#i could write so much about her and how mentally ill she is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 4 months ago

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Tormented Spirit | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo i did it again (rambled). i have no idea where i went with this but it really wENT yknow, but hey you get fluff!!!!!. ALSO (im looking at you cristi) if it wasnt clear this is set, like, pre-show T_T just before ep 1 lmao (ily cristi im just going through it with my writing) | cross posted on ao3

tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

You did not realize being made a spectacle would be as exhausting as it was. Truly, all you did as your prince brought you to the training quarters of the City Watch, was stand, force a smile and feel their gaze upon you as Daemon instructed them to roughhouse for your (but really his) entertainment. Yet, it felt like you had been running nonstop and only now found reprieve.

Perhaps it was because it was really your mind that was running with the thought of how you snubbed your twin. In truth, you knew Gwayne understood your actions, for he was really the only person who understood you, and yet that was precisely why it ate at you so much. How could you do such a thing to your brother?

At some point, Daemon is too distracted by his sparring soldiers to remember you were there. By the time they began to drink, you gave word to one of the guards and made your way back to the Keep yourself.

You head for your brother's chambers, set on setting things straight. You do not find him there however, and your mind begins to wander. Was he avoiding you? Was he cross?

Upon asking one of his servants, you find that he was tasked with duty from the Lord Hand. Part of you feels comforted by the answer, but then you wonder if the task had something to do with you. You try not to think about it as you head back to your own chambers.

You are ripped out of your train of thought when you hear your name called.

Queen Aemma stands across you, hand on her belly, smile on her lips, "have you come to worry on me, good sister?"

Your back straightens and you clasp your hands in front of you, "my queen. I-I-"

"I do hope not," she stretches, leaning back into her hands, "the last thing I want right now is to have yet another person try to tell me what is best for me and my babe."

You shake your head, turning to your feet, "the last thing I would do is impose my inexperience of child bearing upon you."

Aemma's face softens. She's seldom seen someone who looks as though they suffer more than her. "Excellent."

You lift your gaze.

"Come keep me company then and distract me with tales lacking child bearing."

You are taken aback by the invitation and watch the queen slowly waddle back into her quarters. You delay to realize you should be assisting her then promptly rush up to her side. You offer her your arm and she gratefully takes it. She is exhausted by the time you reach her bed.

"Thank you," she sighs, wiping the sweat on her temple.

"Of course," you help her put her feet up. You look over your shoulder momentarily, "have you no one to call to? Shall I call for someone?"

"No," she waves you off, "I merely walked out of the room and looked out of the window for a while. I am fine."

You nod and pull away, fidgeting with your fingers, "is there something I might do for you?"

"Yes," she reaches for your arm, "sit."

So you do.

"And tell me, why on earth did Daemon bring you to the City Watch?"

You freeze upon hearing that.

There is a playful curiosity upon Aemma's features, but you do not think she asks to embarrass you. Still, you open your mouth and begin to stutter, "h-how did you kno-w?"

She chuckles, leaning deeper into her pillow, "oh, my dear," she rubs her belly, "I am privy to all gossip in the Keep. Tis the only activity one such as I can do in my state. Incidentally, had the opposite been true, it is all the servants speak of—" she slowly reaches for you, pushing your hair back.

You are made acutely aware of the marks on your collar again.

"—how the fragile lamb tamed the ferocious dragon."

You chuckle dryly and stare at your lap. You pick at your nails, feeling your throat tighten, "I tame no one, my queen."

As Aemma looks at you, she thinks again she's not laid her eyes upon someone that looks more pained than herself. The sun was already setting, but the marks on your collarbones were still visible. She wonders if you at least enjoyed yourself when you received those marks. "Perhaps not yet."

You chuckle once more.

"He is stubborn and brash, but he is also loyal and passionate."

"Loyal to himself," you turn to her, "with a passion for deviance."

You are unnerved by the sudden call of your name. Your heart races at her misplaced familiarity.

This might be why you blurt out, "I am no fool."

She straightens up, "I did not say you were."

"I know I am feeble in form, but not in mind. I am a mere piece in someone else's game of chess, but every piece has its purpose, even pawns."

Aemma frowns. Her forehead curls, "and pawns can turn into the most powerful piece."

You stare at her belly.

"The Queen."

You do not tell her it is only true in board games.

"Does it frighten you?"

Your eyes quirk up to hers. Her violet orbs are much softer than Daemon's. She does not clarify, but the way in which she rubs her swollen stomach makes it clear to you what she meant. You rub your own as dread pricks through you, "I do not know how it is possible for anyone not to be frightened."

It is her turn to chuckle.

It perturbs you.

"I will not lie to you," she shifts in her spot, "there is no greater pain in the world than becoming a mother, I think..."

It is mortifying to hear, considering you know how many times Queen Aemma has conceived and given birth. How much more painful it must be, as she remains to have one child. You do not think all your years of pain could ever prepare you for such loss.

"... that can be the most gratifying."

You are taken aback when she reaches for your hand. Her palms are soft, just as her expression.

"I do not presume to know you, but I find that whatever pain I have is eclipsed by love I feel for my babe. Still, when the thought of childbirth gets too much, I retreat into something I loved before my babe."

Your brows furrow.

"Tapestries and tea time," she tilts her head, "and Viserys."

You do not know how to feel as she pulls away.

She rubs her forehead, "even speaking is exhausting when you are with child. Forgive me, but I think I would like to go to sleep now."

You shake your head and stand, "there is nothing to be forgiven. I will leave you to your own comforts," you curtsy.

You roam the candlelit halls as you digest the queen's words. You were on your way back to your chambers, then you remember your brother. You promptly head to his room, finding the door open. "Gwayne?"

Emerge two servants carrying a trunk, greeting you before walking off. Your brows furrow as you watch them. You turn back when you hear your name called.

Your twin walks over, still in his doublet and leather shoes. You begin to get nervous, "you're leaving?"

"Preparing to," he says, eyes falling on your collarbones, "there is still the matter of the tourney."

"Tourney?"

"The queen is set to give birth soon— you must not let that man dishonor you so," he quips through clenched teeth, pulling you into his room.

You are dragged inside and he releases you once you're in front of his bed. He grabs his blanket and drapes it on your shoulders. He gathers your hair and pulls it out from underneath, "play dumb if you must."

You knit your brows.

"Bat your lashes at him to have your way."

You tighten the blanket around yourself, "I already have."

"To protect me," he tilts his head, "protect yourself, sister. Put yourself first, always."

You clench your jaw.

"He will be kinder if he believes you to be a bimbo."

You scoff, "must I do such a thing?"

Gwayne narrows his eyes, "he is shaming you purposefully out of spite— for me and our father."

The idea makes you queasy because you knew it was true. Your brother was sensible because he got his sense from you, and yet... is it so farfetched for the prince to simply want to show you off proudly? Even in something like this, you were not even being thought of. "And acting a fool will save me from spite?"

He looks at you the way he did whenever you said something stupid. It offends you because it was not a stupid question. He speaks to you, as if you were four, "if he asks you to wear something compromising again, tell him all your dresses are being washed."

You chuckle dryly, "you honestly think he would believe such a blatant lie?"

"He need not have to," he scoffs, "it's not like he'll go through the trouble of inspecting your closet." He places a hand on your arm, "come. I will walk you to your room."

Something unpleasant bubbles up your throat as Gwayne leads you out. As you exit his chambers, you pull away and choke out, "do you think me a fool, devil?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes, "do not be-"

"Do you truly think that I am slowwitted and senseless?"

Your ears ring because of how says your name. You step back when he tries to take your arm again. Gwayne raises a finger and a brow, "I've had a long day. I do not wish to quarrel."

"And I have not?!" you quip, "answer the question!"

He says your name again, firmer, as though you were a petulant child.

"Just fucking tell me!" you snap.

"Gods!" he wipes his face, "you're acting fucking stupid, I'll tell you that!"

You scoff and shove him with all your might. It barely makes him recoil, but you get your point across, especially when you walk away.

Gwayne sighs and calls your name, following after you.

"I hate you!" you spit back, unwilling to turn back as you feel your eyes begin to water.

"I did not mean it," he calls, quickly coming up to your side, "why would you ask me something you clearly know is not-"

"Then why would you reduce me as such?" you stop in your tracks to glare at him.

Gwayne freezes and scowls back, "why do you think I tell you anything?"

"Stupidity will not save me, you fucking idiot," you blurt back, doing your best to hold back your tears.

"It will fucking save you from scheming rats," he grabs your arms and shakes you gently.

You shake your head as tears stream down your cheek.

"H-"

"Do not make me."

He purses his lips.

"You know I will do it if you tell me to," you mutter, "do not make me."

Guilt eats him whole as you weep. It never gets easier. You'd think that he'd be indifferent to it by now, but he knows the great effort you put in withholding your emotions. It hurts him even more, if anything. He sighs in defeat, dropping his head before wiping your cheeks. He attempts to hush you.

You only further fall apart, "I would be remembered as a stupid, dying girl."

He speaks your name, as if to correct you.

"Please don't leave," you mumble weakly.

"Listen to me-"

"No, promise me you won't le-"

"I am heir to Oldtown," he interrupts, "my place can never be at your side."

"So you forsake me now?"

"Listen," he speaks firmly, "you are my twin sister. There is nothing I have not shared with you, and you know this."

You look down for a moment then shake your head, "I wish you kept a few things to yourself..."

Gwayne releases a breath at your words. He leans down to look you in the eye, "says the woman who bares love bites on her neck for all to see."

You shove him away and tighten your arms around yourself, "ass. That's different."

He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips, "how?"

"I did not chose this," you mutter.

His expression falls. He balls his hands into fists, "I would call our house to banner for you."

You scoff, looking away, "don't be ridiculous."

"An affront to my twin is worse than one to myself," he points a finger to the ground.

"I am his wife," you look back to him.

"And I am a man of honor," he proclaims, "if he kills me, then all will know I died protecting my sister from his malice."

"You idiot," you shake your head at him, "do you think the people would believe the words of a prince or a dead man?"

"A princess."

You stare at him.

"With a tender heart," he takes your arm, leading you off.

You take a moment before responding, "you mean a stupid, dying princess."

"You are not dying," he gives you a serious look.

"We are all dying."

He sighs, "a jolly thought."

"I am dying sooner than you howev-"

"No," he interrupts, "you will outlive me. I will die in battle."

You glare at him, "we cannot both be yearning for death, moron."

"I do not yearn no more than you do," he raises a brow.

You stare at him for a moment. He is in denial. You almost tell him that you still pray the same prayer he caught you praying all those nights ago. You do not.

"You will get better, sister," he says, "I simply won't allow you not to."

You look away, "ever imperious."

His expression slips for a moment as he imagines a world without his twin. It is so grotesque, he cannot bear it. He hides behind humor, "you mean charismatic, dashing, and valiant."

"And stupid."

"And incredibly well-spoken, witty, charming-"

"Shut it."

"-attractive, gallant, seemly—"

You bid each other good night with a smile. Neither of you knew how broken your spirits were after your conversation though, and you never will.

Your head lies heavy on your pillow. You are unsure if you are grateful or resentful that you sleep tonight by yourself.

Meanwhile, Daemon is startled out his sleepiness by the words of his subordinate. He sets his cup of ale down and chuckles in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at one of the three men he had been drinking with, "what?"

The man clarifies, shifting in his seat adjacent his commander, "you've changed since being wed, my prince. For the better."

The prince chuckles yet again, "pray, tell."

Someone else answers for him, "you have been more gracious during drill training."

Daemon's brows quirk.

"And you have been more forgiving as of late," another blurts.

The first who spoke finally says, "you do not drink with us as often as before. This is the first since you've gotten married."

He scoffs and shakes his head, "so. You think I've grown soft?"

The three immediately straighten up and even manage to muster in unison, "no, commander."

Daemon downs his ale and shakes his head, "I'll show you soft."

The next morn, the queen's words repeat in your mind as you awaken. Retreat in what you love. What was it that you loved? You think of Gwayne, but he is set to leave, Alicent, but you do not wish to burden her with your woes... your father...

Oh... your mother. You could retreat in her.

You sit up and rub your face when your servants enter to wake you.

You lose your resolve to light a candle at the temple at when you realized you'd be dying girl retreating to her dead mother. Pathetic.

By the time your servants are helping you fix your hair, you ask them, "if you could do whatever you wanted for a day, what would you do?"

The servants turn to each other then break into giggles. One says, "I would spend a day with my Gwilym."

You watch them in the mirror as they squeal under their breath.

You turn to your nails. You cannot retreat into Daemon.

After they're finished squealing, the other speaks, "mmm. I might go foraging for fruits and flowers."

You lift your head upon hearing that.

"And if I had my pay that day, I'd buy myself some lemon cake."

Your lips part at the idea, "you absolute wit." You turn to her as much as you could as she fixed your hair, "what a brilliant idea."

She chuckles and curtsies, "thank you, milady."

By the time your ward comes, you're already at the door, eager to greet him.

He examines your smile. His brows knit and belly feels uneasy as you take his arm.

You narrow your eyes at his face, doing your best to distinguish who exactly you were face to face with. You forget if it was Arryk with the longer beard or Erryk. You mumble as you make a face, "Erryk?"

"Yes," he nods, feeling stomach rolls, "how are you, my princess?"

You grin, squeezing his steel clad arm as much as you could, "oh, how good of me to get it right. I am glad to have guessed well."

Erryk chuckles under his breath, "you wound me. Am I not set apart in your eyes?"

You stiffen at his expression. You mistake the softness in his eyes for hurt, which is why you release his arm and begin to apologize, "oh, ser. I do not mean to offend, I-"

Erryk raises his hands, "no, my lady. Twas a jest."

Your eyes widen at the clarification. You laugh awkwardly, "ah... apologies."

"Nay," he shakes his head, "I apologize. I do not wish to cause you discomfort."

You huff and give a curt nod, "then," you take his arm again, "I ask that you humor me today, ser Erryk."

His brows furrow. He is intrigued.

"I..." you trail off, gathering your resolve, "wish to go out and pick flowers today." you profess with a soft smile. You raise a finger, "I am not a fussy passenger. I do not mind sitting in front or behind you on horseback, but I fear I do not know how to control a horse on my own very well," you look away in thought, "we do not have to go very far out of King's Landing, so if it is not possible to get a horse, I will not complain if we walk."

Erryk finds himself smiling as you continue to justify yourself.

"I would not take very long to pick flowers, but if I do," you turn back to him, "I would not refute you if you think we must away."

He nods at your words, "have you broken fast yet?"

You both walk off. You shake your head, "I have not. But I will be quick!"

He shakes his head, "my brother mentioned that you do not like eating alone. If it be agreeable with you, we can break fast together."

You stop in your tracks upon hearing this, "ser Arryk mentioned this?"

Erryk simply nods.

The thought pinches your heart, "it... it was a passing comment. I did not think it noteworthy."

His brows knit at your expression, "do not be so surprised. It is our duty to care for you."

Care for you. You turn to your feet, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. It takes a moment for you to comport yourself, but then you manage turn back at him and smile, "how the gods have blessed me."

His gut reacts to your smile. He releases a breath to calm himself, "we can pick flowers after breaking fast, my princess."

You gasp, "so you agree?!"

Erryk face falls in confusion.

"You would allow me to pick flowers?!" you pull away, nearly jumping up and down in excitement.

"I..." his mouth hangs low, "I do not allow you."

You tilt your head, chuckling in confusion.

"If you instructed me to bring you the moon, I would do my best to claim it for you."

You laugh. You laugh because you miss his sincerity, for it is unfamiliar. You laugh because you only know the kindness of your brother, who cherishes you dearly, yet ridicules you in the same breath. This is why you say, "do not mock me, ser. It is not a crime to enjoy picking flowers."

You expect him to reply the way your twin does: 'I did not say it was a crime,' but you are taken aback by the novelty of his response. Erryk says, "the crime lies with whom would mock such a gentle soul."

You are glad he does not wait for you to respond, because you did not know if you had anything to respond with.

Erryk is silent as you eat in the solar. At first, it was because he second guessed his offer to break fast with you, as it felt so obvious that he was overstepping. But then it was because he was enamored by you and the great many tales you share of eating with your family, picking flowers with your siblings, swimming in rivers with your brother. He did not expect such a temperate outpour from you. He tells himself that he must do all he can to preserve it.

He is selfish in wanting to forfeit a horse. He knows soon enough his brother will come to have his shift, and he wants to keep all your stories to himself; walking will make his time with you longer. At the same time, he fears your body might give in if you were to walk very far, so he settles that you ride on horseback and that he lead your horse on foot.

He is glad of his choice, for had he been on horseback with you, he would not have seen the way your face shone at the sight of the meadow upon reaching it. The moment is quickly fleeting however, and he soon jolts to catch you when you nearly leap off the horse.

Erryk helps you down and is soon forgotten as you run off to gather flowers.

He follows after you with no sense of urgency. He allows you to frolic to your hearts content while he slowly leads the horse towards your general direction.

"ERRYK!" you gasp in horror. It is so sudden, he releases his reins and runs towards you.

"My prin-"

"We do not have a basket!" you slap a hand on your forehead, "I am doomed."

He freezes at your words, debating if that is truly the cause of your distress.

"I am doomed to pick flowers only until my hands are full," you sigh and shake your head. You frown at him and point, "but just over there I see a hundred flowers I wish to bring back home with me."

Erryk's forehead curls but then he realizes you were serious. He finds himself chuckling before sighing in relief.

You scowl, "and you mock me again"

He chuckles louder, placing a hand on his breastplate, "I do not mock! I merely find amusement in such an issue so easily solved."

You scoff, "pray, tell how would you solve my issue, ser knows-a-lot?"

Erryk belly laughs. He shakes his head and offers his hand, "I will hold your flowers for you."

Any trace of offense instantly disappears. You perk and step forward, "oh! I have been blind!"

He tries to take the flowers from you but then he's frozen in place as you suddenly begin tucking in his beard.

"Indeed," you snicker, "blind as a bat."

You are both covered in flowers when you return to the Keep, him more than you, for Erryk's skill in securing flowers in people's hair was not nearly as good as yours. Most of what he had put in your brown hair had fallen when you reached the gates. The rest are threatened off by the wind as he helps you down the horse. His on the other hand—

You chuckle, catching a flower that slipped from your head, placing it by Erryk's ear, "they should call you the knight of flowers, ser."

