarrass herself any longer.”

The pain from her words were sharp, biting and cutting at your stomach and pulling an odd lurch of pain that made you startle slightly. Her gaze was cold, distant as always, her words only thinking of herself and coated in a thin layer of false care.

“Mom. That’s enough. I’m a grown woman, I have a baby on the way and I can make my own decisions.”

“Clearly not since you’ve managed to waste years of hard work with nothing more than a lousy severance pay and a baby from a coworker you hardly know.”

The sharp pain returned again, harder and forcing you to cradle your stomach, right beneath the small bump of what was 14 weeks of growing life. You shook out a shaky breath, Rory and your mother’s arguing falling into the background. The anxiety was incessant now, squeezing at your throat. You swallowed harshly and glared at her.

“Mom that’s enough. You need to leave. I’ll make my own decisions. Live the life I want. Do what I want to do.” You shook out another uneasy breath, Rory’s eyes filling with alarm as he studied you. “Please go.”

“And do what? Sit back and watch as the only one in this family who has shown promise will resign herself to playing with mud and paint?!” Another stab, sharp again coupled with an odd pulling sensation along what felt like your uterus making itself known even more. Your heart was racing in your chest, pumping stress and anxiety throughout your body, your neck breaking into a sweat. “Years of disappointment! For once, do something you’re good at and make it worth—”

“Stop it!” The yell was harsh and cruel as it shouted from your throat. Both of your hands cradling the small bump of your baby. Barely enough to raise skin, but enough for you to notice. “You need to—” You doubled over, wincing harshly and pulling into yourself as another sharp stab hit your stomach. Rory was by you in an instant, holding you close and asking questions you couldn’t hear through the pounding in your ears. You opened your mouth to speak again before shaking out a cry instead, the pavement touching your knees as you slouched to the ground.

“I’m right here with her Ome. Yes, she’s awake, breathing, everything I promise. By the time you get here by train she will be discharged so please stay in Sendai. I’ll keep you updated.”

The stale lights of your hospital room only made you feel like a fish out of water.

As soon as Rory cussed out his sister and threatened to call the cops so she could leave, you both made it to the hospital and he guided you inside where you were whisked away to be poked and prodded. People staring too hard at your skin, pulling at your hair as if it were an accident, disregarding your pain level because you looked different and therefore felt pain differently.

You were barely holding on, wanting so bad to go home and cry into your pillows. Rory was doing his best, practically tearing down the door from the waiting room to get back to you and not leaving your side ever since.

But there was something missing that you couldn’t quite place, and not knowing what that was only made you more uneasy.

You had denied painkillers, their treatment of you had completely evaporated your trust and made you overprotective of the baby. But the more the stress rose in you, the more you doubled over in pain, scared and edgy and desperately seeking for someone to just hold you. Rory had done it all night but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t what you wanted.

“Let me through or I’ll tear this waiting room apart.”

Just the sound of his voice had your heart fluttering to a degree you hadn’t felt in a while. All sense of commotion seemed to stop as you watched him rush into the room. His hair was down again, ungelled and loose around his eyes that were slightly heavy and dark from lack of sleep. The grey hoodie and sweatpants were hastily thrown on, just like the last time he had rushed to you.

“Hi.”

The moment the word left your lips, heavy and cracking, he was by your side immediately, sinking into a chair and pulling it close to you.

“What’s happened?” His hands were hovering, desperately wanting to touch you but afraid of crossing another line. “Tell me. Please.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard to stop the tears from building in your eyes. You wanted so bad to be in control of things. But the constant pain, the fear of not knowing what was happening to your baby, the words from your mother, it was all getting too much and too fast.

“I’m cramping really bad. My mother—well I don’t know but it won’t stop.”

Nanami eyes filled with something you couldn’t place, flickering up to your uncle.

“Have they not given her something for the pain?”

You shook out a sigh, shaking your head and pulling his attention back to you. The stinging in your eyes boiled beneath your skin, your vision blurring against your will.

“I don’t want them to touch me.” He looked confused but didn’t respond. “They keep poking and prodding, telling me that my pain shouldn’t be this high. Pulling at my hair, staring. I cant—I don’t trust them. I’m not a fucking experiment.” You couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over, your last ounce of control slowly beginning to slip from your fingers.

