#he chose another person above me and decided i just wasn't worth the effort of being a good parent

[bixiaoshi]

[quirkdotcom]

Hey everyone !! I am super excited to post this as part of a collab with my fellow members of BNHA Sanctuary! The prompt was " _____ is concerned bc (y/n) isn't sleeping." I chose Izuku Midoriya as my character because he needs a little more love ! So I hope everyone enjoys! Don't forget to check out the other collab writers fics too !!

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Technically, Midoriya wasn't supposed to have anyone over in his dorm, even in college he had tried to follow that rule knowing that if he didn't, Iida would probably find out and scold him, but as he flipped over and looked just above your shoulder, his All Might themed alarm clock read out "4:12AM" with red numbers, and he gave a small sigh.

Tonight was one of the first nights that you had been able to sleep before 5am, but the reason was unknown. Midoriya had asked you plenty of times, each time you resulted in you shaking your head vigorously and eyes watering until he just hugged you tightly, saying that you would find another time to talk about it. 

Slowly, scooted closer to you, wrapping an arm around your side, pulling you closer to him.  

The movement, which Izuku had thought he was being slow with, actually woke you up. You blinked a few times before turning and nuzzling into his chest, quietly mumbling, "Are you awake Izu?"

"I'm definitely sleeping…are you awake (Y/n)?" 

You hummed, starting to wake up more now, "A little bit," Yet despite your words, you didn't make any effort to move, "What time is it?"

"4:14 in the morning," he responded, pulling back a little so he could look at you

Slowly you sat up, pulling yourself free from his grasp, suddenly wide awake. 

"Baby?" He sat up next, eyeing you slightly as growing concern seeped in. 

You looked back to him, offering up a smile, "Don't worry Izu, I'm still tired enough to sleep," 

He seemed to relax some, the tension slowly leaving his body, "I'm glad then, because I think it's too early to get up for the day, and that's coming from me of all people,"  he then proceeded to lay back down, hugging the comforter to his chest

You laughed lightly, then paused, letting out a heavy breath, "Hey Izuku, I owe you an explanation, I shouldn't make you worry all the time and have to have me over in your dorm like this," 

Again, he sat up, scooting closer to where you were sitting, "Whatever the reason is, I'd be happy to help you over and over again, okay?" 

You nodded, leaning against him, glad to have that reassurance of support. 

"Well...my quirk has some nasty side effects…" You paused, closing your eyes and allowing the shadow like mass begin to rise from your body. 

It was a lot like Tokoyami's dark shadow in the sense that it was almost another being but attached to you. It could take a multitude of shapes, and most items couldn't pass through it, rather instead would get stuck to it. 

Most of the time you used it to create a large beast of sorts, and it only grew stronger from the fear or unease of your opponents. 

However it's main and personal drawback was arguably the worst. 

"When I don't use my quirk enough, it turns on me in my dreams…well nightmares. The Mass as I call it, separates from me and chases me down. In the end it envelops me and...well I start to suffocate. So I've been staying up late to try and put off the dreams as long as I can," 

In the dark of the room, your quirk was even more unsettling. It looked to be wriggling around, crawling amongst the edges of the room. But the one area it wouldn't go near, was the spot where Midoriya sat. 

Instinctively he wrapped his arms around you, feeling your trembles.  He thought for some time about what you had said until finally, he knew what the root of this issue was. 

"(Y/n) my love, don't let it feed off you," 

You turned at his comment, looking up to him, his oddly calm demeanor throwing you off guard. Normally, most people tended to draw back from you and your quirk, but Midoriya never did.  

"You said that your quirk grows stronger when people are scared or uneasy, and I think that it applies to you as well. It's easily taken over the whole room by now. " 

As you looked to the room, watching as the Mass would slink around the room, at times catching a ray of moonlight, seemingly drowning the light in itself. 

The longer you looked, the more it started to grow, your heart raced, you couldn't find a spot for your eyes to stop, they just kept looking. No one spot in the room was safe from it's grasp. 

Before you could fall further into its depths, two arms circled around your waist, pulling you close, "(Y/n)...you're safe…" 

All at once, the mass receded, leaving the room as it was before. 

With that, you laid down, pulling Izuku with you. While you didn't fall asleep very fast, you still knew that you'd be able to come back tomorrow to try again. 