He bows, "I would be honored to be known as such."

"Oh, gods."

You both turn upon hearing the voice.

Gwayne looks at Erryk as though he was stabbed on the side, then turns to you, "you've victimized the poor man."

You roll your eyes.

"-held him captive and tortured him with pretty things," your twin points a finger as he walks towards you, "no wonder you could not be found. You were doing evil things."

You shove your brother, but he dodges.

He makes a face, "laggardly fellow."

You turn to Erryk then point at your brother, "why do you delay? Seize him at once!"

Gwayne gasps, placing a hand on his chest, "behold: the cruel princess."

Your upper lip curls, "the ugly thing insults your lady," you shoot Erryk a look, "apprehend him!"

Erryk watches the two of you bicker, unsure if he should, in fact, apprehend Ser Gwayne.

When he does not, your brother says again, "behold!" the auburn haired man gestures vaguely, "your cruelty inspires no loyalty from you— aw!"

You snatch your his ear and pull him down. You drag your brother all the way to a crate and force him down, "I'll show you cruel."

"Do not think— AW!" Gwayne clutches his cheek when you slap him.

"Silence or your torture will be more severe," you hiss, promptly placing flowers you still had on hand on his head.

Though Gwayne grumbles the whole time, he makes no attempt to save himself from the proclaimed torture. Very truly, he loathed it so when you made a dolly out of him, but after you sobbed so bitterly when he fled you one instance when you were still children, he could never stomach the thought of attempting such a thing again.

And— he catches the way your lips tug upward, you only ever smiled the way you did now when you were torturing him. Still, he cannot help his scowl when you grin at him to behold your work.

You pinch his cheeks, "my lovely twin."

Gwayne groans and swats your hands away, glaring as he stands, "I abhor you, sister."

You giggle and take his arm, "and I do so love deeply, my brother."

"Unhand me," he says flatly.

"You cannot command a princess, you lowly lord," you snuggle into his arm.

Gwayne turns to Erryk, "retrieve your thing."

Erryk opens his mouth, but then catches the look on your face. He is powerless against your pup-like expression. He clears his throat, "my shift has ended, ser. I will notify my brother at once to see what can be done."

Gwayne's jaw drops.

You throw your head back in a laughter.

He scoffs, turning to you, "how uselessly loyal you've made him."

"What is the meaning of this?"

You three turn. You pull away from your brother upon seeing Daemon. He is covered in dirt, and blood, and anger.

He glares at you, "why is it I find you here twice, wife?" He scrutinizes the flowers on Erryk's beard and hair, then quips harshly as he turns to your brother, "should you not be waiting on me?"

"Why do you think I am here?" you mutter, not missing a beat. You walk over to him, and he tries to intimidate you with his expression.

Gwayne and Erryk are ready to act but then Daemon's face falters when you grab your skirt and try to wipe some of the dirt off his face.

The truth, of course, is that you were not waiting on your husband; him finding you here was simply a coincidence, but the genuine concern that clouds your features makes it the lie indistinguishable.

He is so wholly bewildered by your gentle touch, he is unable to react.

You release your skirt and wipe his cheek with your long sleeve, "I shall have a bath drawn for you." You take his hand, "come, I-"

He pulls out of your grasp.

You expect him to lash out on you. He does not.

"I have a council meeting to attend."

A line forms between your brows when catch the blood on his armor, "but you are hurt."

Daemon is stoic. He stares at the lone flower by your ear, "it is not mine."

You release a soft breath and nod. A gust of wind makes you aware of the bud by your temple. You pull the flower out of your hair and stare at it for a moment. You show it to Daemon, who spares but a moment's glance at it. He involuntarily pulls his head back when you place the flower in his hair.

You are unfazed by the look he gives you. You secure the flower then swipe the dirt off his chin, "I will make sure your bath is finished after your meeting."

It is your turn to be taken aback. You freeze when he catches your wrist before you pull away. "Wait for me," he mumbles.

You raise your brows.

He does not repeat himself.

You nod slowly, "I shall... after having the servants dra-"

"Your princess requires you to accomplish a task for her," Daemon looks past you, looking between Erryk and Gwayne. He grits his teeth, pulling you toward him, "do it."

You look over your shoulder, "please inst-"

"They know what to do, wife," Daemon blocks your vision, "tis I your attentions must be fixed upon."

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 4 months ago

Text

PIERROT, THE SAD CLOWN.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Richard 'Dick' Grayson x Villain! Fem! Reader.

¿Request? Yes!

This is a Headcanon!

sinopsis ⸺ From the moment he first saw her, Dick Grayson knew he loved her. However, she could only perceive the sadness and darkness surrounding her. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t make her see the light he wanted to offer.

He firmly believed he could be her happiness.

warnings ⸺ Angst, ¿OOC Dick? Idk, Dark Themes, Dead, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Sexual Content, Noncon, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is— This, to be honest, is a headcanon I came up with about three minutes ago after I was left unsatisfied with the results of two headcanons I made about Jason. Since I didn't like them, I started writing a story that I had pending about Dick Grayson.

On another note, I want to thank you for the 500 followers ♡ I will keep posting more things and such.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... had never felt such a deep void until he saw you for the first time, a blurred shadow among the rubble of Blüdhaven. You, the villain who neither screamed nor laughed, only existed in a perpetual sadness, became his obsession. Pierrot, his very own Joker, trapped in a prison of melancholy, without the frenetic spark of the crazies he used to face. That sadness you emanated was his own reflection, a crack he wanted to mend with his love, a love that bordered on madness.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... from the rooftops, watched you wander the streets, always with that lost look, as if you didn't belong to this world. Every time they fought, he felt something breaking more inside you, something he could fix if only you let him get close. The nights were long, filled with endless watchings, as he silently followed you, keeping a prudent distance, until he could no longer bear it. He knew he was losing you. How was it possible that you couldn't see how much he loved you, how much he needed you? You were trapped in your own sadness, and he, in his obsession to save you.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... one day, while watching you from the shadows, found you on top of a rooftop, and thought you were going to jump. But no. You were crying, again. It was always the same. You approached the edge, and terror engulfed him. He thought you would leap, and for the first time felt something beyond duty: he felt he couldn't lose you. So, he researched everything he could about you. Your past revealed itself to him as a dull echo of emotional deprivation, a devastated childhood, and that dark philosophy about life, death, and chaos that you admired in the Joker. You had lost yourself in that labyrinth of despair, and he swore he would bring you back.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when he finally caught you, instead of taking you to justice as he had done before, he took you to Arkham, believing you would be safe there, under his constant watch. He visited you, he watched over you. But it wasn't long before you escaped, thanks to the Joker. Time and again, you faced him, and time and again, Dick brought you back to that exhausting cycle. However, something in him broke the last time he caught you.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when conventional methods failed, began to seek more extreme solutions. He took you to Wayne Manor the second time you escaped from Arkham. He locked you in a room from which you couldn't escape. It wasn't a cell, it was a luxury prison, but a prison nonetheless. He watched you day and night, ensuring that nothing and no one would ever hurt you again. The need to protect you had turned into something sick. He kept you safe, locked away. It wasn't a cold cell, but the walls suffocated you, and Dick's constant presence, ever-watchful, made you feel that freedom was just an illusion. Your protests became muted whispers drowned by his excessive devotion. He didn't understand why you couldn't see what he was doing for you, why you resisted. He believed that if he could control you enough, if he could protect you from yourself, you would eventually realize that you loved him.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... looked at Bruce and the others in the Wayne family with a mix of resentment and pity. They spent millions on therapies, on psychiatrists trying to "cure you," on initiatives to "reform you." How could they be so blind? He was the only one who understood what you truly needed. The Batfamily treated you like a project, while Dick saw you as the love of his life. Didn't they realize that only he could save you? But while the others saw your despair as an illness, Dick saw in your sadness a kind of beauty that no one else understood. To them, you were just a villain; to him, you were his everything.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... every time he found you on the edge of the abyss, when your empty eyes stared into nothingness, when everything around you seemed to break apart, he was there. He hugged you tightly, his hands gripping you as though they could tie you to the world. "I love you," he whispered in your ear, as if those words could heal the pain you carried inside. He felt your resistance, your hopelessness, but that only fueled his desire further. He was convinced he could tear you from the grips of your own sadness, even if he had to break you to rebuild you.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when you escaped from Wayne Manor, he searched for you with frantic intensity. Every time he found you, he only saw one more opportunity to prove to you that he was the only one who could save you. He surrounded you with his body, protecting you from the world, but also imprisoning you. Bruce confronted him one night, warning him that his obsession was consuming him, but Dick merely replied that love was like that, devouring and total.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... faced Harley when she tried to pull you from the abyss, believing that the chaos of the Joker would be your only salvation. But Harley didn't know what Dick knew. He could give you peace, love, not the unrestrained madness she offered. When he confronted her, the fight was not just physical. Harley mocked him, telling him he could never save you, that you would always be a tragedy, like her. And when Harley's blood stained the ground, Dick knew he had crossed a line. It wasn't a heroic battle, but a desperate act. He did it for you, to protect you from those who wanted to send you back to hell.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the days became blurred as he kept you in the Manor, away from the world that hurt you so much. He wanted you to understand that everything he did, every confinement, every possessive caress, was for your own good. Meanwhile, Alfred and Bruce tried to convince him that what he was doing was not love, but control. But for Dick, words were useless. He believed that true love required sacrifice, and if he had to sacrifice your freedom to save you, then he would do it without hesitation.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... decided that you could no longer be in the hands of others. No one else understood what you needed. He took you to his apartment, to a place where the windows were closed and the doors always locked. You were no longer free, but you were not alone either. Dick cared for you, spoke to you of a future where you would be together and happy. Every time you tried to escape, he stopped you, not with anger, but with a disturbing calm. "It's for your own good," he told you, as he held you tighter than seemed necessary. His caresses were gentle, but behind them, there was always something darker, a desperation that grew with each attempt to flee.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the first time he possessed you was, for him, an unforgettable moment. Your body trembled, amidst tears, as he whispered how much he loved you each time his pelvis met your backside. In his mind, you loved how he took you, how he made your intimacy cry for more of him, and how he filled you with his seed at the end of the night. Each of your sobs only reinforced his conviction that you were his forever, as he enveloped you in a mix of devotion and obsession from which you didn't know how to escape.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... followed you even into the darkest corners of your mind, where others dared not tread. When the Joker attempted to drag you back into chaos, Dick confronted him one night. The confrontation was brutal, swift, and when Dick was done, the ground was stained red. You, trembling and broken, watched as Dick tore apart the Joker's henchmen with a brutality you had never witnessed in him. That night, he took you back, covered in cuts and with a twisted smile, convinced he had saved you once more.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... dreamed of the day when you would come to your senses, when you both could walk hand in hand, form a family. In his dreams, you smiled, forgetting the pain, redeemed by his love. But those dreams never became reality, and with each passing day, you moved further away from that vision.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... made you his in the only way he knew how. Without consent, without a voice to defend you, he took you before a judge and secretly married you. The marriage was not a celebration but an act of possession. The ceremony was silent, intimate in its darkness. Dick looked at you with that mix of devotion and madness as he bound you to him forever. In his distorted mind, it was the happy ending he had always imagined. You were no longer Pierrot, the tragic villain. You were his, completely. And in that possession, he believed he had found peace. Now you were Dick Grayson's wife, trapped in a bond you never asked for, but which he believed was your only salvation. He saw it as the perfect conclusion, the ending he had always desired. Because if you couldn't love the world, at least you could love him.

A/N ─── I hope you enjoyed this. Don't forget to leave a comment and a little heart.

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

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riality-check · 1 year ago

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DILF!Steve concert saga, featuring Eddie POV for this part! part 1, part 2

"I have to open it."

"Nope."

"Gareth. I need to open it."

"The vault is sacred," Archie says.

At the same time, Jeff chimes in, "The vault was your idea, Eddie."

Eddie thunks his head against the wall. "I know. But I need-"

"They're on the last song," Archie says, putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder. It's probably meant to be comforting, but it feels patronizing as shit.

Eddie is a good friend, though. He doesn't shrug him off.

"Once they're through, I'll unlock it," Jeff says, dangling the key slung around his neck.

"But you could do it now," Eddie protests.

Gareth sits protectively on top of the black lock box. "Absolutely not."

Eddie sighs and waits for the guitar solo onstage to end, nodding his head along to the beat.

It's what he usually does when they're backstage, but this time, it brings a smile to his face. Miss Anna was a natural yesterday for her first time headbanging, and her dad is the reason Eddie wants to break the sacred vault tradition.

He wants, no, needs to know if he got the note. If he decided to write something. If he wants to go a little further than PG flirting.

Eddie for sure wants to go further than that. God. Steve's handsome face and his big hands and his thick thighs (deliciously exposed by his shorts in the summer heat) are all wonderful incentives to skip a few steps and go straight to ramming him into a mattress.

Or, with how that shirt clung to Steve's biceps and how his shorts clung to his ass, let him ram Eddie into the mattress. He isn't picky.

(He isn't desperate, either, thank you very much, Gareth. And no, he won't admit how long it's been since he got laid.)

From the house, the audience roars, and Eddie jumps off the arm of the couch he was laying on.

Gareth sighs and gets off the lock box.

"Jeff, open it," Eddie says, staring at the vault and subconsciously making grabby hands toward it.

"Is that how we ask?"

"I could always yank the key off you."

Archie sighs and, ever the peacemaker, takes the key from Jeff and unlocks the vault. The second it's open, Eddie snatches his phone and turns it on.

Please please please let the DILF text back, he thinks to himself as he waits for this stupid metal brick to turn on and give him a resolution to this whole ridiculous situation.

Because, first, Eddie doesn't really jive with kids. Sure, they flock to him in the same way they flock to every other vaguely cool-looking person, but aside from asking if he has to draw his tattoos on every day or if his mommy is okay with him having his hair that long, they generally leave him alone.

And that's okay. Eddie easily made his peace with not having kids about ten years ago. Between his strong preference for men and the way that significantly decreases those odds and the choice to not pass on his truly abysmal family history of mental illness and addiction, it seemed obvious and a lot more selfless.

But Anna was cool as hell. Smart as hell, too, in a way that made Eddie feel like he was looking back at a time before school punished him for being bright and verbose and energetic.

Anna didn't make him want kids. Again, the whole family history thing is a real vibe killer. But she did give him enough fuel, for just an instant, to think that dating someone with a kid might not be a deal breaker anymore.

Or maybe Steve was just that hot.

He whined a lot yesterday, in the hotel, about how hot Steve was.

His phone turns on, and, front and center, is a text from an unknown number:

I guess I don’t have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we’re even on that front, I’m a teacher, and Anna’s full time job is preschool.

Eddie grins so hard he feels like his face will split in two.

"Is it him?" Jeff asks, trying to look over Eddie's shoulder.

"Of course it is," Gareth scoffs. "Look at his face."

"What did he say?" Archie asks.

Eddie takes the easier way out and lets him have the phone.

Gareth and Jeff crowd over Archie's shoulders, and Eddie watches their faces change as they read the message.

"Oh, he's bitchy," Gareth says.

"That means he's perfect," Jeff says, with a pointed look at Eddie.

Eddie shoots Archie a clear "back me up" look and gets a shrug in return because all his friends are assholes who know his type way too fucking well.

"What do I say?" he asks.

Archie tosses him the phone. "I don't know. Flirt back."

"I don't know how!"

"You ground against a guitar-"

"And kissed me onstage," Jeff continues. "But you don't know how to flirt?"

Eddie puts his head in his hands. "I didn't have enough sex in high school to know how to do this!"

"That's not an excuse when none of us did!" Gareth says.

Jeff barks out a laugh.

"Just ask if he's free tomorrow," Archie says, like the rational, wonderful friend he is. "This was the last stop of tour. It's not like you have to get anywhere else at a specific time."

"Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that," Eddie says, hyping himself up. Before he can second guess himself, he writes back.

Since it's summer, I'm assuming you both have off. Can you fit it in your busy schedule to have dinner with a humble musician tomorrow night?

"Oh, shit, did you send it?" Gareth asks, snatching his phone.

"Wait," Archie says, like the rational, horrible friend he is. "Do we know if he's single?"

"Oh, shit," Jeff whispers.

Eddie takes his phone back and refuses to look at it. He wants to shut it down. He wants to drop it. He wants to drive to nearest river and throw it there.

"Am I a homewrecker?" he asks absently.

"Only if you succeed," Jeff says.

"He might have a wife," Archie muses. "He might be straight."

"Okay, dude, enough," Gareth says. "This was supposed to be exciting! Eddie was supposed to get ass!"

"He might be ace."

"Archie, shut the fuck up."

He holds his hands up in surrender, and Jeff pats his shoulder, a little comfortingly, a lot condescendingly.

Eddie sits down on the couch. Puts his head in his hands. Breathes.

He's flirting with a married man. He's absolutely flirting with a married man. This is a new low. This is worse than the time he licked the floor of a restaurant, drunk, for five bucks. This is worse than when he greened out in the parking lot of a Chuck E. Cheese. This is worse than when he accidentally told the gas station cashier that he loved them and immediately walked into the glass door behind him.

This is. So bad.

And then his phone rings, so it'll get worse. It has to. That's how these things go.

Eddie has always been self-destructive, so, of course, he looks at the screen.

I can't swing dinner, but how's lunch? Fair warning: it might be a playground picnic if my babysitter bails.

"Holy shit, I'm not a homewrecker," Eddie says.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Jeff says.

"He's single!" Gareth cheers.

"Can I talk now?" Archie teases.

"I'm not a homewrecker!" Eddie says, and he launches off the couch to hug the nearest person, who happens to be Jeff.

They have to get out of the venue. He has to figure out the logistics of the date and how to be normal by the time he gets there and what to wear and everything else.

But, right now, Eddie is over the fucking moon that Steve is even giving him a shot. And he hopes, giddy as all hell and hanging off of Jeff's shoulders, that Steve feels even a little bit like this.

He writes back, once he's calmed down:

Lunch might just become my new favorite meal.