“My baby isn’t an—”

“Hey.” His voice was soft but firm and unrelenting as he took one of your hands in his. They were so much larger than yours but so warm, so very warm and unyielding and grounding you in a moment where you felt like you were drowning. You could feel the slight tremor in his hands from the rage, his eyes filled with a malice that scared even you. He wanted to wreak havoc, find the people responsible and strangle them with his bare hands.

“I won’t let them touch you. I’ll go call Dr. Reynolds and we will go from there okay?” You nodded frantically, uncaring of the tears now as you tried to navigate through your emotions.

Rory interjected, smoothing your curls back before smiling down at you.

“I’ll call her. Stay here with her, Nanami.”

When your uncle was out of the room and the door was closed, the only other sounds were the clock on the wall and the occasional car passing outside the window. Nanami’s hands hadn’t left yours, both clasped around your one, a thumb stroking the outside of your palm. Nanami opened his mouth to speak, full lips hesitating.

“What triggered this?”

You shrugged, taking a small sniff as the tears continued to fall. “I don’t know. My mom just…showed up at my uncle’s house and she—she said from really hurtful things and I think it was the stress. Between her…and being fired…the disappointment in myself…I don’t know. I’m not surprised this is happening to me.”

He squeezed your hand, his eyes flashing with frustration.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop saying things that do not make sense? I don’t know who your mother is as a person, but she’s made you feel like someone that is not worth anything when that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s going to take a long time for you to want to let me in. I also have no right to ask this of you but I’m begging, please let me be involved more. I can’t bear to have something like this happen again and I’m not there to help you.”

You sniffed pitifully, wiping away your messy face with your free hand before resting your cheek against your pillow, all anxiety leaving as he looked at you with a leveled gaze.

“You’re more levelheaded than Ome in this situation. The smallest hint of discrimination makes her foam at the mouth. I’m sure they would shoot her with a horse tranquillizer.”

He shook out a small puff of air, a small smile curling his lips fractionally at the joke. He hated being so helpless in this situation, hated seeing the tears on your face from fear and pain. He hated the fact that he wasn’t here to snap the necks of whoever stared too hard at you, pulled at your hair in disbelief of the natural curls, intentionally misread your pain scale from some asinine and prehistoric belief that what you felt was vastly different from others. It made him sick to his stomach. But he was here now, content to keep your hand in his and soothe you in whatever way he could. For as long as you would let him.

When Rory returned, it was with a doctor you didn’t recognize, but she held an air to her that made you feel a little better. She had worked extensively with Dr. Reynolds who had forwarded her your chart and was prepared to do whatever she could to make you at ease. You relaxed instantly, sagging into Nanami’s embrace as she administered medicine fit for your pregnancy and doing basic vitals.

“The pain is your body growing to get accustomed to the baby. You uterus is moving and the ligaments surrounding are stretching to accommodate the new addition. It’s uncomfortable, but the cramps are also exacerbated by stress. Too much of it can lead to your placenta detaching and that’s something we have to avoid.”

Nanami was silent at your side, but his presence was rock solid against you, tethering you to him to remain calm.

“I honestly recommend you rest for the next few weeks. No working, no traveling, maybe small walks here and there but I think until the slight discomfort subsides, we want to make sure you are relaxed as much as possible. However, I think tonight you need someone really watching you. I feel like you won’t listen.”

“She won’t,” Rory interjected in agreement, prompting you to glare at him. He rolled his eyes before smiling. “I need to deal with your mother tonight so—”

“I can watch her.”

The shock in your face was hard to ignore but Nanami simply looked down at you with his indifferent stare, eyes firm and leaving no room for argument.

You knew a man like Nanami had taste, but you never expected his apartment to be so nice. A penthouse suite in Nakameguro, enough bedrooms to never have to worry about space, open floor plans with stainless steel appliances, dark wood floors, and walls decorated with art and photography. Every corner held something that made it all feel cozier. His living room had the longest sofa you had ever seen decorated with neutral floor pillows and a rather large throw blanket that was calling your name. His television was large, the center glass table sleek and sharp and perched atop some faux rug that you would tease him about another time. But the most distinct characteristic of his house were the books. Along the wall of his living room was a large bookshelf that was spilling with them.

Another corner held a small bar, a decanter filled with whiskey, crystal glasses clean and upside down to avoid dust, a few shelves of expensive liquor underneath. A small table next to the bar held a well used record player, a small bookshelf next to it housing different vinyl that you would tell yourself to look at later.