And you did. You continued to do so for about a week, every night repeating as it had been the first night of that week. 

You still got hardly any sleep, and were starting to fall behind in both your classes and your training. In fact, there would be times where he would catch you fighting the urge to doze off while just hanging out with friends. 

Midoriya found himself asking for the help of your best and closest friend.

"Hey, Tanako, can I ask you something?" 

The water vortex hero-in-training looked up, as she was currently focusing on a book, "First, Midoriya, you can call me by my first name by now, but what's up?" 

"Ah sorry Katsumi…" he gave a sheepish smile and took a seat across from the brunette, "You know how (Y/n) stays up all the time? I've been trying to help them but...nothing is working," 

Katsumi dog eared a corner to her book, closing it as she hummed, "Well, when we were younger, we used to sleep in forts, and had lights strung up so that it wasn't so dark," she met brown eyes to his green ones, "I'm not sure if it would work now...but I think it's worth a shot. " 

Izuku nodded, standing back up, "I'll need to get some lights then..and figure out a good setup for a fort, Thanks Katsumi ! Have fun reading!" 

He started to walk away but didn't get too far before your friend called back out to him.

"Oh and Midoriya, thank you. We've all gotten pretty worried for (Y/n)," 

He nodded, turning back and going over his plan in his head. 

His first stop would be the store, finding some fairy  lights to hang up. He also decided to buy a few extra blankets, and another pillow. 

With that being done, he headed back to the university dorms, making his way to his own and luckily for him, he had some time before you were supposed to come over. 

He started to move things around, pulling the bed over towards the window, and his desk to the other wall. From there, Izuku started to round up all his extra blankets, grabbing extra tacks to hold them up. 

What took up the most of his time was the fact that he couldn't settle on a good way to have the blankets and the overall shape of the fort, after all he only had so much room to work with. 

In fact, he was still working on putting up the blankets by the time you had let yourself into his dorm. 

"Uh..Izuku?"

Midoriya jumped lightly, and turned around to face you, a blush spreading across his face as he realized he had been caught, "Uh..surprise?" 

You took a moment to look around his dorm, noticing the changes in where your bed was, and where he was currently sitting, blankets in hand. 

"Are you...building a fort?" 

Despite all the evidence you had already seen, he quickly glanced around and hid the blanket behind his back, smiling embarrassedly, "I uh...I was..I mean yeah but…" 

But to his surprise, you barked out a laugh, letting your bag slide off your shoulders and to the floor as you made your way over to him, "That's cute ! Let me help!" 

And so, together you both figured out the best set up, easily hanging up the blankets and lights, then using the rest of the blankets to create a comfy space on the floor underneath the fort. Midoriya pulled out his laptop, playing your favorite movie and starting it as you grabbed a few snacks. 

Once fully settled in, he wrapped his arms around you, and let you rest your head against his body. 

In his arms was perhaps the safest spot for you to be. He was warm, comfortable and you knew that you wouldn't have any troubles as long as he held onto you. In fact, you could hardly keep your eyes open in the moment. 

Within the next ten minutes you fell fast asleep. Izuku flicked his eyes to the clock in the corner of his laptop, smiling as he read that it was only around 9:38pm. H3 let out a small and content sigh, holding you a little tighter and closed his own eyes, getting ready to sleep, letting the movie play out in the background.

"I love you, (Y/n)..." he murmured, though you couldn't hear him, he was sure that you knew...and you did. 

[herstarburststories]

Brutal (Dean Winchester x Reader)

✾ A/N: More Dean x reader content, but angst this time! Reposting because I had to edit a few things. Gif's credits on it.  Based on the song ‘from the dining table’.

✾ Summary: Unlike her boyfriend, Dean Winchester, the reader wasn’t raised as a hunter. At first, it seems like a hard but worth it job. Unfortunately, you didn't have in mind how brutal all of it could get.

✾ Words: 3k.

"YOU ARE NOT YOURSELF ANYMORE, DEAN!"

The discussion over a delicate subject at the dining table was blossoming into something bigger. (Y/N) was on her feet, shouting at her boyfriend with a shaking voice; a manner that was very uncommon. You were used to Dean being stubborn, and you were not behind him in this aspect which caused a few disagreements here and there. That certain argument, though, was definitive in every meaning of the word.