#ria writes #dilf and concert #d&c au #steddie #steddie ficlet #st #st ficlet #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #corroded coffin #rockstar eddie munson #dilf steve harrington

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mad-hunts · 9 months ago

Text

it was awfully random, in his opinion, but the urge to yawn suddenly hit barton after he pushed the glass over to jervis; his head dipping as he did so before he rose it up once more. god's, barton could not bring himself to hate anyone right now even if he tried. there was more than a bit of a 'floaty' feeling stuck in his brain now like honey. so, as you might imagine, the only look that barton was able to conjure up was a neutral one with a hint of something else lingering beneath the surface. maybe it had to do with the last remaining vestiges of humanity that he had left. and/or, that barton was simply expanding upon the quiet acknowledgement that he'd made already towards the other. it showcased that he knew jervis was in some sort of pain and it also wasn't easy for him to deal with it.

whatever the case might've been, when barton met jervis's own, they were arguably a lot less aggressive than they'd been before. it was probably the closest to soft that he was ever going to get in fact. imagine that, barton thought. a man who was once called a 'beautiful monster' by none other than the guy he was in an on-again and off-again relationship with making an attempt to console someone he barely knew. the comment made him want to punch laurent square in the face just as much as it did before regarding of it being a 'joke', of course. but now it had another connotation to it that he didn't realize before: that even his 'kindness' was cruel as monster's can't possibly be capable of doing anything even slightly good. but laurent was wrong about that. for, although barton certainly didn't think that what he'd just done was something so utterly significant that it would absolve himself of all the blood on his hands (especially since barton didn't think anything could at this point), there was nothing in this for him.

no reward. and barton didn't want one, either. he then banished all thoughts of that prick from his mind as one could definitely say that they were on the 'outs' right now. so, barton wasn't going to even grant laurent the pleasure of being on his mind any longer, pushing his plate to the side of himself. a light sigh slipped through barton's lips then. what others thought of him was not something he contemplated very often when it wasn't nightfall, in all honesty. however... some part of barton wondered what the news had taken to considering him to be. would they use a very blah way to describe the person who killed marty, like they're 'dangerous,' as he originally thought? or would they try to sensationalize it by calling them something akin to a 'psychopath?' it almost made him curious enough to turn on the TV, but they probably had enough to worry about with all these people who had phones on them. they were like mini computers now.

psychopath. he never did like that word very much. that's when barton was brought back to reality by jervis talking, but he honestly couldn't be sure whether it was to him. barton silently rose an eyebrow at him and just watched over the other briefly. now that he thought about it, he had seen him looking past him about one or two times during their conversations, as if jervis was privy to something that barton wasn't. he wasn't going to ask him about it because it simply wasn't his business but he had mentioned having ECT forced on him. which could theoretically be used to treat, and he says theoretically because the way they did it in arkham was all wrong, depression, catatonia, schizophrenia. things like that. barton put his head down on both his arms while they were on the counter. what a truly messed-up way to try to make them 'better,' like all of those quacks in the asylum were always phrasing it.

whenever jervis accepted the glass, barton in particular fixated on the accidental brushing of the scars he could feel on jervis's skin. he supposed so he didn't have to have his mind be quiet once more; a downturned smile ever-so-slightly tugging at barton's lips as he watched the other take a bite out of it. that's when he heard the sound of the door to the restaurant opening, and simultaneously, ravi had come out with another plate of his curry. ❝ here you go — ❞ he slowly put it down in front of barton before turning his head to look at who just came in with a surprised look on his face. barton was just about to himself, only for a very well-dressed matilda to lean her body to one side and say 'boo,' effectively scaring barton.

matilda couldn't help but laugh at that before barton murmured a soft, albeit not actually malicious sounding but playful instead, ❝ oh, my god, matilda. you know i love you but i hate you so much right now, ❞ ravi placed a hand on his shoulder and snorted slightly before saying, ❝ hey, be nice to your daughter, mister i-got-attacked-by-a-bear. and you better take his ass to the hospital or i'm hunting both of you down. ❞ the man left without another word, then, though matilda called after him, ❝ it was nice to see you too, ravi! now let me see this. oh, wow. it really does look like you got attacked by a bear. you didn't do this to him, did you? ❞ his daughter was now talking to jervis as she looked at him through narrowed eyes and did something to the wound to make barton protest. ❝ uhh, ow! and no, he didn't. he's obviously too much of a goody-goody to. ❞ barton stated sarcastically. he knew that, if jervis wanted to hurt him, it'd probably be in a much more... creative way now.

Jervis glanced at Barton through his lashes, mouth twitching at the corners. All of the condensed energy within his frame seemed to evaporate like spring dew with that simple gesture, the other man’s words hesitantly sprouting between them like leaves on an olive branch. A beat stretched. Jervis took another spoonful of his soup, chewed the chicken and rice, shut his eyes as the broth trickled down his throat.

At this moment, he was absolutely certain of two things. First, Jervis was touched - genuinely touched - at this second, seeming entirely unprompted act of kindness on Barton’s behalf. And then, a sense of dread begin to sink into the pit of his stomach, as he wondered why exactly Barton was offering him the falooda. What possible ulterior motives did he have this time? A flicker of tension began to rise in his jaw, but it soon snuffed itself out as his teeth accidentally misaligned in mid-bite around the spoon, digging into the callused tissue rimming the underside of his bottom lip. Jervis flinched, one hand immediately flying to his mouth to assess the damage.

It was nothing drastic by any means, no blood had been shed, but that one slip in self-control almost hurt worse. Whatever dregs of revulsion and irritation remained inside him melted, replaced by the familiar, sour notes of shame and self-reproach. Ahh, I deserved that one. Fair enough. After all, they had been stonewalling since they first stepped out of that transport van and into Jamie’s car. Surely, now that they had broken bread together, they could enjoy a temporary peace.

Whatever happened to the Golden Rule, Jervis? Is your hatred of the man so strong, it overrides everything else? He can’t wear the Dollmaker’s mask any longer than you can put on the Hatter’s mantle or pilfer Carroll. You’re both human, after all, not comic book villains. Besides, throwing the offer and the falooda in his face, however small the satisfaction may be, will only widen the chasm between you both. What you need right now is an ally, even if it’s circumstantial.

As if hearing his thoughts, Sylvie clicked her tongue, cocked her head thoughtfully as she looked at him over Barton’s shoulder; her mist-colored eyes sharp and cold as January sleet. “And here I thought I was the petty one between the two of us. What, are you going to spit at him? Pour the soup in his lap? Good; that’s fine. You piss him off, he has second-degree burns, what then? Do you really think that’s wise? Of course not, you’re not an idiot, and you’re not a cruel man. So, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“… it’s fine,” Jervis mumbled numbly, dropping his gaze. “You needn’t worry.” His hands shook, clammy beneath the black leather that encased them. He had no idea if he was speaking to Barton or to the shadowy thing just behind where he sat. “I’ve had… a lot on my mind, as you can probably tell. I lose my train of thought… things can sometimes go mad.” He raised his right hand, extended it to free the glove on the opposite side from where it had bunched around his knuckles once again, only to freeze. His skin crawled at the thought of exposure, but between the escape and the means of its procurement, the trip back to Gotham in Jamie’s car, the bathroom, and now here at this table… the gloves were positively soiled now. The filed edges of Barton’s nails caught the light. There was no way in hell he would’ve been allowed to grow them while he was legitimately practicing medicine…

“The ball’s in your court,” Sylvie drawled. “You’ve got the wolf by the ear, and you don’t even realize it.” The slightest hint of mockery colored the outlines of her words. Jervis’ ears burned. Goosebumps flared. She was getting closer now, her pale features hardening, all the color in her cheeks bleaching itself away, like paint receding from marble. “What’re you going to do about it? Can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, isn’t that what you always told me? What would Alice think of you now?”

This wasn’t her. Not his wife. Not Sylvie, not the mother of their child, not the love of his life. Merely something dark and twisted inside him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge —something he was afraid to address, that that recognition would supersede all the positive traits within him, all the warmth and joy and optimism and kindness and the capacity for love —

His left hand mechanically clenched around his right, tore off the filthy glove. The bare appendage wrapped itself around the base of the proffered falooda glass as Barton hesitantly nudged it towards him. For the briefest of moments, the other man’s nails grazed against the old calluses and the web of scars and contusions marring Jervis’ skin. He raised his head, met Barton’s eyes; saw the earnestness there, the uncertainty, all bleeding together.

Jervis glanced back behind Barton. Sylvie — or whatever figment of his imagination or paranoia or only God knew had taken her face, her voice, her demeanor — had vanished. His heart sank. For just a moment, he wished she had remained there… even if, he rationalized, it wasn’t really her. Or had it been, after all? A peek behind the veils that separated them? The chill of the glass and the soft pink hue of its contents washed over him. He exhaled. Perhaps he didn’t want to know for certain, after all. If there truly was an afterlife… wouldn’t he know by now? Jervis flexed his fingers; took the spoon, scooped up a bite, and savored the falooda’s rich, creamy texture.

Truce.

#divingdownthehole #tw: mentions of murder.#tw: mental illness.#tw: medical malpractice.#tw: mentions of electroconvulsive therapy.#tw: allusions to a toxic relationship.#ahh i see i see. well i know that we already talked a bit about this in IM's but i just wanted to say that that is honestly a rather-#intriguing concept that his hallucination there was self-projecting and taking the form of someone that he'd usually associate with being-#kind / compassionate when the things she was 'saying' to him i guess you could say were pretty much the opposite of that. though it sucks-#that he has to deal with that of course because i can't imagine that having your memory of someone tampered with like that is-#pleasant you know? idk if that makes sense but if it doesn't then just let me know and i'll try to explain it better but-#i know that he doesn't know that is sylvie ofc bc you talked about that in your reply. though it just seems like it'd be kind of...#distressing in a hard-to-place way for him is the best way i could put it. BUT now that you know the name of barton's terrible on-and-off #bf i'm going to now add him to the list of 'characters we need to start a hate club for' along with wesley / hj JSJSJ nahhh i'm only being-#partially serious there but he is NOT a good guy either as i've talked about with you a bit i think and i will forever be throwing tomatoes #at him in my mind TBH. like boooo you stink LOL also matilda being like dressed to the nines when she showed up was just-#on my mind so of COURSE i had to include that very important detail in there / j haha buttt yeah matilda is how you say... a fashion icon™#so it very much fits her if i'm being honest JSJSJ but yeah like i was saying before i don't think your reply was OOC at all and i-#absolutely LOVED it in fact!! so it makes perfect sense that he would try to 'ground himself' in this moment imo as well #also guess who has a recommended listening for this? meee LOL chemtrails over the country club by lana del ray is what i used to write-#some of this so feel free to give it a listen if you'd like tehe

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natsaffection · 6 months ago

Note

I’m sorry if this is too much to ask

I recently went through a breakup with my girlfriend (recently as in last night) and I need some Natty fluff and comfort. For an idea reader and nat are bestfriends and have been through S.H.I.E.L.D for many years before Nat was promoted to an Avenger and reader was left behind as an agent.

Reader broke up with their relationship a day before Nat got home from a mission(clarification that nat n reader share apartments) injured and its just the two worrying about eachother to mindlessly cuddle and comfort eachother.

could add in soft sex for plot but ill let you decide the rest 😞✊

Held Together. | N.R

Warnings: friends brake up, injury

Word count: 2,3k

A/n: Hey you. I know this isn't going to help you much, and I definitely want to lend you my ear if you ever want to talk about things like this. I know how it feels, and I also know that saying it will get better doesn't exactly help. So please don't hesitate to write to me. 🩵

The first time you saw Natasha, you were both in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility, hidden deep within the confines of a classified location. The facility was stark, all concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, with the faint scent of sweat and determination lingering in the air. You were new, just another recruit with a mysterious past, handpicked for reasons that weren't fully explained to you. But then again, secrecy was the foundation of S.H.I.E.L.D., and you had learned quickly that questions were often better left unasked.

Natasha stood out immediately. Not just because of her striking red hair, which seemed to catch the light even in the dullest corners of the room, but because of the aura of quiet confidence she exuded. She moved with a precision that spoke of years of experience, each step deliberate, each movement economical. It was clear that she was in a league of her own. But it wasn’t her skill that drew you to her, it was the look in her eyes. Beneath the stoic mask, there was a flicker of something familiar, something you recognized in yourself. The guarded pain of someone who had seen too much, too soon. The training sessions were brutal. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t coddle its recruits, and you were pushed to your limits, physically and mentally. But every time you faltered, Natasha was there, a silent presence at your side, pushing you to keep going. She wasn’t the type to offer comforting words or a reassuring pat on the back, but her actions spoke louder than any words could. She trained with you, sparred with you, and when you were both covered in bruises and gasping for breath, she would sit with you in the quiet moments, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

Over time, what began as mutual respect grew into something deeper. You found yourself seeking her out, not just in training but outside of it. Late nights in the common room, nursing cups of coffee and talking about everything and nothing at all. You learned that Natasha wasn’t just a hardened spy. She was fiercely intelligent, with a dry wit that could cut through any tension. She had a past that she kept close to the vest, but in those quiet moments, she would let slip little pieces of herself, and you would do the same. It was during one of those late-night conversations that you both discovered just how much you had in common. You shared a dark sense of humor, born from lives that had demanded you grow up too fast. You both knew what it was like to be used as a tool, to have your choices stripped away, and to fight tooth and nail to reclaim some semblance of control.

The turning point in your friendship came during a mission in Prague. You had been sent in as backup for Natasha, who was deep undercover, trying to extract a high-value target from an enemy compound. The mission had gone south, bad intel, compromised routes, everything that could go wrong did. Natasha was pinned down, outgunned and outnumbered, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought you might lose her. But you didn’t hesitate. You stormed the compound, using every skill you had learned, every lesson drilled into you during those grueling training sessions. You fought your way to her, the two of you battling side by side, back to back, until you managed to extract the target and make your escape.

When you were safely back at the extraction point, covered in dust and blood, Natasha had turned to you, her eyes fierce with a mix of adrenaline and gratitude. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you was all you needed. From that moment on, you were partners in every sense of the word. There was an unspoken understanding between you..a bond forged in the heat of battle, one that neither of you questioned. Over the years, that bond only grew stronger. You became the team that everyone wanted on their mission, the pair that could get the job done no matter the odds. You were the calm to her storm, the steady hand that balanced her fierce determination. And she was your anchor, the one person you knew you could rely on, no matter what.

But it wasn’t all about the missions. There were moments of light in the darkness inside jokes that no one else understood, late-night movies when you both should have been sleeping, and the kind of trust that only came from knowing someone inside and out. You knew her favorite coffee order, the songs she hummed when she thought no one was listening, and the way she always checked her weapons twice before a mission, even when she didn’t need to. And she knew you, knew the nightmares that woke you in the middle of the night, the reason you kept your distance from most people, and the way you always carried that one memento from your past, a small token of a life you barely remembered. She never pushed, never pried, but her presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this world.

Then came the day when everything shifted. Natasha was summoned to Nick office a meeting that would change the course of both your lives. When she emerged, she looked different, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but there was something else too a distance, a sense of something slipping away. She told you about the Avengers, about the offer Fury had made. You could see the excitement in her eyes, the way her posture straightened as she spoke about it. And why wouldn’t she be excited? It was a chance to be part of something bigger, something that could change the world. You listened, nodded in all the right places, and when she asked what you thought, you plastered on a smile and told her how proud you were.

But inside, your heart ached. You knew that things would never be the same. You didn’t want to hold her back, didn’t want to be the reason she missed out on something extraordinary, but the thought of losing the connection you shared filled you with a dread you couldn’t shake. And slowly, that fear began to materialize.

As Natasha got more involved with the Avengers, the calls became less frequent, the visits even more so. You found yourself spending more time alone, throwing yourself into missions to drown out the loneliness. The once unbreakable bond you shared felt like it was fraying, the threads pulling apart one by one. The more you tried to reach out, the more distant she seemed, until one day, you realized that the Natasha you knew was almost a stranger to you now. She had new friends, new responsibilities, a new life. And where you once stood side by side, you were now watching from the sidelines, unsure of where you fit in her world anymore.

But the memories remained. Every time you walked past the training room, you could almost hear the echoes of your past conversations, the laughter that once filled the empty spaces. The ghost of what you had once had lingered, haunting you in the quiet moments. You didn’t know what the future held for you and Natasha, but one thing was certain: the bond you had shared was changing, evolving into something you couldn’t yet understand. And as much as it hurt, you knew that you had to find your place in this new reality, even if it meant doing it without her by your side.

The apartment felt too quiet, the silence oppressive as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the empty walls. Your things were mostly packed, boxes lining the hallway, and the last remnants of your life here waiting to be sealed up and carried away. You had made your decision the day before, the weight of it still sitting heavily in your chest.

You had ended it. Ended the friendship, the partnership, the life you had built with Natasha. The pain of watching her drift further away into her new life as an Avenger had become too much to bear. Every day had been a reminder of how much you were losing her, and it had finally reached a breaking point. You couldn’t stand being the one left behind anymore, always wondering when or if things would go back to the way they were. So, you had left a note on the kitchen table, explaining as best you could, trying to make her understand why you needed to leave, why you couldn’t keep living in the shadow of her new world. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it to her face, not after everything you’d been through together, so you had written the words, packed your things, and left the apartment.

But now, sitting in the empty space you once called home, the reality of what you’d done settled in, and it hurt more than you could have imagined. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to give up on what you had with Natasha, but you didn’t see any other way to protect your heart from breaking further. It was supposed to be simple. You would leave, and Natasha would come back to an empty apartment, read the note, and understand. She’d move on, and so would you. That was the plan.

Except plans never go the way you expect them to.

The sound of the front door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. Your heart stopped as you heard footsteps heavy, uneven. Natasha was back. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be gone, far away, already beginning the process of moving on. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not yet. You stood up, feeling your heart race as you heard Natasha’s familiar footsteps drawing closer. When she finally appeared in the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. She looked exhausted, her skin pale, and there was a grimace on her face that she couldn’t quite hide.

But what really terrified you was the blood on her jacket and the way she was cradling her side as if trying to hold herself together. “Natasha..” you whispered, the word barely audible as the shock of seeing her like this hit you. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, she just stared, as if trying to process that you were really there. “Y/n..?”