You wandered to his bookshelf, running your fingers through different works that even you were shocked to see. Every genre from crime to romance to science fiction. The pages were well worn, bent at the corners and slightly used.

Your gaze slid over to his television, long and polished, a flash of DVDs peeking from underneath it in the entertainment center. They all were basic movies, something most people watch all the time, but you never would have expected Nanami of all people to have a physical copy.

Your eyes widened as they fell on a few collections.

“Jersey Shore?” You didn’t bother to hold back the incredulous tone, turning to look at him as he poured you a glass of water from his large kitchen. The room was dark but the light from his open fridge cast an odd shadow that highlighted his sharp cheekbones.

“You watched Jersey Shore??”

“I watch Jersey Shore.”

The forwardness to acknowledge such a trivial piece of information had your mouth open and gaping. He lifted an amused eyebrow at you as he walked across the room, set the glass of water on the center table and then placed his warm hands on your upper shoulders before guiding you slowly down to the couch, handling you with care as if you were glass. You rolled your eyes but didn’t tell him to stop.

“You like reality tv?”

He slid off your shoes, silently pulling your legs onto the couch and then reaching over to hand you the glass of water.

“I do. Why do you look shocked?”

“You know why I look shocked.”

You chuckled around the rim of the clear glass cup, sipping silently and letting the cold water sliding down your throat soothe your nerves. The nerves of being in such an odd situation with him; high up in Nakameguro with the father of your child in his very expensive and large apartment.

“I’m sure Jersey Shore was too much for you. There’s much better reality tv.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge, blonde locks falling in front of his eyes and shooting you a gaze that made your skin tingle. “The Real Housewives?”

“Seen them.”

“Even Salt Lake City?”

“Definitely Salt Lake City.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from your throat, watching him with a small smile as he brought the throw blanket to you, smoothing it over your legs and casting them in soft warmth.

“What about the Kardashians?”

He hummed, narrowing his eyes to himself as he thought it over.

“Seen that as well. Even the two seasons from their new show.”

“There’s three seasons.” That seemed to catch him off guard, his brown eyes filling with curiosity as he turned his gaze to you. “You wanna watch?”

He reclined against the sofa, letting his head fall back before it lulled over to look at you. His gaze was sharp, intense eyes prying deep inside and seeing something that seemed to make him smile just a little. Such a small action, but enough to make you boil over in emotion.

“Would you like popcorn?”

You watched him silently as he worked in the kitchen, pulling out a box of already opened butter popcorn and then popping it in his microwave. He moved around with an elegance that you saw all the time at the office, eyes sharp and unrelenting and free of his glasses, hands large and fluid as he set the timer and fished for a large bowl. It felt odd, feeling the sense of normalcy wash over you as you observed across the room, suddenly imagining a little girl perched on his marble countertop, dark curls frizzy as he made her a late night snack.

It made your heart pound suddenly, lurching you out of your thoughts and choosing instead to smile at him as he sat back down next to you. He seemed to catch something in your gaze as he placed a warm hand on your blanket covered leg, rubbing softly.

“Are you okay? Comfortable?”

You could only nod in reply, blinking away the wetness in your eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, pausing only for a second.

“I know that you’re upset with what happened. You have every reason to be. But I want you to know that I’m going to fix this. I’ve done enough for the sake of my own pride and I don’t want to hurt you again. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t show you and our child that you can trust me. I don’t like that you hate me.”

You pursed your lips, running your fingers along the edge of the metal bowl filled with popcorn as you fought back yet another bought of tears. Everything felt too real all of a sudden and even though you wanted to be vulnerable, to maybe let him into your life to show him how things affected you, you were just too tired tonight.

But you could give him a small concession.

“I was mad at you. At everyone really. I don’t feel like talking about it tonight. But I…I don’t hate you Nanami.” That seemed to hold something for him as he relaxed into the sofa, resting his cheek against the cushions as he gazed at you. He would make it up to you. He would do whatever he could to prove you that he was someone worth keeping.

“Besides, I’m so curious to see who your favorite Kardashian is.”

The distraction pulled a small chuckle from him, rare and deep that made his chest shake beneath his hoodie.

“Kourtney.”

“Somehow, that makes sense.”

He shook out another laugh, the sound rumbling through the late night air.