"I HAVE ALWAYS MADE IT FUCKING CLEAR WHAT THIS LIFE WAS, (Y/N)!" Dean snapped back, anger dripping from his words like venom. He was hurt. How could you say that he was becoming a cold-hearted person? You, of all people. "IF I DON'T KILL IT, IT KILLS ME! THIS ISN'T AN APPLE PIE LIFE, AND YOU KNEW IT WHEN YOU DECIDED TO STAY HERE!"

"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT VAMPIRES OR POLTERGEISTS OR WENDIGOS, DEAN! FUCK!" Your usual efficiency with words was starting to tangle with desperation. Dean didn't even see the problem, for God's shake. How could you keep this up? "I'M TALKING ABOUT THE PEOPLE! I SAW YOU KILL FIVE POSSESSED PEOPLE TODAY!"

"DEMONS!" He groaned and slapped the table. You jumped in surprise, making him regret getting out of control and coaxing a softer, calmer tone from his mouth. "I killed demons, not people."

"The demons were possessing them, and you killed them off without any regret. You didn't even take a minute to consider other options."

"What other options?" he questioned, obviously upset. What the hell were you doing? Becoming the devil's advocate all of sudden?

"Using the demon-killing knife to stab a non-vital part of their bodies? Maybe an exorcism?"

"None of those options would end the problem permanently. Do you have any idea how many sons of a bitch came back from hell to get Sam and me? It's them or us, (Y/N). And I will always choose us." Dean was aware that you weren't raised in this life like him and Sam, but this conversation was becoming frustrating and confusing. You were training to be like them. You went to hunts with them. You... You supported him. At least, you did last time he checked. "The human is long gone when they get possessed. Dying is the best thing that could happen to them after that."

You were supposed to be an easy case that turned out to be more complicated than previously expected, what meant both of them staying a little longer in the city, you catching feelings for Dean and vice-versa. After all you had seen, you knew that normal life was a long lost memory that you didn't wish to visit, leave alone live in. Hauntings, traveling across the country, having no banal responsibilities-- that seemed like the kind of dangerous fun you had been looking for your whole life. Then, you came with them. Killing things had never bothered you-- they weren't actually alive, for starts. Until you saw how cold Dean looked when he killed off possessed people-- the humans that were still in there somehow. And he kept doing it as if it were the only option. Of course, this job and violence walked side by side, but not unnecessary lethal choices. Dean certainly shared his portion of brutality, which wasn't tiny, but you would never picture your boyfriend as uncaring. Not until you watched five bodies piled up together, burning. What about the chance that those people should have gotten?

"Are you even listening to yourself, Dean? What if Sam had thought like that when you became a demon!?" Apprehensive, you tried to make him understand what was wrong.

Dean clenched his jaw before his answer came out, "Those are two different things, (Y/N). You know that."

"I..." You flinched, taking a deep breath and letting it out. You shut your eyes before opening them with a determinate glare, locking your gaze with his green one. "I can't. I said I would stand by you through anything, but I can't let this slide. Not like this."

"Because I killed a few demons?" The older Winchester grinned wryly. He was furious, scared by the possibility of you leaving him, and injured by your words. What else could a wounded animal do besides attacking? "I survived, (Y/N). I've killed many others, and I'm not fucking sorry for it. They had it coming. You knew that was my life, and you chose it. What are you going to do now? Play the coward? It's a dirty, fucked up job, but someone has to do it, and you knew that."

Offering a sad smile, you walked towards him and lifted your hand to claim his cheek only for him to pull away from you. Your heart ached, but you needed to do that. Stick to your morals and beliefs.

"I love you." And you did, you truly did. Unfortunately, blood was as normal as water in his mouth, and you couldn't help but remain nauseous after what you tasted. "But there is a better way. Maybe not perfect, but another decision. And if you can't see that, if you can't see why I find it wrong to just rush around with the knife in every situation--" Your voice almost broke. "Goodbye, Dean."

You turned around, passing away from the man you loved before another speech stopped you.

"I bet you regret leaving your home to run away with me now."

You didn't take two seconds to reply, and you desired that he could understand how hard it was for you too. "I would never regret you."