“You’re hurt.” you said, your voice trembling as you took a closer look. "It’s not as bad as it looks..” she replied, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as she winced in pain. “Stop pretending.” you snapped, though your voice was laced more with worry than anger. “Why didn’t you go to the medbay?”

Natasha shook her head, letting out a strained sigh “I just..needed to come home.” she said softly, her eyes flickering around the room, taking in the packed boxes, the half-empty closet. “I thought you would be gone..?” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and filled with the tension of everything that had happened, everything that hadn’t been said.

“I was supposed to be..” you admitted. “Come here, let me help you with that.” She didn’t resist as you guided her to the bed, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she tried to stay composed. You carefully unzipped her jacket, wincing at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages underneath. It wasn’t the worst injury you’d seen her with, but it was bad enough to make your hands shake as you reached for the first aid kit. She winced as you peeled the blood-soaked fabric away, revealing a nasty gash along her side. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was deep enough to require stitches.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion as you began to clean the wound, trying to keep your hands steady. “I didn’t want you to worry..” Natasha replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess that plan didn’t work out too well.”

“Damn it, Natasha..” you muttered, blinking back tears as you worked. “You can’t just..you can’t just keep doing this. Keeping things from me. Pushing me away.”

“I wasn’t trying to push you away.” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I just..I didn’t know how to handle all of this. You, the Avengers, everything. I thought I could balance it all, but I was wrong.” You paused, your breath hitching as the weight of her words settled over you. “Nat-” you started, but she cut you off.

“I read your note.” she said, her eyes glistening as she looked down at you. “I know why you left, and I can’t blame you. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I forgot about the one person who’s always been there for me. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you.” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you finished dressing her wound, your hands lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary. “You haven’t lost me.” you whispered, your voice shaking. “But I can’t keep living like this, Natasha. It’s tearing me apart..”

She reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you.” You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes as the warmth of her hand seeped into your skin. “I know.” you whispered. “But things have to change. We can’t keep going like this.”

Natasha nodded, her own tears spilling over as she pulled you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around you as if she was afraid to let go. You buried your face in her shoulder, the scent of her familiar, comforting even through the layers of blood and sweat. You both held on to each other as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with the sound of your combined breaths, the rise and fall of your chests in sync, the steady beat of her heart against your ear. “I don’t want to lose you..” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

“You won’t.” she promised, her voice filled with quiet determination. “I won’t let you.” There was a moment of silence, thick with unspoken emotions, and then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips softly to hers. The kiss was tender, hesitant, as if you were both afraid to break the fragile connection between you. But the moment your lips met, it was like something inside you both clicked into place, the distance and the pain melting away, replaced by the familiar warmth of being with each other. Natasha kissed you back, her lips moving slowly, carefully, as if savoring the moment. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“I’m sorry..” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Shh..” Natasha murmured, her hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “We’ll figure it out.” You nodded, unable to speak as you felt the tears slipping down your cheeks. Natasha gently wiped them away, her touch so soft it made your heart ache. You didn’t know what the future held for you both, but in this moment, with her arms around you and her lips still tingling from the kiss, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Carefully, you helped her lie down on the bed, her head resting on the pillow as you pulled the blanket over her. But before you could move away, Natasha caught your hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her exhaustion. “Stay with me.” she whispered, her eyes pleading. You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you crawled into bed beside her. Natasha immediately curled into you, her head resting on your chest, her arm draped over your waist. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close, as if you were afraid she might slip away if you let go.

The two of you lay there in silence, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of your hearts. The tension, the hurt, the fear..it all seemed to fade away as you held each other, the warmth of her body against yours a balm to the wounds that had been festering between you for so long. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, your fingers gently stroking her hair as she sighed contentedly against you. “I love you, Nat..” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I love you too.” she murmured, her voice filled with so much tenderness it made your heart ache. You tightened your hold on her, burying your face in her hair as you let the weight of the day finally slip away. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other. And as you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

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mrsnancywheeler · 1 year ago

Text

let me down easy // finnick odair x f. reader

based off this blurb

summary: finnick pushed himself away, isolated himself, and you're slipping through his fingers like sand.

masterlist

3.8k words

warnings: angst, a tiny bit of fluff at the end, a little smutty but also very brief, mental illness, insecurity, paranoia, allusions to cheating (no one is actually cheating), slightly mean!finnick, self destructive behavior on all sides, more insecurities, arguments, feeling isolated, slight blood and injury, female rage things, male masturbation, unedited, no use of y/n, brief mentions of vomiting, girls girls all around, annie cresta my beloved being a girl girl, people pleaser reader

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Once every day had felt like it was full of sunlight, even if there were ups and downs you always had each other by the end of it. Now you weren't even sure if you had yourself, let alone Finnick. Worst of all you had no idea what you'd done wrong, at first you chalked it up to how he'd just returned from the Capitol. But usually his isolation was a day at the most before he'd succumb to your comfort. Instead it had been nearly a month of radio silence.

He stopped the way he'd pepper your face with kisses to wake you up and bring you to the kitchen where he'd have made breakfast, telling you mindless stories about his morning swim. Now if he did anything for you it felt robotic, out of necessity, there was no helping you with your hair, having fun picking out your outfits, he was barely around. Never would you have thought you could be such an outcast in your own home, your own relationship.

At first you'd thought you just weren't doing enough, that he needed some extra love to help him open up. Reluctantly you'd fully wake yourself up when you felt him rise for his swim, take up the position of making him breakfast instead. Busying yourself with his favorites until he returned and you put on your best smile when he did, hopeful it would be somewhat successful.

“Good morning!” You greeted and were met with a confused look, a nod. You'd always hated getting up this early yet here you were and he did nothing.

“I have to take a shower." He muttered and was up the stairs. It was a disappointing resolution, but then your hopes had still been high. So you kept making his favorites throughout the next few days, scattering gifts for him throughout the house, writing notes to hide where he might find them, desperate to show him how much you loved him.

“Where are you going?" Your voice startled him and he slowly turned his head towards you.

Finnick's voice was so dry, rigid, “Fishing."

“Oh, let me get my shoes on, I'll come with!" Bright smiles, you reminded yourself when it felt like wavering.

“I'd rather go alone."

“Right." It wanted to falter so bad, “How long are you gonna be gone? I could make you lunch to go or something."

“I'm okay."

You fidgeted with your fingers, “Yeah, okay, well, um, have fun." Then he was gone, without a kiss, even a hug goodbye. Come to think of it there hadn't been any at all for a while, not even in the morning which is something he'd always do. So after a few days failing with those attempts you'd convinced yourself of a different reason.

“Annie, be honest with me, do you think I'm pretty?" The two of you had been out in the garden of Victors Village and she seemed taken aback.

“Honey, of course you're pretty. You're beautiful, what brought this on?" She dropped what she was doing to look at you.

You darted around the specifics, “What about the way I dress, is it too frumpy?"

“No! There's nothing wrong with anything about you." Her voice was so soft and she felt like the only person you could talk to now that Finnick had pushed himself away from you. “What's going on?"

You felt yourself finally crying all the held back tears you'd hid for the moments alone, “What if he's found someone prettier and more exciting?” You sobbed out and Annie hugged you.

"Finnick worships the ground you walk on, he'd never do that.”

"He barely even talks to me anymore, Annie. It's like I don't exist.”

“He's just going through a rough patch, it's not your fault."

Regardless of what Annie said, you disagreed. He must have had someone else, but you couldn't confront him about it. No, if you did then it would become real and he'd leave you for them. There had to be someone else taking on his hardships and loving him the way he'd once let you. So you bought new makeup, new lingerie, new clothes, tried to feel more attractive, more desirable. Yet it didn't seem like he even noticed.

You'd waited for his return all day, he'd left so early you hadn't even seen him. You made dinner praying that he'd see the effort you made, and find you irresistible once again. Of course, this effort seemed to be in vain.

“Welcome home, Finn!" You greeted when he walked through the front door, pained by the sound of your own faux bubbly voice. You put a plate down in front of his usual seat.

“Thanks." He mumbled and you smiled cheerfully. Perhaps you'd been too solemn and he'd prefer someone who exuded more sunshine-like behavior. “How was your day?" His voice was sharp, curt, but it was a conversation nonetheless. Always better than nothing.

“It was good!" You lied through your teeth, there hadn't been a single moment where your brain hadn't been infested with the thought of him pushing you away, him with someone else. It was something you desiped, you preferred to be in the moment. When you had been confident in yours and Finnick's relationship you could immerse yourself in the company of others, enjoy menial tasks with humming and daydreams, but now the isolation haunted your mind. “Annie and I planted some new flowers and cut some that recently finished blooming. I finally changed our vases out." He didn't even glance around, just kept eating. Your Finnick had always made an effort to look around, praise you for anything you did, he took pride in you, now the only thing he took pride in was being able to avoid you.

He curtly nodded his head in response and you felt like you might snap. Especially as the silence persisted, nothing except the sounds of the house and his fork clinking on the plate. You chewed at your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down waiting for the smallest bit of conversation, but nothing came. Eventually you shot out of your seat, grabbed your plate, which you were sure you wouldn't be able to stomach, and began cleaning up dinner. Hands gripping each dish so hard as if to contain all the rage you'd been repressing.

“I can clean up." Finnick murmured as he rose.

Being lazy was another thing you thought could be a reason. He did so much for you and whatever you had to offer must not have been enough. Yes, he'd always insisted that you should just be his pretty girl that he could look at when he did the tasks, but in secret he must have just wanted you to resist and do more. So you vehemently shook your head, “No, I've got it!" Your voice was strained and several pitches too high to sound natural.

“It's fine, I can do it.” How dare he have the gall to sound annoyed with you.

“I've got it Finnick, just go to bed!" Or whatever the fuck else is he does to be away from you. You regretted how snappy you were, he wanted someone easy going, not how uptight you were being. But god, hate that man for how he looked like a wounded puppy dog. “Sorry." You muttered, only partially genuine. Harshly grabbing a glass to clean, hands gripping around it, so harshly it seemed that when you went to put it to dry, it shattered in your hand. Your reaction was delayed as you stood there in disbelief, you hated your life, “Fuck.”

Then his hand was on your back and you involuntarily jerked at the contact you hadn't felt for so long. “You're bleeding." How the hell was his voice still so stony, a mystery you'd never know the answer too. It sent tingles up your spine the way his hand was on your back, you missed his touch. He led you to the bathroom where he carefully tended to the cuts in your hand. Carefully taking out the pieces of glass and although you occasionally winced, it was like your brain couldn't comprehend the pain over the buzzing about his hand touching yours. But once he bandaged it up the touch was gone and so was he with a, “I'll clean up."

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. But you hated being angry with him when he was probably going through something, he'd struggled so much and just needed help. Was it really excusable though when it was tearing you apart to be in all of this. You got up and without a second thought walked straight out the front door. Feet guiding you to the comfort of the beach. Of course it invoked memories of all the better times spent with Finnick, but out here at least you had the ocean. It has started to rain and you didn't care. Walking out into the sea, as far as you could touch, and letting the freedom of the waves surround you. And you screamed, at the sky, at the waters, into the night. Trying so desperately to let go of the aggression, so you could keep trying. Inhaling the salt air before you walked back inside, you could do this. Every relationship had trials and tribulations, but you could be stronger, stick together.

As you were walking back, Finnick was jogging towards you, “Are you okay?" There was actual emotion in his voice, you longed to be privileged to it more often.

“Yeah."

“I thought I… " He trailed off, hand running through his hair. The way he looked like he might cry sparked guilt in you, but also a sick pleasure that he actually cared. “You're gonna get sick." Just as quickly his tone returned to being straight-laced.

You didn't care, if you were sick maybe he would take care of you. So you walked inside and he said nothing. You showered and changed, you'd gotten a new nightgown that left little to the imagination. Maybe you could get a rise out of him, get him to touch you more. But he seemed to be fast asleep by the time you left the bathroom, so you slipped into bed beside him. In the past he'd always sleep with his arms around you, but now you slept beside each other rather than with one another. It left you cold, despite the blankets, which were barely there as he'd always been a blanket hog, which you used to tease him for, but was fine because you were attached to him. Now you laid there and felt yourself crying. You cursed yourself for it, not right now, but you couldn't stop. So you covered your mouth with a hand as you sobbed into it.

The next morning you felt him wake, but there was no energy to make breakfast. You were exhausted and it hadn't made him love you again anyways. So you drifted back off until the sound of floorboards creaking when he returned woke you up. You sat up in bed as he entered the bedroom. “Morning, Finn." The smile you worked hard to maintain was back.

“Morning." He mumbled and then his eyes faltered on you. That's when you remembered the nightgown, it was a relief for something to keep his eyes on you. ‘Love me, even if it's just for my body, love me in some way.’ Your brain begged to no avail. “Shower." He slowly said even though he'd very obviously grown hard.

You felt humiliated, completely embarrassed to be dressed the way you were and him to still not want you. It made you want to cry again, but you had to persist. Rising to get dressed until you heard your name. It took you a second to process that he was moaning it, you were right there and he was getting himself off to the thought of you when he could've just had the actual you. That had to be a new type of low. You hadn't even dared to touch yourself no matter how badly you wanted him because you knew nothing you did could match the things he'd made you feel. Yet here he was, so easily jerking off. There was nothing you could do except seethe as you got ready for your day. At least it was your name and not some other girls.

You were in the kitchen when he walked downstairs, “Going to the market." He announced and you got up from your chair.

“I'm coming too." It wasn't a question.

"No, it's okay. I've just got a couple things to grab.”

"So do I, so I'll just come along to grab them. You don't even have to stick by me, I'm just going.” You were exasperated. Honestly you hadn't left the confines of Victors Village for a while, besides when you tried to recall your look, and this would be a good opportunity to see if he was being honest. There was nothing you really had to get, but at least you'd somewhat had his company.

He said nothing but waited as you put on your sandals and then the two of you set off. The silence was deafening as you two walked, your Finnick would always hold your hand, would've taken you from booth to booth and ramble on endlessly, buy anything you glanced at with interest, but now he stood too far away for your hands to even brush by each other. The bustling of the market was a relief and for the first time in a long time you naturally smiled. Although it was jarring how quickly Finnick put on a smile, made conversation with all these people when he hadn't blessed you with the same thing. In fact, it instantly dampened your mood.

“Haven't seen you in so long, missed seeing that pretty smile!" All your favorite vendors gushed and you'd smile, make small talk. Even if everything made you think of Finnick. When was the last time he'd called you pretty? When was the last time he kissed you?

“You look a little sad, are you alright?" And you'd insist you were just feeling a little under the weather. You'd somewhat kept your distance from Finnick until you saw him laughing with a girl in the market. When was the last time he'd laughed with you? Is this what he did, found pretty girls in the market, charmed them, and went back home with them?

You'd slowly approached and showed fake interest in one of her necklaces. “They're real pearls." She said. She was so pretty, stunning. What did she have that you didn't? You hummed, smiling and without a word, Finnick was handing you money.

‘I don't want your money, I want you to pay attention to me.’ You thought and shook your head, “I don't need your money, Finn." The only thing you'd want from him was something he'd pick out because he wanted to give it to you, something he'd always done if you hadn't been there with him. Showing up at home with little treasures to show off to you. He looked at you quizzically, it wasn't like you had any money of your own on you.

“Is this your girlfriend?" The woman asked, her voice was sweet like sugar, you were too gruff, that's what you were missing.

Right now though, your voice was breathy, anxious. “Yeah." The woman must have been able to sense something off because she looked at you with pity. Finnick left the money on the counter by you regardless of what you said and walked off. You sighed.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know."

You gave a sad smile, “It's okay, not your fault." You picked the money up, ready to go find him.

“He's just a guy, even if he's Finnick Odair, don't let him dim your spark." It should've been encouraging, except you knew you loved him too much to ever leave him.

You found him, chatting and smiling as he bought produce. You missed his smile. “Here." You said quietly, handing him his money.

“Where's the necklace?"

“Didn't need it." You didn't care about needing it, you care that he would rather have you buy things for yourself then make you feel valued.

He huffed, like you were frustrating him, annoying him. “Okay, use it to find something else then. You said you weren't going to stick around me." You couldn't stop yourself from physically recoiling from his venom.

“I just came to tell you I was going home." You said weakly, staring at the ground. “Have fun." Your voice cracked slightly and you didn't even bother looking up as you walked home. Immediately settling yourself into bed where you refused to move. Eventually he came home, something clicked onto the dresser table, the sun went down and you stayed put. When he crawled into bed the most movement you made was flipping onto your side to have the protection of your back facing him.

For days it was a cycle of laying in bed, only rising once he left, usually to stand under the burning hot water in the shower until your skin felt raw. Then immediately returning back to bed. He'd return, put something on the dresser, and you'd stay still. Eventually one night he'd come home and sat at your feet, mattress dipping. “We need to talk."

Your hands clamped over your ears, this was it, he was done with you, all that effort for nothing. The anxiety knotted in your stomach, “I'm gonna be sick." You forced yourself up and found yourself throwing up in the toilet, Finnick holding your hair back.

“Hey, it's okay. It's okay, sweet girl." When you were done you said nothing as you brushed your teeth, praying he would leave and forget whatever bad news he was surely bearing. But he didn't, he waited and sat on the bed, waiting for you. Who exited, arms crossed, trying not to cry.

“Please don't break up with me." It was pathetic to beg for but he stood up, looking bewildered.

“No, no, no, I'm not gonna break up with you, sweet girl. I wouldn't even think of it." His hands cradled your face and you melted into them.

Finally you let the tears fall, "Then what are we talking about?”

"I've been so terrible to you, a terrible partner, a terrible person. I…” He took a deep breath in, "I had a rough time in the Capitol, I always do, especially last time though. And I knew you would be able to tell and try to help, but it was easier for me to just block you out so I didn't have to deal with it. Because it hurts to think about." He was crying and it made your heart ache. "And I took you for granted. I didn't try to be there for you, I was selfish and I can't make up for it enough. I will spend the rest of my life making up for it.”

You were both sobbing and he pressed his forehead to yours. His hands were so warm, his touch was so perfect. "I want to help you.”