No ray of sunshine licked Dean's face to wake him up. Fortunately for the Winchesters' disorganized sleeping routine, the bunker prevented the sun from invading the window-- a perk of living almost under the land in a bunker.

Instead of a normal reason to emerge from his rest, Dean's eyes fluttered open from an annoying migraine. Perhaps he went a little too hard on the alcohol yesterday, but that was the last thing that mattered. Besides, even if it was an abnormal sensation, he wouldn't trade it for sake of 'drinking like a normal human being', as (Y/N) had teased him so many times before.

(Y/N).

It took two seconds after recovering consciousness to think about you.

“Where are you?” he said in a whisper, playing with himself to the silent walls. Dean laughed with his own brand of self-deprecation-- a learned cruelty to dilute the tug of his emotions before the eldest Winchester had to get up. He knew exactly where you resided and why you were there. He decided against feeding his masochism for once, not glancing at your side of the bed.

To face the light fixtures above him only made his current situation more depressing, just like the hints of paint that (Y/N) had once thrown there. Dean Winchester knew pain like no other; hell, purgatory, an emptied childhood, watching his mother seal a deal with a demon, living with the fact his father had gone to hell to save him, being right in front of Sammy when he died, all the bloody deaths he’d lived through again and again-- the list would go on. He could probably drown in an ocean of his deceased loved ones’ blood and swim there for hours until he reached its edge.

Most of the time, the life of a hunter was synonymous with tragedy.

Therefore, Dean was very experienced when it came to suffering. He even shared a last name with a rifle, for God’s sake. Destruction was stained in his bones. This time, it was a different kind of torment.

His heart had been broken before, sure. He wasn’t in his early twenties, neither was he a saint. Dean was aware that a break in relationships could be devastating.

But again, this time, it was different. (Y/N) had not only broke his heart. You ripped it out and threw it in the trash as you walked out the door without looking back. His trust was in your pockets, and the beliefs clinging to the divine sensation of your touch that left with you.

Dean Winchester was hopeless. Deciding not to mourn for a bit, he closed his eyes from the melancholy. It wasn't a hard job to fall asleep once more. People in his job were always heavy-eyed.

Forty minutes passed by the clock until the Winchester roused again. This moment felt missing without you snuggling up to him or kissing his neck between foolish giggles or even pushing him out of bed when you felt like playing the prankster.

There was no valid reason to remain where he was, glaring at a stupid ceiling that held nothing but an old light you installed together and memories. The yellow and blue paints still held firm where you’d spattered them, jumping in the bed together with your hands drenched in the colors from a gouache paint container just because you’d found the tins somewhere in the bunker. You and Dean became a tangled mess of greens, dirty with paint and kissing. How many sexual encounters happened here, he thought, glaring at this ceiling that looked like three-year-old Sammy’s art project.

The green-eyed man never thought he would feel nostalgic about a stupid ceiling. He had to get out of that room.

Finally raising from the mattress, Dean yawned as he padded towards the kitchen. He didn't mind checking what time it was, knowing he needed an alcoholic getaway. The Winchester sat down, sharing a bottle of Whiskey with his shadow. How distracting it was to make his throat burn when an unpleasant thought attempted to take control of his head.

If he had dared to look through the room, Dean would have noticed the clock's arrow pointing at 10:50 am.

By noon he was already drunk, which took a lot of effort since his tolerance to drinks was a bar high set. Dean groaned, displeased. The buzzy feeling of befuddlement hitting him certainly helped, but he could still affirm that he had never felt less cool. His body was starving for something that wasn't there anymore. Dean's feelings were all over the place, and he didn't have the energy to pick them up at this point.

"I can't believe you are drinking already." Sam sighed, making himself known by Dean in the kitchen. In response, all he got was his brother holding the glass up and drinking all of its bronze liquid. "It's barely noon, Dean. You-- Wait. Are you drunk?"

"Don't start, Sam." He groaned, holding his own cheeks with fingers as his hands slid down to his chin. The gesture was a habit of Dean's when he was fed up with something.

The younger one offered him an indignant glare, which was soon replaced by empathy and sorrow as he watched Dean. His brother was broken. (Y/N) running away from them had really taken him down. Part of Sam was hurt as well-- after all, you were his friend and confidant. But, in all ruthless honesty, he couldn't speak out and point fingers at you on that. Not about the whole situation, at all.