"I know.” He pulled his forehead away, putting his hands on your shoulders. "I need you to tell me how you felt. Not the sweet way you usually explain things, be honest, so honest.

You shook your head, “No, it's okay. It was just miscommunication."

“No, I think I nearly broke you and everybody else noticed before I did. I need to know your raw feelings, so I can attempt to make it up to you.” He let go of your shoulders and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I thought you were cheating on me.” You said quietly, anxiously playing with your fingers. He already looked hurt, "Like you found someone else because I wasn't, I don't know, fun enough, pretty enough, hardworking enough. And you didn't want me to do anything with you ever or notice anything I did for you." You took a deep breath, you could feel yourself getting angrily worked up and he could tell.

“If you're angry, be angry." He said and you obeyed.

“And I bought new clothes for you, changed my makeup routine, smiled more, made all your favorites, woke up earlier, tried to take on burdens and you said nothing. Do you know how lonely I was? How bad that made me feel about myself? One day you weren't letting me lift a finger, telling me you loved me, now pretty I was, and the next I thought I'd never hear any of that again, let alone have you touch me. No kisses, or hugs, you didn't even hold me when we slept! And you were so closed off and sometimes mean on top of that and all I wanted was your attention. Until finally I gave up because at least even if you weren't really with me, I still had you, and I didn't want you to leave me just because I found out there was someone else, which is so fucked. And then I thought, maybe at the very least, he’ll have me for my body, I had new lingerie, I tried and you didn't give a fuck. No, you got yourself off in the goddamn bathroom and I was right here!” Your voice had risen and your inhales were sharp between the ranting, "And everytime I hated what you were doing to me, I'd feel bad because what you've been through is so much worse and I should still try to be there for you. So I tried and then you'd be annoyed with me and it was like torture. And I swear to god, if you ever do that again, I'll leave.” A weight lifted off of your chest and he hugged you.

“I'm so sorry, I won't ever do it again, I love you so much, you're so pretty and kind and I need you in my life." You held onto him like he would slip away, kissing away your tears that were falling even though he was also crying. He held you until the sobbing had mostly subsided, “You know I bought you all these stupid gifts when you were laying there, thinking it would make you feel better, but I don't even think you noticed." He chuckled and you turned your head, not wanting to tear away from him. All you could see was the necklace from where you were standing. “Not that it would've done anything after all the time I spent letting the castle crumble around us.

"Thank you.” It was muttered and then he tried to pull out of the hug which made you whine. Trying to cling on forever.

His hand tilted your chin towards him, “You wanna put one of those sets on that you got for me so I can show you how pretty you are and how sorry I am for neglecting my sweet girl?"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

sorry y'all angst is my default settings. thank you for reading, comments, likes, reblogs, feedbacks is all super appreciated. asks and requests are open, love you all, sorry again 💋

taglist: @wowzabowza69

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fanfic #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick imagine #finnick odair x reader smut

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zorosnavigator · 3 months ago

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Timebomb fics rec

A lot of timebomb fics are hiding through a lot of CaitVi/JayVik tagged works on ao3 (while many are also CV orJV centric) so i made this rec post for everyone who dont want to spent 1 hour scrolling or missing some of them bc you're filtering other ships!! (sorry for the short summaries/ i didnt write my thoughts as thoughtfully as i would have liked because.yk.time and all. update chapter count/add of new fics every week)

AU/crossovers fics

Je t'aime (Je t'attends) 3 chapter, WIP.

Hunger games x Timebomb/Arcane, the way the system of the games from the og novels are mixed in the Arcane universe is really masterful, the writer dont lose too much time explaining it but you understand the dynamics of the 2 cities and the characters perfectly anyway.

Where would you be now ? by enaven 5/6 chapters, WIP.

family/modern AU, timebomb feels, Ekko and Jinx are Isha's parents, CaitVi are just silly aunts and i'll never stop recommending this fic

you're the best thing to ever happen to me (but also the worst thing to ever happen to me) by grey_toiletpaper ( @greytoiletpaper ) 3/8 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Timebomb inspired by 10 things i hate about you.

We Moved Into a Real House (a Wild Field Behind it) by smokesatellite 3/10 chapters. WIP. Rated T.

Modern AU, Timebomb roommates/friends to lovers, Isha is a foster kid...you know where this is going .. (Ekko as a nurse is not something i expected but its surprisingly good. Also the in law feud between Jinx and Cait is very funny)

s1 fics

Silco is less of an asshole

The Heart of Zaun by 1ts_Br1tney_B1tch 8/ chapters. WIP.

or: Silco try to rally the Firelights to his cause (in this case, Zaun - he's much more involved in doing better for his city than in the show) but of course they're bound to have some..tension between them, since they hate him - and Shimmer. (it has the good parent Silco tag so i'd say that all in all, this Silco is a little less...Silco than in Arcane, but manage to keep some of the bite he has in canon...) i only read 2 chapters, and what i can say is that it does a good job with the general cast, the interactions between Silco/Ekko-Firelights are believable, i think the one thing that could have weird me out is the way Silco is said to be 'proud' of the Firelights in the summary (for me 'pride' is something he'd reserve for Jinx yk?? anyway i stop the rambling) . The Timebomb relationship has more or less the same push and pull as in the show, with Ekko thinking about the girl Jinx used to be/ Ekko being a link to the past before Jinx and all that entail...so yeah, i'm loving it!

Powder doesnt become Jinx

The Alpha Command by typewriter_in_galaxy 13 chapters. WIP. Rated E.

ABO/Reverse AU where Powder doesnt become Jinx and is raised by Viktor, Ekko is taken in by Silco. btw i dont read a lot of abo fic (im very nickpick) but this one does every characters justice, and actually dwelve in depth in the abo universe.. (everything by typewriter is good to be honest, but my favorite thing is how they write Powder, who even when she doesnt become Jinx, is still shaped by a very violent world/trauma and it shows through her mental health issues and very, very low self worth/need to prove herself. )

everything's better with a friend by typerwriter_in_galaxy 7chapters. Completed. Rated E.

Timebomb centric rewrite of Arcane, Jinx is Powder, she doesnt fall under Silco's hand (or in his arms precisely), Ekko is Ekko, and 1, i need to hug Powder, 2 she deserves the world and 3 the characterization of everyone, everyone is so brillantly written and the timebomb relationship (damn even the CaitVi one too) oh, the timebomb of it all... they feel so, so real and it hurts, Powder's insecurities, her mental illness, her guilt, her need to prove herself but in same time she doesnt feel herself worth of anything (or anyone) good... just.read it. read it, because i just did, after like 2 years of not doing that and. im like mad bc why didnt i??? but in same time so grateful to just discover it now, taking my sweet little time reading it; it rewinded my brain its amazing, (like this work in another fandom, the first time i read this rebelcaptain's fic A Love song by skitzofreak - did i just linked it for you to read even tho its a timebomb rec post??? yes. yes i did. thats how much i love, adore, worship this one guys - so everything's better made me think a lot of this TB fic, and also of RC (the abandonment issues, thinking that you have to leave first before everyone leave you, Jyn and Powder damn).

Shattered Web by Firewolf2132 1 chapter. WIP. Rated M.

you know how everyone make the comparaison between Ekko and Miles?? well, the author found a way for Ekko transform into a spiderman that feels right in the arcane verse (end of act1) and damn its so good. Ekko slowly morphing and gaining his powers while everyone still have some focus on them (mostly Powder), but it still manages to keep the suspense of the fate of other characters. fabulous. author note: [I have seen so many comparisons between Ekko and Miles and a lot of fanart. So it felt that I had to do this. I can't promise future chapters right now (busy), but I am eager to see if this inspires any stories with a similar premise.]

S2 fanfics

fics covering Timebomb moments between ep 8 Ekko saving her /they painted each other and ep9

Go Back For Her by A_Lily_In_The_Moonlight 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated E.

Ekko's pov -i only read 1 chapter - we see his thought's process on his relationship with Powder AU/ Jinx, and how he came to the conclusion he must go back to her. the moment where he help Jinx with his Z-drive comes a little differently than in ep8 (well, the aftermath) aaand another fic where Jinx's grief over Isha's death shatters me, the pain and the self loathing/blaming from Jinx really devastating.

I dont believe in God, but i believe you're my savior by mquesterminds One shot. Rated T

[summary: every time Ekko has to rewind time to stop Jinx it cuts to a different moment from throughout their love story because I'm allergic to happiness the moments covering their shared past really make their present 10 times sadder.]

I'm sure we're taller in another dimension by hallwayheart One shot. Rated M. i have nothing to say because i'm still processing what i just read.ty.

Fires That Were Set by ilophilia ( @ilophilia on tumblr) 1 chapter. WIP.

the conversation after Ekko helped Jinx in episode 8. Loved the banter, the emotions (the grief is there and its important to feel it but damn i want to hug them so bad). They tell each other what happened when Ekko was gone, and you feel the distance/the closeness, near intimacy building again and its beautiful..

Hope is a winged beast by Grey_ Unicorn 4 chapters. WIP. Rated E.

prepare you tissues because i was myself not ready for chapter 3 and the emotional wreck of Jinx processing her grief. but here we are.

fics from AU Powder pov/exchange between Jinx and AU Powder

what we left behind by re_dragon_rising 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated T.

Powder traverses to the og arcane universe 1 year after Ekko's visit. (the insight into her life after Ekko leaves is wholesome and also give the reader a glimpse of the Mylo/Claggor/Powder siblings dynamics + the impact of Vi's death on them. really great. a little sad too.)

The other Ekko by GrammarThyEnemy Oneshot. General audience.

Powder knows this Ekko is not her Ekko.

memento vivere by fuwaaa 1/2. WIP. General audience.

covering the AU episode, Powder knows something's up with Ekko.

See Ya On The Other Side by moth_dust 3/5 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Powder also travel to the og universe.

these forgotten faces by whippindippin ( @whippindippin on tumblr too!) 6 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Jinx and Powder body swap and its both the worst and best thing that could ever happen to either of them. great reading and their reaction on point.

Isha is alive

Astrantia by AelinCreativ ( @aelincreativ they're on tumblr too!) 5 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

canon divergence where Ekko saves Isha. a lot of angst. but also a lot of happiness. so we can cry while smiling along with them. great. ty author!!

Ankle-Biter by darkfire1220 8/9 chapters, WIP. Rated M.

Isha is Jinx's biological daughter, Silco is a not so bad (grand) father, and their mother/daughter bond is one a the greatest thing ever. (very slowburn timebomb). Also Vi. i love you Vi.

post s2

we made our peace with weariness (and let it be) by The_FlamingTiger 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated M.

Ekko and Jinx reconnect in Bilgewater..(and Jinx goes to therapy. that too. its nice)

I don't believe in God (But I believe that you're my savior) by yeonatsu Oneshot, general audience.

Ekko is mourning.

this hunger for love won’t disappear by Amuria Oneshot, rated T.

Months after the battle for Piltover, Ekko begins to dream of Powder. He thinks it’s his grief playing tricks on him. She has different theory.

Francesca (Do You Think I'd Give Up?) by PoetProlific 2 chapters. WIP.

Ekko tries searching for Jinx...(with the help of Caitlyn, yep. and its well done, because I think Cait would help, for Vi. And i love how Ekko-Cait's dynamics might evolve because of this..)

So I met him there and told him I believe by ijustwanttoreadinpeace 3 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Jinx begins a new life in Bilgewater but is forced to come back... (edit: be warned, this is now an orphan account so idk if there will be more chapters.)

all the 6 timebomb one shot by atabex (the other fics are not timebomb) they're all rated E and oh boy is it worth it. most of these oneshot are gut wrenching and do smut + characters so well... the most recent one is just Ekko and AU Powder ahem doing the boombayah on the rooftop, but yk, with bits of sad and tragedy here and there.

i'm a little ashamed i'm only adding it now but every TB os fics by @shroomystar is 🤌 nothing else to add because each one of them are good. so. (if you want the explicit one-shots it's here and if you prefer without, it's here )

#timebomb #YEAH #finally after 3000 years of saying i will do a fic rec post for one of my otp i fucking did it #ekko x jinx #jinx x ekko #ekkojinx #arcanes2

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theyluvlyss · 6 months ago

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𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 & 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲...

my head is all but consumed with thoughts only of wade wilson, logan howlett, and remy lebeau. they're all I can process in my head (besides shazam, but that's a given considering no one loves shazam the way I do, so🤷🏽‍♀️) and I y e a r n desperately for an influx in "wade x y/n x logan" fics and the "remy x y/n" fics... dare I even ask, humbly ofc, hear me out... for a splash of "wade x y/n x remy". genuinely, I'd kill for some of that ngl.

and I bet you're wondering, "lyssa, why not do it yourself🤔?"

short answer: I am swamped with requests, and even if I wasn't, I'm not ready yet lmao I fear I do not possess the skills to capture them in my writing perfectly😔 ... yet😈.

in the meantime, tho *😈evil little laughter😈* may I plz suggest the following prompts and pairings to and for anybody willing to work with them or wanting ideas (begging any writers that see this to please write these and tag me plz plz plz plz plz 😭🙏🏽😃plzplzplzplzplzplzplzpl-)...

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

⚠️trigger and content warning btw lol -

mentions of fighting/violence/bloodshed, death, gore, (like c'mon,,, bffr, look at who you're reading about😐🤨), anxiety/panic attacks, harsh words/themes/elements/physical injuries, abuse and/or negelct, separation anxiety, mental disorders, brief mention of sickness/illness, drugs (just 🍃 and painkillers), age gap (nothing illegal, chill out🤨✋🏽), use of a derogatory term (not used in a negative sense tho lol), and some semi-common smut themes that I won't list here, but be wary if that stuff makes you uncomfortable :)♡. also, these are all under the pretense that the reader is a cis girl, she/her/hers pronouns (so ig you could think of this as one, big, mass request to all writers willing from me lol🤭🥴🫶🏽).

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭/𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 :

- reader having a panic/anxiety attack and ofc being comforted (causes my vary; maybe right after a fight/battle, or because of over-worrying or too much pressure, maybe after a fight with another loved one, etcetc). definitely wanna see this with all three of them, but separately, tho. like, one fic or list of "preferences/headcannons" for logan, one for wade, and then one for remy.

- near death or death (followed by resurrection swift after). it could be reader almost dies or dies (then gets resurrected, get creative with it/how, fr, yk?) or the reverse; the POI (person of interest) dies, although given two of the three's abilities, y'all might have to get creative if you want it to translate for logan and/or wade so this one would be mainly for a remy x reader.

- I personally love a good "POI says sumn mean/outta pocket, hurts reader's feels, stuff happens idk, but they eventually kiss and make up" trope. I'd eat that up, especially cuz OHHH,,,, wade taking a joke or playful argument or something too far? logan being a little too mean/angsty to you for comfort?? remy saying something that gets lost in translation, so it comes out harsher than intended??? 😫😫😫‼️‼️ AND IF YOU WANNA GET MESSY WIT IT, RUNNING TO ONE OF THE OTHER THREE FOR COMFORT🙈🙈⁉️⁉️⁉️.

- a classic; reader getting injured (mildly or worse, doesn't matter), needing to be taken care of, but is stubborn about it?? always a good one.

- getting a little crazy and silly here, but I like a good "abusive and/or negelctful ex/current partner" trope. like hell yeah, one of you big, strong men get over here and save me, whisk me away and show me what I really deserve😻‼️. NOT romanticizing/glorifying it obvs, like no, I mean that wade, logan, and/or remy would not be the red flags in this scenario, they're the one(s) doing the saving FROM the red flag ex/current partner lol.

- getting a little crazier and sillier with this one, but one where reader gets snatched up🙂? oouuuu, miss girl got kidnapped?! once again, somebody come save me, and if "somebody" is not wade, logan, and/or remy, then don't bother, I don't want it. matter of fact, just gon' on ahead and leave me, I'll figure it out myself🙂✌🏽. I think I'd want these separate, actually, bc I wanna take in the individuality of their reactions, like,,, logan going feral?? pretty predictable tbh lmao but still hot. remy?? idek ngl, y'all gon' have to figure him out. BUT WADE BEING SERIOUS AND NOT AS TALKATIVE FOR ONCE UNTIL HE KNOWS YOU'RE SAFE???? OOOHOOHOOOOOOO, GIMMIE🖐🏽👹🖐🏽✊🏽👹✊🏽!!!

- ig this could be put in the panic/anxiety attack category, but I also feel like this might be it's own separate thing, so idk, but... separation anxiety on reader's part. whatever the circumstances may be to breed it, reader is just (not in a unhealthy way) attached to the POI(s), so them leaving for whatever reason is pretty hard on her (and the POI(s), too, because hello, they don't wanna make their reader upset, but things gotta get done fr yk😫🥲),,, lots of reassurance, comforting, and maybe distractions ensue??

- reader with an alter ego/inner beast, whether that be a result of her powers or a mental disorder (think like,,, split personality or maybe DID or something like that, but I do wanna say, if you're gonna go the mental route, make sure you do your research so that you're representing it - not only accurately - but you're not dehumanizing or dumbing it down as well) or just anything that would cause the reader to, as I said, have a different side of themself,,, werewolf type deal, yk? "normal" for the most part, but then has her moments where she be on demon time and then when she's back to herself, she's just like "???" while everyone else is like "!!!". I suppose this could then be followed up/solved with a "the sun's getting real low" typa thing/moment from the POI(s), but that's neither here nor there, do what feels right fr♡.

- reader (just barely) escapes cassandra nova??? that could be cool (a.k.a. very, very angsty bc surely the encounter has messed the reader alllll the way up both mentally and physically, especially knowing what typa timing cass be on lmao😃). love a good hurt/comfort, I can't get enough, actually. this one (given the movie context) may or may not work with wolvie and/or pool (again, up to the writer to get creative), but gambit?? he's been in the void his whole life, he knows cass, sooo it'd make more sense for him to have a higher understanding of the situation in full, but do what y'all want, I'm just the idea woman🤷🏽‍♀️.

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 :

- morning cuddles and softeness and ughghfhfhdjd♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!! and then the opposite, night/bedtime cuddles and softness and uugjfjdkwkfke♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!!