Yet, if Sam was feeling abandoned by his friend, he could only imagine what Dean would be experiencing. You had been a hint of happiness in the middle of misery and combat for Dean. It had been so long since Sammy saw his brother like that, so very long. Suddenly, it disappeared like smoke. And the worst part was that he understood your side. Deep down, the long-haired man knew Dean did, too.

Trying to knock sense back into his brother, or at least a bit of normality, Sam spoke, "You can go out and buy some whiskey. Your bottle was the last one."

"Yeah, right." His voice was impassive, almost serious for such casual conversation. He got up, going to the table to grab Baby's keys.

"Hey, Dean..." Dean turned around to face his brother. Sam’s expression was cautious, voice soft when he continued: "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. It could help."

"I'm pretty sure you heard the screaming yesterday, Sam," Dean replied dryly, an unsettlingly wry smile surfacing. His walls were up. It was an old defense mechanism. "There is nothing to talk about. She left. The sooner we can accept it, the sooner we can move on."

"Move on? You want to move on?" he questioned suspiciously, eyebrows arching to match his inquiry.

Dean didn't answer. He only picked up the keys.

"Dean--"

"Yeah, I think we are out of eggs, too," Dean interrupted. He didn't need to talk about it. Not now. "Whiskey and eggs, got it."

Any other remarks from Sam were ignored as he walked through the door, trotting in direction of his beloved Impala. An old song on one of his cassettes was the soundtrack to his five-minute ride to the nearest store.

Dean went searching for eggs and whiskey, adding a lemon pie that smelled better than himself-- not that it was difficult considering he hadn’t showered since yesterday. The store’s cashier swiped his credit card and offered a polite farewell that was replied with a nod. Everything seemed so normal in the most boring ways.

In the parking lot, a familiar face appeared for the first time in a year. It was Thomas-- a hunter that Dean, you, and Sam had come across during a job in New Mexico.

"Winchester!" The blue-eyed man smiled, making the scar near his lips more evident. Being thrown out of a window left marks sometimes. "It's been too long, dude."

"Cavill." His lips curved into a small smile as he greeted his friend. Laying his green eyes on him, Dean couldn't avoid noticing a familiar shirt. Fuck, he must be hallucinating or thinking too hard about foolish subjects. "Where have you been?"

"Burning bones, decapitating vamps. Same old, same old." Thomas waved his hand, banalizing the supernatural routine as if it were nothing but another Sunday. For them, this was true. "I saw (Y/N) yesterday. She seemed fine. Separate hunts to take different cases?"

His blood burned through an emotional fever in realization. It felt like the boil was intense enough to melt his bones if he remained in front of the other men for too long. Thomas had never been subtle about finding you attractive, and neither was his constant flirting when your cases collided. It didn't help that you and Dean weren't together back then, even though the tension was obvious for anyone. The Winchester gripped his grocery plastic bag harder, offering him a sarcastic smirk.

"Something like that." He reached the car door and pulled out his keys. The familiar red flannel, your meeting with him-- it was so obvious it was basically written all over his face, and sadly, Dean could read it well. Fuck, he wanted to drop his purchases and punch that smile off Thomas’ face. That man probably had more of what was once his. “Gotta go. See you around.”

Sliding in the car to leave this conversation before his treacherous mind could reach more detestable conclusions, Cavill answered, "If you need help, give me a call.''

Dean mumbled something but didn't care enough to give him anything beyond a nod while the Impala finally drove away from Thomas.

At that moment, he wished a bit harder that Ellen was still alive or that another bar like hers existed. The hunters’ bar was full of people who understood that death was a part of the job. Somewhere he could swallow barrels of alcohol, play darts and tell bloody stories about his world-- about the quintessential things he did to get despair out of his system to the point that he felt comfortable on his own skin again.

So, that was it? You didn't just leave him and Sam, but you also accused him with all certainty you had of being a cold killer, and then you slept with the first man who showed up? Who was also a fucking hunter? Why the fuck didn't you tell him how you felt sooner? He wasn't an angel-- he would be even more of an arrogant asshole than he already was if that was the case, but you knew it all along. He didn't deserve anything good in his life. He should've seen it coming.