- height difference teasings and shenanigans. we can always stick to the classics, ofc, short reader, tall wade, logan, and/or remy. maybe its an advantage in fights - fast, lethal, and small + big, shielding, and strong - but sucks in more domestic/calm cases like reaching for shit on the top shelf or wanting to kiss somebody. but I'd also love some tall gworl reader type shit, miss strong, lean, runway model energy, stepping on any heads and wooing any men that are in her path🥴😻. bending down with a smile so she can hear him, mindlessly playing with his hair, occasionally makes a quip here and there on the difference without thinking lol and he haaaaateeees all of it (but he looooveeeessss all of it🤭).

- reader being THAT GIRL, literally being in a 1v26 or sumn crazy like that and she's just kicking ass and shit the whole time, and then there's the POI(s),,, gawking and in love like "damn that's MY GIRL fr\😻/!!".

- *imagine a vine boom after every bolded word, okay, go* teen/minor/young PLATONIC NONSEXUAL NONROMANTIC (literally I can not stress this enough) NOT DATING AT ALL EVER reader and one/two/all of them. I think it'd just be silly seeing them (wade, logan, and or remy) working/paired with/having a bond with this little gremlin yet sweetheart of a reader who's somehow able to tolerate/put up with/ignore/maybe even indulge in their craziness lmfao. maybe just as or is even more crazy than they are, chaotic and desensitized type shit. you could even get ansgty with it, have this teen reader need saving or something like that, yk?

- sparring match and reader BEATS POI(s) in said spar cuz she's cool, awesome, and mega baller like that. lots of tension and goofiness, especially from the reader, cuz she knows damn well she's the shit. or, a different route!!... total dumb luck that she beat him/both/all of them, and is very obviously playing it off/acting like she won on purpose lmfao, cockiness ensuing.

- can't go wrong with a sick-fic lol. who doesn't wanna be taken care of?

- reader needs/wears glasses🤷🏽‍♀️. it can be the discovery of actually needing them, reader always squinting tryna read/see shit, or nearly getting herself in and out of danger bc again, she blind lmao. or it's just the case of reader never wears them out and about, but in calmer moments (where she doesn't run the risk of breaking them) she'll put them on, so she decides to bust 'em out one day and it's just the POI(s) being like ":O...😻😻!!".

- *olivia rodrigo voice* JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY, YEAA-aAAH😫😫‼️ ... reader who just,,, she don't play that shit, man, lmfao it's called you can prove yourself either friend or foe,,, stay tf away from my man or get your ass beat. pick one. and it's the POI(s) just absolutely flattered and amused with this energy from reader lmfao, reassurance ensuing quick after ofc. or, if you wanna get silly with it (and by silly, I mean violent♡), reader with a girl who can't take a hint😀 *eye twitch* so she finally makes shit clear one way or another (one way; does sumn with the POI(s) that makes the girl uncomfortable so she fucks off. another; reader pretty much beats that girl up and it's the POI(s) laughing but also trying to pry reader off of her cuz "stop it, I'm yours, I promise, you don't have to kill her, she didn't know any better😭!"). or just completely switch it up, vice versa, role-reversal POI(s) get jelly and it's reader having to deal with whatever may happen after/due to the fact lol.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 :

- shameless flirt reader!!!! she's not obnoxious or out of character/proper timing with it, but definitely a reader with helllllaaaaa rizz. is mainly on some "is somebody gonna match my freak?" type shi. wade would find it very silly and he'd match the freak ofc. logan,,, maybe he'd start off annoyed by it, then get used to it, only realizing you've actually grown on him once you start to pull back a little/stop completely? REMY WOULD LOVE AND BE AMUSED BY IT, so all I'm gonna say here is this: rabbits🐇🥰. iykyk♡.

- a smoke sesh leading to some good, old fashioned high/sleepy sex🥰. that's it, that's the prompt♡.

- lord, free me from my sins🙏🏽, plz don't judge me y'all😔 ,,, age gap😃? NOTHING CRAZY, CHILL, but yk, like,,, just a little young thing in her 20s or sumn being scooped up by one (or two🤭) of these older, more mature, aged like fine wine, and experienced men,,, that's all🥰.

- that moment when reader is a whore and is actually literally prancing around without a care in the world, fucking three different guys (wade, logan, and remy obvs) because "they're hot lol" - not necessarily behind their backs - but no one's saying anything or telling her no, nor does anyone seem to have any issues with it/are opposed, sooo😗🤷🏽‍♀️.

- do y'all think,,, because wolverine is yk...wolf-like-ish-whatever.... do y'all think that he,,,, that maybe he goes thru... a rut🙂?? lmfaoGDHAKXKPQPRR okay that's enough, that's enough🥴✋🏽-.

- you know how some smut has certain labels/themes/tags that are gonna be, yk,,, in said smut?? well, cuz I'm out of any specific ideas for smut, I'm just gonna leave some here, m'kaaaay, and whatever y'all wanna dooooo is up to youuuu, just as long as I get to seeee😗☺️🫶🏽~...

⚠️ also don't say I didn't warn y'all, I mean, there's literally a whole ass trigger warning at the top, so do not start fckn trippin' because you disagree with me or saw sumn you don't fw, cuz tbh, I don't care and you can honestly block me if it's that serious♡.

dom-sub, daddy/praise/breeding/spanking kink, knife/gun/blood play (and/or just mutant/power ability play in general hehehe), food/wax play, cnc (I don't suggest full blown non-con seeing as none of them seem the type to do such, no matter the circumstances, plus it's just not my thing personally but hey, I'm not currently writing for pool, wolvie, or gambit rn, so that's up to whoever is🤷🏽‍♀️), hunter-prey (y'all might see this and immediately think wolvie, which is understandable fr, but I beg y'all to get creative and let remy and/or wade hunt reader down, it can be done and done right, I promise, plz, I need it, 😫PLEASE!!-), friends with benefits,,, OHHH ENEMIES with benefits🫢🫢!!, overstim, jealousy/possessive/yandere, unprotected/creampie/oral ... that's all that comes to mind lmao wow what a crazy note to end this on, anyways-

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

yeah, so, do with all of this what you will (and plz spread this around, I genuinely do wanna see these get written and myself tagged like I am PINING for these fic ideas to be turned into reality😭🙏🏽), I just had to get my thoughts out before I forgot (at least in the fanfic department), because if someone were to ask me my thoughts on the movie itself !!!!! OMG I could run my mouth forever, but I don't wanna do that (lazy) so lmao for now, that's all lol byeeee~ /ᐠ-˕-マ!!

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theereina · 4 months ago

Text

Bad News Pt. 2

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC "Bella"

Wordcount: +1.4K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut, heavily dialogue-centered, mental health mentioned (anxiety), *emotional distress*, angst, heartbreak, chronic illnesses mentioned, health conditions mentioned (c*ncer, PCOS, endometriosis), infertility, slight verbal ab*se

A/N¹: Remember, I just got back into writing. I'm open to critiques, but I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

A/N²: I am not a medical doctor. Please, forgive me if my knowledge of any of the mentioned medical conditions is incorrect.

Bad News Pt. 1=> 😢

Walking into the room, my heart was crushed even further. All of the feelings I wish I could explain; I couldn't. Terry and his bags were gone. I hadn't even heard him leave. He didn't even care enough to at least say goodbye. After all these years, I wasn't worth a goodbye. Two seconds just solidified that this relationship wasn't worth any more of my energy.

I couldn't understand it. How did we get here? Had he always been like this? Was I that blind? I guess I was so busy trying to find love that I forgot the most important rule— love wasn't supposed to hurt. Then again, every version of love I've experienced was painful, manipulative, abusive, and damaging. So, maybe I found what I was familiar with. I mean, why else would I be so comfortable putting up with this?

But, what do I do now?

*2 hours later

The room was covered in crumpled and torn pieces of notebook paper. I have tried and tried to write this letter. My hands were stiff, and my head was throbbing. I just wanted him to know how I felt because my mind was already made up. I'm done, and this is over.

If he would've just listened, we wouldn't be in this predicament. If he hadn't said those words, there would still be hope in my eyes and love in my heart.

Better yet, fuck this and fuck him. He doesn't deserve a letter. This doesn't concern him anymore. I've already changed my flight for tomorrow morning. I leave on the first flight out. Since I no longer have anything to say to him, there is no need to wait. I can return to the West Coast and be at home with my Godmother and Godsister when I receive the news.

*The next day

“I will never like flying’. I don't care!” I said stepping out of the bathroom after showering. I was dressed in a pair of sweats and a plain black T-shirt. I had wrapped a scarf around my head to protect my hair during my shower.

My Godsister, Shante, was waiting for me. She was relaxed on the bed with her back against the headboard. Her satin black bonnet and black fluffy robe made her look so much like her grandmother. “What?” she asked turning her head towards me. “You look like Nana Elsie!” I laughed into my hand. “Shut up!” she said slinging one of the pillows at me.

I walked to the bed and sat on the edge closest to me. I was tired. I knew why she was in here. She wanted to make sure I was okay. Honestly, I wasn't. My life was shit right now. Leaving Terry was just another stab to the heart. All I could do was pray to God that I didn't lose anymore. I couldn't possibly see myself being any lower than this.

“You wanna talk?” Shante asked rolling on her side facing my back. “Not really, I just wanna wait until they call,” I said solemnly. My shoulders were beginning to feel heavy again. I didn't want to think about what the doctor would say. I already knew this day was coming.

After years of medical neglect and misdiagnoses, I was finally given a proper diagnosis of both endometriosis and PCOS. I had been ignored for years when I complained of a forever-growing mountain of signs that something was wrong. I was told to “lose weight” to alleviate my symptoms. When I lost the weight, nothing changed. Some symptoms even seemed to get worse.

I had grown tired of all the referrals and guesses. I had explained to my original primary care physician years ago that I suspected that I had PCOS. It was dismissed as anxiety and medical hysteria. I tried again with three other physicians to be met with the same fate— try to lose weight, take this metformin, exercise daily, change your diet, etc.

This could have been treated years ago if someone would have just listened.

*3 hours later

I was in the kitchen eating when my cell phone rang. I picked it up thinking it was the call I had been dreading. I was eager to get this over with. Just say it, and let's move on.

“Hello, this is Bella,” I mumbled into the phone. I was on the edge again. Trying my hardest to breathe and stay calm. “Bell, where are you?” asked Terry. “Terry?” I asked pulling the phone away from my ear and looking at it. Fuck! Why didn't I look before answering? Why didn't I block him?

“Bella, I'm s—,” he started to speak before I interrupted him. “Save it. I… I don't care anymore,” I said through tears. “Bells, I was—,” he started again. “No,” I said sobbing into the phone. “Could you just—!” he yelled into the phone. That was it. I didn't have to deal with this. I hung up the phone and laid it on the table in front of me.

Pushing the plate away, I laid across my arms crying with my head down. My Godmother and Godsister were both gone to work. That left me alone once again with my emotions— all of them.

ring ring ring

Not again. I picked up the phone in anger. “I don't want to talk to you!” I screamed into the phone. “Isabella? It's Dr. Moore. We need to speak about scheduling your surgery immediately,” he said in a startled tone. “I'm sorry, Dr. Moore. I'm having a…,” I said taking a deep breath. “I can call back if—,” he said. “No!” I blurted out. “Sorry. Please, tell me now,” I whimpered. I was flying between emotions faster than my body could manage.

“Well, honey. I'm sorry to bring you such bad news at this time, but we're going to need to remove your left ovary. The cysts were quite large, and… Unfortunately, the biopsy indicated they were cancerous. The safest option is to remove the affected ovary and all endometriosis deposits. Later on, we can discuss any further changes,” he said. “Changes?” I questioned while sniffling. “If it progresses any further, we may have to perform a hysterectomy.” Dr. Moore continued to talk, but I had dissociated from the conversation. This was it.

My mind was overflowing with questions. Will I be able to have kids? Would this even get rid of the cancer? If it did, would it come back? Would life ever be normal for me?

I don't know. I'll probably never know.

*Later in the day

ring ring ring

Hours had passed since the call ended. I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to think. I had planned my whole life around me and Terry's relationship— kids, a house, a minivan, a dog, all of it. Now, everything was gone. Maybe my mother was right, I am cursed.

ring ring ring

“Who is it?” I sobbed into the phone. “It's me, Bella. Baby, can you please just listen to me?” Terry pleaded over the phone. “Why, huh? What’s there to listen to? You said everything you needed to say,” I yelled. All of my feelings were being overshadowed by my anger.

“I didn't mean it, Bella. That wasn't supposed to happen. I love you. You know that!” Terry yelled. “I don't know that, Terry. If you loved me, you wouldn't have said it. You meant it with all your fucking heart. You stood on it when you left without saying a word. No goodbye. No sorry. Nothing. That's not love,” I blurted out. I was beyond tired of holding my tongue. “Stop being so fuckin' childish right now and use your brain. You're always so damn emoti—,” he said cutting himself off. “Nah, say it! I'm too fucking emotional, huh? Ain't that right, Terry?” I screamed again. Tears were streaming down my face falling onto the kitchen table.

“I’m always sick, and… and I'm… I'm always emotional. That's what you… that's what you said, right? THEN, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WITH ME?!” I screamed as loud as I could. I threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and shattered. Good. No more phone calls. No more doctors. No more — Terry.

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @slutsareteacherstoo @pocketsizedpanther

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blowmymbackout @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy

@insidefeelingofanadult @revealingco @keyaho @jimmybutlrr @gg-trini

@nayaxwrites @miyuhpapayuh @poektiou624 @gwenda-fav @nayaesworld

@ittsstephanieee @beenathembo @blyffe @thegreatlibraryofalex @persethegawd

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seriiousgiirl · 4 months ago

Text

seriiousgiirl

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒢𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝑔

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. James is pathetic once again.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 4 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello dear readers, I hope everyone will love this new chapters! Once again, I don't have enough words to describe how touched I am for your support.

Also, I already said it, but my requests are open, and I love a lot of fandoms, so if you like my writing it would be with pleasure!

➜ ┊: chapter 5/?.

“How’s your new medical dose working, Mr. Sunderland?”

James stared down at the nurse, her voice breaking through his haze of memories. Her smile was wide and sweet, too sweet, as if she didn't know that every time he walked into this place, a little part of him withered. Her uniform was too bright, the walls too clean, the lights too harsh. Everything felt wrong in hospitals—had felt wrong ever since Mary and Silent Hill. Mary had spent so much time in places like this, the sterile smell of antiseptic clinging to everything, the endless beeps of machines monitoring her slow decline. The sight of her frail body hooked up to wires, her once lively eyes dulled by pain and fatigue, haunted him. He’d hated watching her slip further and further away, hated how helpless it made him feel.

The hospitals were a graveyard for hope.

The nurse, unaware or uncaring of his inner turmoil, continued leading him down the long corridor. Every step felt like it was echoing in his head, like the ticking of some inevitable countdown. Her shoes clicked sharply on the polished floor, and with every click, James felt the weight of the place closing in on him. It wasn't just Mary anymore—it was him. He hated these appointments because they made him feel like he was in Mary’s place now, like the sickness had transferred from her body to his mind.

That’s what it was, after all. Mary had been physically ill, but James knew he was sick, too—mentally.

And that scared him more than anything.

He clenched his fists inside his pockets, trying to focus on something other than the tightening in his chest. The walls were lined with posters about health and mental well-being, all of them blurring together in a haze of meaningless words. James wasn’t sure how long he’d been feeling this way—restless, broken, angry. He was doing his best to hold it together for Laura. For her, he had to keep moving, keep showing up to these appointments, keep taking the medication that dulled his thoughts just enough so he didn’t lose control.

He had to. Only God knew what he might do if he didn’t. The memories of Silent Hill still clawed at the edges of his mind, the weight of his actions, of his guilt, always there, just under the surface.

They reached the end of the corridor, and the nurse stopped outside a door, turning to look at him with that same smile plastered on her face. He could feel her eyes on him, assessing, waiting. He hated it, hated feeling like a patient—like someone broken who needed fixing. “Mr. Sunderland?” she repeated, knocking gently on the door before turning the handle. “The doctor will see you now.”

James stepped inside, the familiar dread rising like bile in his throat. The doctor’s office wasn’t much different from the rest of the hospital—sterile, white, and cold. He could see the file with his name on the desk, his life reduced to a few pages of notes and medical jargon. He hated that, too—how clinical it all was. There was no way to explain what was wrong with him, not really. No dosage of medication could fix the things he’d done, the things he’d seen.

As he sat down, the doctor's soft murmur of greetings barely registered. James’s gaze drifted to the window, the gray sky outside mirroring the weight inside him. He wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He was here because he had to be, for the last piece of his life that still made sense.

“James.” The doctor’s voice was calm but probing, pulling him back to the present. “How have you been feeling on the new dose? Any noticeable changes?”

James rubbed his palms against his jeans, trying to think of what to say. What was the point of explaining? The medication didn’t change anything, not really. Sure, it dulled the edges, kept him from spiralling too far into the nightmares, but the weight was still there. The guilt. The grief. The memories of Mary’s final days still haunted him, and now…now there was everything else.

“Same as always,” James muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the window. “It takes the edge off, but...”

He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

The doctor nodded slowly, jotting something down in his file, and James felt that familiar frustration building again. None of this would help—like it hadn’t helped Mary. None of this would take away the memories or the guilt that gnawed at him like a festering wound. The doctor’s voice cut through his thoughts again, calm but firm. “You’re doing this for your daughter, right?”

“Yes,” James nodded slowly, the weight of the conversation pressing on his chest. "I need to be stable for Laura," he muttered, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as the doctor. He didn’t like talking about it. Didn’t like admitting how fragile his grip on things really was.

But Laura—she needed him, and that was all that mattered… Right?

The doctor, however, leaned forward in his chair, his expression unreadable as he studied James for a moment. Then, in a calm but pointed voice, he interrupted, “Maybe you should be doing this for yourself first, James. Have you ever considered that?”

James opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He stared at the doctor, feeling caught off guard, like the ground beneath him had shifted suddenly. For himself? The thought sounded almost foreign in his mind. What was the point of doing it for himself? Why would it even matter?

His mouth closed again, his throat tightening with the weight of unspoken thoughts. The silence in the room stretched, the question lingering in the air. James hadn’t considered himself in a long time—his needs, his well-being. It seemed almost selfish, like a luxury he didn’t deserve.

Apart from Y/n.

He had taken everything from you.

“I…” he finally managed, his voice quieter now, hesitant. “I don’t know what good that would do.”

He shifted in his seat, discomfort gnawing at him. The idea of taking care of himself first felt wrong, unnatural even. His life had revolved around others—around Mary when she was alive, and now around Laura. He barely recognized himself anymore, much less thought about what he needed. The mere suggestion seemed ludicrous.

The doctor’s gaze didn’t waver, his calm persistence chipping away at the walls James had built around himself. "You’re still here, James. Still alive. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? You can’t help anyone if you’re not helping yourself." The doctor let out a long, tired sigh, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of this conversation had become too familiar, too routine.

“It’s always the same with you, James,” he said, his tone gentle but edged with frustration. “I’ve been seeing you for years now, and there’s been so little improvement. It’s starting to become... alarming.”

James felt his chest tighten at the words, a cold ripple of anxiety spreading through him.Alarming. It echoed in his mind, drawing him back to another time, another place—the same hollow, clinical speeches they had made about Mary when it became clear she wasn’t getting better. That same hopelessness. That same finality.

His pulse quickened. The room seemed to close in around him, the doctor’s words blurring with memories of those sterile hospital rooms, the beeping machines, the pitiful way the nurses would smile at him as if they knew there was nothing left to be done. A lost cause. They had treated Mary like that toward the end, and now they were starting to look at him the same way. He couldn’t bear the thought of it.

James’ breath hitched, panic gnawing at the edges of his composure. He tried to stay calm, gripping the arms of the chair as if grounding himself physically would somehow stop the rising tide of fear inside him. But the more he tried to control it, the more his thoughts spiralled. The idea of being a lost cause, of being considered beyond saving—it was unbearable. It felt like a death sentence, only this time it wasn’t just physical. It was his mind. His soul.

“I’m not…” he started, his voice shaky, the panic evident in his eyes as he looked at the doctor. “I’m not dying. I’m not—" His thoughts raced, but the words wouldn’t come out right. He couldn’t find a way to explain how much that idea terrified him.

The doctor leaned forward, his expression softening as he noticed the change in James' demeanour. His brow furrowed with concern as he held up a hand, his voice gentler now. “James, it’s okay. Breathe.”

James struggled to rein in the panic, his breathing shallow, his hands trembling slightly. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head—the idea of being doomed, of wasting away the way Mary had. It had consumed him once, and now it was rearing its ugly head again.

“I’m not saying you’re a lost cause,” the doctor said quietly, his voice firm yet reassuring. “I don’t think that. I don’t want you to think that either. You’re not Mary, James. This isn’t the same.” He spoke slowly, as if trying to guide James away from the edge of that dark spiral. “You’re not going to die like she did.”

The doctor’s words started to pierce through the fog of panic, though James still felt on edge, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. He stared at the floor, struggling to push the thoughts away.

“You’re here,” the doctor continued softly. “You’re still here, still trying. And that’s what matters. But you’ve got to stop thinking of this as something you can just push through without taking care of yourself.”

James nodded stiffly, still shaken, but the panic was beginning to ebb. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but the doctor’s words had slowed his racing mind.

The doctor extended his hand, his palm open and expectant. "Your journal, James."

James hesitated for a split second before reaching into his bag and pulling out the worn notebook. It was a simple thing, its pages filled with his scribbled thoughts and confessions, the only place where he could vent the swirling chaos in his head without restraint. His hand shook slightly as he handed it over.

The doctor accepted the journal without a word, flipping it open to where James had left off. For a long, agonising moment, James just sat there, staring at him. The silence in the room felt heavy, the soft rustle of paper the only sound breaking it. James’ heart thudded in his chest, the anxiety from earlier still coiled tightly within him. The doctor’s brow furrowed as he read, his eyes scanning the pages carefully.

Then, suddenly, the doctor paused, his finger lingering on a particular entry. His eyebrow raised slightly, and James’ stomach lurched. He found it. The entry James dreaded anyone would see, the one where he had let his shameful thoughts spill onto the page like a confession he could never voice out loud. He had been reckless, letting the memory of you consume him to the point where he couldn't resist anymore. And now, it was there in the doctor's hands, in black ink.

The doctor didn’t look at James right away. Instead, he flipped back a few pages, then forward again, as if comparing something. Finally, he spoke, his tone neutral, almost clinical. “So, a new name has appeared,” the doctor remarked, glancing up at James briefly. “It’s always been Mary, Laura and you. But now… Y/n?”

James’ throat went dry. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting away, his hands curling into fists on his lap. He felt exposed, as if all his dirty secrets had been laid bare, the shame gnawing at him like a festering wound. His mind raced, remembering that entry, the way he had let himself go completely, jerking off to thoughts of you, and how disgusted he’d felt afterward. It was a moment of weakness, a release of the sexual frustration he’d kept buried for so long. And now the doctor knew.

James braced himself for judgement, for the inevitable look of disappointment or maybe even disgust. But when the doctor spoke again, it wasn’t what he expected. “Well,” the doctor said, leaning back in his chair with a hint of surprise in his voice, “at least you seem to be making some progress… when it comes to your sexual frustration.”

James blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected that. He stared at the doctor, unsure of how to respond. Progress? How could that be considered progress? It felt like a violation, a betrayal of everything he had tried to bury deep inside. The doctor’s gaze softened, his expression more thoughtful than condemning.

“You’ve spent a long time suppressing those urges, James. It’s no wonder they’ve started to come out in... different ways. But I don’t think it’s something to be ashamed of. Not entirely, at least.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to form a coherent response. The shame was still there, clawing at him, but the doctor’s unexpected reaction had thrown him. "Y/n..." James began, his voice rough, but he couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t ready to admit what you meant to him, not to the doctor, not even to himself.

"You’ve been carrying a lot, James. Maybe it’s time to stop punishing yourself for simply being human."

The doctor flipped through James’ journal again, settling on another entry. His eyes scanned the page before he began reading aloud, his voice even and steady. James’ stomach churned as he recognized the date.

“‘Y/n came over today,’” the doctor began. “‘I made some pizzas for Laura and her. Laura seemed excited—she always is when Y/n’s around. It’s like her presence lights up the whole room. I hadn’t seen Laura smile like that in a long time. Y/n… she’s good for her.’”

James shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his jaw tight as the doctor continued.

“‘It wasn’t just Laura, though. Y/n has this way of making everything feel... easier. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like just being near her makes things warmer. She laughed at one of Laura’s jokes, and for a moment, it was like the weight on my chest wasn’t so heavy. Like maybe things could be okay for a while.’”

The doctor paused, glancing at James. “She sounds kind. Thoughtful, even.”

James clenched his fists in his lap, his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn’t need the doctor to remind him of how good Y/n was. He knew. But that wasn’t the point.

The doctor continued, his voice a little softer now, as he read the next part. “‘I should’ve kept my distance, but I didn’t. After Laura went to bed, Y/n and I ended up too close. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I pushed her away before it got worse, but... I felt bad about it. Guilty, even. I don’t know why. Maybe because I wanted it. Maybe because I needed it.’”

Silence filled the room after those words, thick and suffocating. James’ heart raced, the memory of that night playing vividly in his mind. He had pushed you away, yes, but only after he’d let it go too far. Only after he’d felt the spark of something he knew he had no right to feel.

"It’s clear you care about Y/n, James. That much is obvious. But what’s more telling is the guilt you felt afterward. You’re punishing yourself for something natural—something human." The doctor commented. “You’re allowed to move forward, James,” the doctor said softly. “You’re allowed to let yourself feel, even if it’s difficult. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for every moment of warmth you find.”

But James wasn’t sure he believed that. The shame ran too deep, tangled in his grief, his guilt, and his fear.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, giving James space to breathe. “Y/n seems to care about you and Laura. That’s something worth considering.”

James nodded slightly, but his mind was far from convinced.

The doctor flipped to the most recent entry in James' journal, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to read. James could barely sit still, his chest tightening with every second that passed in silence. He knew what the doctor was about to find, and the shame weighed heavy on him.

“‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’” the doctor read aloud. “‘That night with Y/n… how I pushed her away after everything. It was too much. Too close. But now, I can’t stop feeling like I made a mistake. It’s eating me up inside. I felt like I had to push her away, but now... all I want is to bring her back.’”

The doctor’s voice remained steady, but James could hear the shift in his tone, the careful consideration of every word as he continued. “‘I felt guilty because it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. But I can’t pretend anymore. I need her. I can’t deny it—I want to be close to her. I’m tired of fighting it, tired of pretending that I don’t care. But what kind of man does that make me? I pushed her away, but now I just want to apologise. I need to apologise, because I need her, and I can’t keep pretending that I don’t.’”

The doctor let out a quiet sigh as he finished reading, closing the journal with a soft thud. James could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, every word of that entry now hanging in the air between them.

“You’re being honest with yourself here, James,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re acknowledging your feelings, your needs. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s progress.”

James swallowed hard, his throat dry. Progress, again. That’s what the doctor called it, but all he felt was shame. How could needing Y/n feel like progress when it made him feel so weak? So desperate?

“But it’s the guilt,” the doctor continued, “the guilt that’s keeping you trapped in this cycle. You want to be close to her, but you’re punishing yourself for it at the same time. Why is that? Is it because of Mary?”

James flinched at the mention of her name, the familiar weight of her memory pressing down on him. “I... I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze focused on James. “You need to figure that out, James. You’re allowed to need someone. You’re allowed to want someone in your life. But until you deal with the guilt you’re carrying, you’ll keep pushing her away, and you’ll keep punishing yourself for wanting something that’s entirely natural.”

James nodded, though his mind was far from settled. The words in that journal were raw, real, and terrifying. He couldn’t deny what he felt anymore—he was needy, desperate even, and he hated himself for it. For wanting something he couldn’t have. For needing you.

The doctor turned a few more pages, his hand pausing as he reached the end of the journal where the pages were blank. His brows knitted together, and he hesitated, his eyes flicking back up to James. “When do you think this last entry was?” the doctor asked, his tone soft but concerned.

James pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the frustration bubbling up. “I... I don’t know. Maybe three days ago?”

The doctor’s face hardened as he shook his head. “It wasn’t three days ago, James. It was six.” He sighed, closing the journal with a soft thud. “You’re losing track of time again, and that’s not good.”

James felt a heavy wave of dread settle over him as the doctor’s words sank in. Six days? He ran a hand over his face, trying to remember, trying to piece together the blurred fragments of the last week, but it was like reaching into fog. Time slipped through his fingers more often than he liked to admit, and here it was happening again.

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze piercing. ��Tell me, James—what happened these last six days? Where have you been?”

James clenched his jaw, trying to pull something—anything—out of the haze in his mind. He remembered the hotel, remembered Y/n, remembered how he pushed you away again. And the guilt, it had been suffocating him since. But six days? What had he been doing in all that time?

“I don’t know,” James muttered, his voice low and strained. “I... I think I just stayed home. I’ve been looking after Laura, I think. Just trying to keep things together.”

The doctor’s expression remained stern, though there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “It’s more than just keeping things together, James. You’re slipping, and we’ve been down this road before. You know that when you lose track of time like this, it means you’re dissociating again.”

James swallowed, his throat tight. He hated hearing it said out loud. Dissociating. It made him feel like he wasn’t even present in his own life, like a passenger watching from the sidelines while everything fell apart around him.

“And what about Y/n?” the doctor pressed gently. “You wrote about her, about how you wanted to apologise. Did you do it?”

James nodded slowly, his face showing deep struggle as he spoke, “Yes… I went to apologise. It was the day after class when Laura forgot her maths book.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly, urging James to continue. “And how did it go? How did you feel?”

For a moment, James hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It felt… good,” he admitted, almost reluctantly. “To apologise, I mean. I realised I had been acting like a jerk with her. She didn’t deserve that. And for a second, I thought maybe I could make things right.” The doctor nodded, waiting, but James’ expression shifted. His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped as he continued, “But then… then I took advantage of her.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, the silence thick with shame.

“I pleasured her in the classroom,” James confessed, his voice barely above a whisper now. His fists clenched in his lap as he struggled to make sense of it, to come to terms with what he had done. “And with a second thought, I realise… I didn’t even ask for her consent. I just… I just did it.” James’ breath hitched, his mind racing back to that moment. He had been lost in the heat of it, the need to feel something, anything, to escape the crushing weight of his guilt. But now, looking back, he wasn’t sure if he had crossed a line.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he remained calm, taking in James' words carefully. "You... took advantage of her?" he repeated, the weight of James’ confession sinking into the space between them.

James nodded slowly, his hands gripping the edge of the chair, knuckles white from the pressure. "I didn’t even think. It just... happened," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I went to apologise, but then everything spiralled. I—God, I didn’t even ask her. I just... I didn’t give her a choice." His voice cracked on the last word, and he shook his head as if trying to shake away the guilt crawling beneath his skin. “I truly don’t know,” James muttered, his voice breaking. “I think she wanted it. She didn’t say no, but… but I didn’t ask. I didn’t stop to think. I just… I just took. And now, I feel like I’ve made things worse. Like I’ve dragged her down with me.”

For a moment, the doctor was silent, his fingers steepled as he watched James closely, the gravity of the situation settling between them. "James," he said, his voice firm yet still measured, "you’ve made significant progress in recognizing your actions, but this... this is dangerous. You’re stepping into territory that could destroy what little stability you’ve managed to build—for yourself and for Laura."

"It felt wrong," James admitted, his voice strained. "But at the same time, it was like... like I couldn’t stop myself. I needed her in that moment, and I just—" He broke off, clenching his fists as a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. "I hurt her, didn’t I?"

The doctor sighed softly, leaning back in his chair. "You crossed a boundary, James. And that’s something you’ll need to address, not just with her, but with yourself. You’re carrying so much grief, anger, and guilt—those emotions have nowhere to go, so they manifest in ways that are harmful to you and those around you. What happened with Y/n might have been about more than just desire. It might be about trying to fill the void you’ve been living with for years."

James nodded weakly, the doctor’s words ringing uncomfortably true. He thought about Mary, about the years of frustration and loss, about how much he had bottled up since her illness and death. And now, here he was, unravelling in front of Y/n, dragging her into his mess because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

"You need to confront what’s really going on inside you," the doctor continued. "You’re not just dealing with sexual frustration or the need for intimacy. You’re dealing with unresolved grief, anger at yourself, anger at the world... and it’s clouding your judgement."

James pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to block out the reality of what he had done. "I didn’t mean to hurt her," he said, his voice rough. "I didn’t—" James let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to face Y/n again, to admit the truth of what he had done. But the doctor was right—if he didn’t confront it, it would fester, eating away at him until there was nothing left.

James swallowed hard, his throat dry as he prepared to admit more. "That wasn’t everything," he said quietly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "After that day… I didn’t stop. One day, I called her and booked a hotel, and then it just… started. We began seeing each other. Regularly."

The doctor looked at him thoughtfully before commenting, “Y/n must be very patient, James. She seems kind, and forgiving if she continued seeing you after that initial incident.”

But James shook his head. “That’s the problem. The more I saw her, the worse it got. I… I started having these nightmares again. Vivid. It’s that… that thing.” His voice trembled as he spoke, the weight of his confession dragging him down. "That red pyramid thing from my nightmares... it's back."

The doctor’s eyes flickered with concern as James pressed on, his voice thick with dread. "I would dream of that creature, taking advantage of her. Of Y/n. It would… it would hurt and abuse her, and I’d just be there, watching, unable to stop it." His hands clenched into tight fists, the memories of those nightmares making his skin crawl.

James paused, staring at the ground as if lost in those dark, haunting visions. “And the more I felt at ease with her, the more unbearable the dreams became. It felt like I was losing control, like I was watching her suffer in ways I couldn’t handle.” His voice cracked with the weight of his fear.

The doctor remained quiet, letting the words spill out of James, not interrupting him.

“Last time,” James continued, “I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed her away. I acted like an asshole, rude and cold… just to make sure I hurt her feelings. I wanted her to hate me, to stop coming around, to make it easier for both of us.” His head lowered, his face twisted with guilt. “I left her there. She didn’t deserve that, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep dragging her into my mess. I thought if I made her leave, it would stop the nightmares. But it didn’t.”

The doctor exhaled slowly, his face softening with understanding. “James, what you're describing… it sounds like your subconscious is trying to confront something deeper. Maybe it’s not just about Y/n, but about control. Guilt. These nightmares could be your mind’s way of punishing you for feeling like you don’t deserve her.”

James nodded numbly, but inside, he was reeling. He had been doing everything he could to keep Laura safe, to hold it together for her. But now, it felt like everything was slipping out of his control. Y/n had been his one escape, his one comfort—and now, he had destroyed that too.

“I’m scared,” James finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

The doctor nodded, his gaze steady but compassionate. “Being scared is completely normal, James. It shows that you’re aware of what’s at stake, and that’s not a bad thing.” He paused, letting the words settle between them before continuing. “But let’s take a step back and rationalise this. Deep down, you’re a brave man. Braver than you give yourself credit for.”

James blinked, uncertainty in his eyes as he looked up. The doctor’s voice was firm but encouraging. “You know what you want, even if it scares you. Think about it—when you realised alcohol had taken hold of you, you made a decision. You stopped, cold turkey, because you knew it was dragging you down. And since then, you haven’t indulged. That’s proof of your strong spirit. Most people would’ve faltered, but you didn’t.”

James clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of those words. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge the strength it had taken to quit drinking, but hearing it framed this way brought a flicker of pride, mingled with shame.

The doctor leaned forward, his voice softening. “But when it comes to your emotions, it’s different, isn’t it? There’s no simple fix. Still, you already know what you want deep down. You’ve made your decision, James, even if you haven’t fully admitted it to yourself yet.”

James swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he felt the truth of those words. He did know what he wanted, but the path to get there felt impossibly steep.

“The road ahead will be long and hard,” the doctor continued, his tone gentle but insistent. “Just like when you cut out alcohol. Guilt and grief have been your comfort for so long. They’ve been your constant companions, the last thread tying you to the past. Moving forward means severing that link, changing the routine. And it’s terrifying because it means letting go of what’s familiar, even if it’s painful.”