Dean pursed his lips, deciding for another ride to a normal bar. Home and all the beautiful, tragic ghosts inside could haunt him later.

It didn't take him long to park near an establishment. For once, he noticed the strong grip he held on the steering wheel, knuckles strained whiter than usual. He let out a tired sigh, glaring at the entrance of the place before grabbing his phone.

No calls from you. No text messages from you. Just the feeling of being a thirteen-year-old boy again, just like when he was waiting for Mary to send him a sign that she was all right.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean put it back in his pocket and made his way to the bar. No 'welcome' board light was shining yet, and he doubts anyone but he and the owner would be there. Once he got in, two guys were sitting in a table far away, and a girl was entering the bathroom. The bartender stood behind the bar, watching some game on the small television the place provided.

"Whiskey. No ice." His words came out harsher than he expected. The guy didn't seem to notice or care, simply nodding his head and turning around go get his client's order. One more time, Dean took his phone and stared at it. There was nothing but a text from Sammy that he quickly replied to, frowning in disappointment. It was rare for you to be the first one to break after a fight, but that was more than a stupid argument. You had left. You had fucking left. And he was the only one to blame.

Such a miserable routine kept its course. Dean would drink, check his phone, and hurt himself with his own thoughts. The night came with lurking shadows, and he couldn't care less. It seemed like the ghosts had replaced the bunker for his company. He didn't want to believe you would come back because hoping and being destroyed again was too much to bear with right now. Dean couldn't even breathe properly at the thought that he would never, ever see touch you, tease you, or be with you again. You had him wrapped around your finger since the very first day until you cut your hand off and left him. You left. How could you have left? But then, how could you had stayed if you had it all in your mind before?

Someone sat beside him. Still, it didn't catch the Winchester's attention until he heard her voice. For a flash of a second, he thought it was you. Dean looked up instantly, only to find himself incredulous.

The woman in front of him looked so much like you. She could easily be mistaken for your sister. Hair, eyes, voice. Everything but the lips were so similar. The unknown girl kept her gaze on Dean despite his strange reaction to her. Repeating her former words, she asked, "What are you drinking? Seems good."

Yeah, she wasn't (Y/N). You could tell what he was drinking from miles away, just because you knew exactly what he enjoyed. In addition, you’d seen his preferences so much that you’d memorized it all without even trying.

She looked like you, though. A lot. The earlier jealousy mixed with a dangerous quantity of alcohol and anguish made his decision. Move on, just like he told Sam. You didn't call him. You weren't coming back. That was your choice. He had to shut up the little hopes in his mind.

Putting up his best sultry smirk, Dean pushed the glass on the table towards her as he answered: "You tell me."

Two hours later, he was tilting his head to the side, watching the woman in his sheets peacefully taking a nap after a long run. Her hand covered most of her face, pillow carpeted with her messy hair.

"Wake up, (Y--)" Dean restrained himself from finishing that sentence. He almost said your name. It was hard enough to keep the woman's name, which he had forgotten by now, on his tongue during sex-- he wasn't going to give in at the end of it. Clearing his throat, the hunter started waking her up again. He needed to go.

In any other point of his life, he would've considered that night a success. A hot girl was sleeping beside him after he had a great amount of old whiskey. Sammy sent a text about a new case, and he had pie waiting for him in the car. At any other moment, that would be enough to put him in a good mood all day. In any other age, that would be considered a good day. No one died, he had sex and food and was about to hunt a thing and blow whatever it was up.

But you hadn't called.

It was probably a good thing in a messed up way. It was tranquil. There was no arguing, no fighting, no hurting from either side. That kind of hurt was quite similar to being comfortable, in a tremendously distorted way that he didn't wish to feel, like not putting medicine on the wound and just allowing it to heal by itself-- yet, occasionally scratching it. The idea of a comfortable silence was so overrated. Dean would rather be screamed at by (Y/N) by now than whatever this option was.

The woman woke up and left a note with her phone as she abandoned the room. Crumbling the paper, he threw it away and touched his face. A deep breath was taken.

He had work to do.

Maybe one day you'll call me

and tell me that you’re sorry too 

But you never do