James stared down at his hands, his thoughts swirling. He had spent so many years cocooned in the comfort of his suffering, unable to envision a life without it.

“But moving forward also means sharing that vulnerability with someone else,” the doctor added, his words hitting like a quiet truth James had been avoiding. “And I think that’s where Y/n comes in. She’s been there, offering you something new. Something real. And it’s not easy for you to accept that, because it requires you to let someone else in, to share the parts of yourself you’ve kept locked away.”

The doctor let out a long breath, his expression softening further. “You’re brave enough to quit alcohol. You’re brave enough to do this too, James. But it’s up to you to decide when you’re ready to take that step.”

The doctor leaned back slightly in his chair, observing James closely. He could sense the internal conflict brewing beneath the surface, an invisible storm churning behind his stormy eyes. “You know, we talked about this woman, Maria, right?” he said, his tone steady but probing. “In our past sessions, we both agreed that she was—”

James swallowed hard, the name hanging in the air like a spectre, casting a shadow over the moment. “She wasn’t real,” he interjected, frustration colouring his voice. He felt a mix of resentment and acknowledgment rising within him. The doctor’s expression shifted to one of pleased understanding.

“Exactly,” the doctor replied, nodding with a hint of warmth. “She was a manifestation of your guilt, your grief—an anchor that kept you tethered to the past. And you’ve always pushed her away, never indulging in that fantasy. That shows remarkable strength, James.”

A flicker of recognition crossed James’s face, as if the doctor had peeled back a layer of his psyche to reveal something he had always known but hadn’t dared to acknowledge. He had fought against the allure of those internal fantasies, refusing to let them control him. But now, as the doctor continued, he felt the weight of a different reality pressing in on him.

“But now,” the doctor said, his voice gentle yet firm, “you’ve let Y/n take a part of your life. You’ve opened yourself up to her in ways you never did with Maria, and that’s a significant step forward. If you’re afraid of treating her like you did Mary or Maria, you have to remember this: Y/n is her own person, with her own desires and opinions.”

James’s brow furrowed, confusion and concern swirling in his thoughts. “But I—” he started, the words catching in his throat, a knot tightening in his chest.

The doctor held up a hand, silencing James gently. “You can’t know whether you deserve her or not. Your past experiences are not a reflection of who you are now. You’re not that man anymore, James. You’ve fought hard to break free from those chains, and you’ve come so far. Y/n is different, and she has the right to make her own choices in this relationship, just as you do.”

James's gaze dropped to the floor, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Each word the doctor spoke felt like a mirror, reflecting not just his fears but also his hopes—hopes he had been too afraid to acknowledge. “What if I hurt her?” he finally managed, vulnerability seeping into his voice like ink spreading on paper.

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, an anchor in James's turbulent sea of self-doubt. “What if you don’t?” he asked back, his tone softening. “What if you’re capable of giving her something real, something that’s not clouded by your past? You have to give yourself that chance. Otherwise, you risk losing out on something beautiful.”

James looked up, searching the doctor’s face for any hint of insincerity, any sign that this was just another platitude designed to comfort him. But there was none. Instead, there was understanding—deep, resonant understanding that penetrated the layers of fear and guilt he had built around himself.

“Every time you pull away from Y/n, you’re not just punishing yourself; you’re punishing her too,” the doctor continued, his voice steady. “She deserves to know you, the real you—not the shadow of the man haunted by his past. And you deserve to be seen for who you are now, free from those burdens.”

James felt a swell of emotion rising within him, a mix of guilt and longing. The thought of Y/n brought warmth to his chest, but it was quickly eclipsed by memories of loss and fear. “But what if she sees the darkness in me?” he whispered, the vulnerability spilling out like water from a cracked vessel. “What if she runs away?”

“Then she’s not the right person for you,” the doctor replied, his tone unwavering. “But if she chooses to stay, it means she sees something in you worth holding onto. You have to allow her the opportunity to make that choice.”

James leaned back in his chair, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on him like a physical force. The air in the room felt thick, saturated with the unspoken tension that had become a part of his life. He had spent so long living in a haze of self-imposed isolation that the idea of opening up to someone felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“You’re standing at a crossroads, James,” the doctor said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “One path leads back to the familiar—the pain, the guilt, the solitude. The other leads to possibility, connection, and maybe even happiness. But it’s your choice. You have to take that first step.”

James nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of the moment. His heart raced as he contemplated the risk involved in stepping forward. But deep down, beneath layers of fear and hesitation, a flicker of hope began to grow. Perhaps there was a way to reconcile his past with his present, a way to embrace both the light and the dark without being consumed by either.

Taking a deep breath, he looked into the doctor’s eyes, seeking reassurance. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try to make it work with Y/n.”

The doctor smiled, a mix of pride and encouragement evident on his face. “That’s all I ask, James. Just take it one day at a time. You’ve come too far to let fear dictate your choices now.”

As they sat together in that small, sterile room, surrounded by the echoes of their conversation, James felt a shift within himself—a small but significant turning point. It was a long road ahead, fraught with challenges and uncertainties, but for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of his past begin to lift, replaced by the flickering light of possibility.

───────────────

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the school grounds as children trickled out from their classrooms. James stood near the entrance, feeling strangely out of place, gripping a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He could feel eyes on him, parents chatting quietly while casting curious glances his way, and even a few teachers looked on with mild amusement. He swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to toss the bouquet and leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Then Laura appeared, bouncing out of the school building with her usual carefree attitude, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on the bright burst of flowers in his hand, her brow furrowing in confusion as she approached. “Flowers?” Laura raised an eyebrow, her voice tinged with disbelief. “I never saw you buy flowers, James. Are they for me?” She stood in front of him, crossing her arms as if she already knew the answer and was daring him to say otherwise.

James felt his face flush with heat, utterly embarrassed. He hadn’t thought this through. His heart hammered in his chest, and he was all too aware of the curious stares of the people around him. He cleared his throat, avoiding Laura’s sharp gaze. "Uh, no," he stammered, shaking his head. "These… uh… these are for Y/n. To thank her for all her hard work, you know… teaching and stuff."

The lie felt flimsy on his tongue, but he pressed on, forcing a weak smile. Laura stared at him, her eyes narrowing, not buying his explanation for a second. He could almost see the gears turning in her little head.

“Y/n, huh?” Laura's tone was sceptical, her arms still crossed. “Since when do you give teachers flowers for teaching? You didn’t give Miss Roberts any when she was my teacher.” Her voice was dripping with suspicion, and James shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

He cursed silently under his breath. Laura had a way of cutting right through his defences with just a few words. He could feel himself faltering, unsure of how to continue without giving too much away. “I just… thought it’d be nice, that’s all,” James mumbled, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing. Just… showing some of my appreciation.”

Laura’s eyes darted between the bouquet and his face, as if she could see right through him. “You’re acting weird,” she said bluntly, her tone matter-of-fact. “Is this about that time you made her cry or something? I heard you in your sleep…”

James’s chest tightened at her words, and he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. It was a low blow, and even though Laura didn’t mean to hit him where it hurt, it still stung. He couldn’t forget that moment either—the way he had pushed Y/n away, the way he’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he acted like an ass just to protect himself.

“No, it’s not about that,” he said, more to himself than to her. He glanced down at the bouquet, the bright petals taunting him with their symbolism. It was supposed to be an apology of sorts, something small but meaningful, a way to show Y/n that he was trying, that he wanted to make up for how distant he’d been. But standing here, in front of Laura, it all felt incredibly foolish.

Laura huffed, clearly unimpressed with his explanation. “Whatever you say, James. But I think Y/n’s too smart to be won over by some dumb flowers.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk on her lips, a sign that she was enjoying the awkwardness he was experiencing.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety creeping up his spine. Was he making a mistake? Would Y/n even want these flowers after everything that had happened between them?

Maybe the flowers wouldn’t be enough. Maybe nothing would. But he had to try, didn’t he?

The scent of the flowers seemed to mock him, filling his nostrils with their sweet fragrance, a reminder of the gesture he wasn’t even sure how to complete. But as much as he wanted to flee from the situation, he also knew he couldn't keep running from Y/n—or from himself. One way or another, he would have to face you. And this time, he would have to do it right.

He only hoped that it wasn’t too late.

James cleared his throat, attempting to sound casual. "Hey, Laura… could you wait for me out here? Just for a bit."

Laura glanced up at him with a knowing look, then cast a playful smirk his way. “Sure, James,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Take all the time you need.” She settled herself on a nearby bench in the school courtyard, crossing her legs as she took out her colouring book.

He could feel his cheeks burn, and he barely managed to give a stiff nod in response. “Right. Just... won’t be long.”

Heat rose in his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed by her intuition. His grip on the flowers tightened, and his palms felt slick against the bouquet wrapping. He took a breath, steadying himself, but as he turned toward the door leading to your classroom, his stomach clenched. Each step felt like a shaky stride into the unknown, his heart beating in his throat.

He took a steadying breath, glancing back at Laura. She was already focused on her drawing, making herself comfortable on the bench, entirely unbothered by his lingering. The reassurance of her casual support was oddly grounding, but it didn’t ease the jitter in his steps as he turned toward the school building.

His heart thudded heavier with each step down the hallway, his mind racing through what he might say. How do you even apologise for the way I’ve acted? For pulling you in close just to push you away? But whatever happened, he owed her this face-to-face, his presence rather than just empty words.

James hesitated outside your door, gripping the bouquet a bit too tightly. The rehearsed words played in his mind like a distant echo: “Apologise. Tell her it wasn’t fair to keep her at a distance.” He had played out this moment in his head, every word planned, his intentions set. But standing here, about to step into reality, his mind began to spin. Every inch of him felt on edge, like his nerves were stretched thin.

He breathed deeply, hoping to quell the tension creeping up his neck.

Finally, he mustered the courage and opened the door, only to feel his heart drop. There you were, just as he’d pictured, a radiant presence that drew his gaze without effort. You were leaning over your desk, focused on some papers, your fingers lingering on the corner of a page. For a split second, he thought this might actually go well.

But then you looked up, and the way your brows furrowed in surprise made his confidence wither. There wasn’t the hint of warmth he had imagined—no welcoming smile. Instead, your expression was one of confusion, even discomfort, as though he had interrupted something important.

Before he could gather himself, his gaze followed yours, and he finally noticed the man standing beside your desk. The stranger turned, eyeing James with equal confusion, his posture suggesting he was someone used to having your attention. There was a brief silence as the three of you took each other in, the air heavy with unspoken questions. The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly, the shift in his stance subtle but unmistakable. His gaze flicked to the flowers, then back to James, as though he were trying to piece together what was happening.

James felt his grip on the bouquet tighten, the carefully selected flowers (based on your favourites, Laura told him) suddenly feeling like a foolish gesture. He cleared his throat, struggling to keep his composure. The apology he’d rehearsed slipped away, buried under the awkward tension filling the room. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He felt out of place, almost intrusive, like he’d stumbled into a moment that wasn’t meant for him.

The man’s voice broke the silence, calm but edged with a touch of formality. “Mr. Sunderland. Can I help you with something?” he asked, looking at James with a polite, almost dismissive expression.

James felt his mouth go dry. “I—I just came to speak with Y/n for a moment,” he managed, his voice a little too soft, like he was tiptoeing over broken glass. He glanced at you, seeking some kind of reassurance in your eyes, but you only looked back, your face still unreadable. “But... I didn’t realise you were busy. I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

There was a moment where the man looked at you, waiting for a cue, maybe some indication of how he should handle James. But you didn’t give one, your gaze darting between them, leaving James feeling even more adrift.

After a moment you sighed and stood up, glancing at the man in the room. “We can continue this discussion later,” you said, giving him a soft smile. He returned the gesture, nodding in agreement. As he turned to leave, James couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an intimacy between you two that cut deeper than mere familiarity.

“See you on Sunday for the movie, right?” He said before leaving.

When the man’s hand lingered on your shoulder for just a moment too long, a surge of jealousy shot through James, startling him. It was a sensation he had long since buried, one he thought he had forgotten how to feel. His heart raced, and he felt a heat rising in his chest. The sight of you and this other man made his stomach twist, a painful ache spreading through him that reminded him he ever had a heart. He had almost forgotten how intense jealousy could be—the way it could claw at his insides, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

It was unsettling, almost suffocating, to think about you being with someone else, sharing your laughter and moments with another man. The idea sent his mind spiralling, and he fought against the intrusive thoughts that begged to take hold. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything for anyone—especially someone as captivating as you.

As the door closed behind the man, the air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions. “James,” you said, breaking the silence as you turned to face him. He could see the confusion in your eyes, but all he could think about was how that other man had made you smile, how easily you had interacted. A part of him ached at the thought of sharing you with anyone, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

“Um, hey,” he finally managed to say, his voice sounding strained. Your gaze held his, and in that moment, he felt both grateful and envious. Grateful that you were here, that you were real, but envious of anyone who could have even a piece of you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your brow furrowing, and it made his heart race.

“I, uh…” He hesitated, the bouquet of flowers suddenly feeling heavy in his hands.

You shook your head, your expression turning serious, the playful smile fading quickly. “James, it’s really not professional to come to school with flowers. People might get the wrong idea,” you snapped, your voice sharp as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

“And especially the way you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me”.

Your words stung, but it was the hint of anger in your tone that truly cut him. And James couldn’t shake the sight of the hickeys he had left on your neck as he took a glimpse of the delicious curve of your neck, a reminder of the intimacy that had turned into a mess of confusion and regret. But, the possessiveness igniting within him clashed against the storm brewing in your eyes.

He cleared his throat, attempting to steady himself. “I’m here to apologise,” he asserted, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the unease bubbling up inside him. He needed you to see his sincerity.

But before he could continue, you interrupted him, your frustration boiling over. “Apologise? You think that’s enough?” You stepped forward, fire in your gaze. “After everything? You can’t just come here with flowers and think you can sweep it under the rug! Do you even understand how hurtful that is?”

James felt his heart sink. The anger in your voice was palpable, filling the space between you with tension. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, his voice faltering. “I messed up, and I—”

“Damn right, you messed up!” you shot back, raising your voice—he never heard you like that, so angry and sad, it broke his heart. “You pushed me away, James! You treated me like I was nothing, and now you think a bouquet of flowers is going to fix it? It’s pathetic!”

The sting of your words pierced through him, and he felt a mixture of shame and regret swirling inside. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he managed, desperation creeping into his tone. “I just—I was scared.”

Before he could even process your words, your hand came up and slapped him across the face. The impact rang sharply in his ears, but it was nothing compared to the shame he felt. His head snapped to the side, and a silence fell between you both, charged with emotions neither of you could put into words The sting from your slap lingered on his cheek, and his throat tightened. He blinked hard, feeling his eyes water, not from the pain of the slap, but from the deep, aching remorse that welled up inside him. He deserved it, every bit of it, and he knew it.

“Scared?” you repeated incredulously, your eyes blazing with fury. “Scared of what? Scared of letting someone in? Scared of actually having to face your emotions? Because it sure looked like you were just fine when you fucked me like I was a whore!” Your voice shook with indignation, and James couldn’t help but flinch at your words.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of your anger made it hard to find the right words. He could see you seething, your body tense with frustration. “I was trying to be nice to you, James! I wanted to help you, but you just pushed me away like I meant nothing!”

Your tone cut through him, and he felt the sting of guilt settle deep in his gut. “You’re right,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I treated you like crap, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Fix it?” you echoed, incredulity dripping from your words. “You think it’s that simple? You can’t just decide to ‘fix’ things when you’ve already hurt someone! You have to earn that trust back, and you haven’t even started!”

James felt a wave of frustration well up inside him, mixed with a desperate desire to reach out and bridge the gap between you. “I’m trying! I really am! Can’t you see that?”

“Trying isn’t enough anymore, James!” you snapped, your voice rising. “You can’t just show up with flowers and think it’s going to make everything okay. You’ve broken things, and it’s going to take more than just an apology.”

In that moment, you were a storm, fierce and unyielding. James could see the hurt behind your anger, the way you wrestled with the disappointment he had caused. It pierced through him, and he realised just how deeply he had let you down—and how much he deserved it.

“I—I know it’s going to take time,” he said, trying to steady himself as his heart raced. “But I want to put in the effort. I care about you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Your eyes narrowed, scepticism etched across your features. “You care? After how you treated me? What’s to say you won’t just push me away again when things get tough?”

The accusation hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension crackled, and James felt the weight of your anger pressing down on him. He realised that he had crossed a line, and now he had to find a way back—if you would even let him.

James’s entire world narrowed to this moment, this fragile, painful second, where everything hung in the balance. The anger in your eyes seared him, a raw heat he knew he deserved, but it was the disappointment—cutting and profound—that struck him deepest. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel so exposed, like a light had pierced straight through every shield he had ever put up, and now he was forced to face what he really was.

Slowly, he opened his mouth, his voice raw and barely holding together. “I’m… truly sorry,” he began, struggling to find words to do justice to everything that had been roiling inside him since the moment he’d pushed you away. “Since that night, it’s like… I’m lost. Every single night, I lie there, alone, and all I see is you. All I think about is… how you feel beside me, the way your voice calms me, how much I want to be… better.” He choked slightly, but forced himself to go on. “And I know I hurt you. I see it. And I… hate myself for it.”

Each word was a weight being lifted, but it only uncovered more buried shame. His voice faltered as he said, “I don’t know how to be enough. Every voice in my head just… it keeps telling me you deserve better. That I’ll only end up pulling you down with me, that… I’m a broken man who’ll ruin anything he touches.”

He laughed, but it was hollow, dark—a laugh tinged with self-loathing. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore because all I see is a man who’s become… something ugly. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be around someone like you.” His voice wavered, thickening as his throat tightened. “All I see is a monster. Someone who’s past redemption.”

Then, as if he could no longer bear his own weight, James lowered himself to his knees before you. The gesture felt natural somehow, a desperate attempt to be as close to you as possible, even if it meant bringing himself to his lowest. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and filled with a pleading sorrow he couldn’t hold back, his gaze full of the vulnerability he’d fought so hard to bury.

“I… I can’t go on without you,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Now that I know what peace feels like, even for a few moments, with you beside me… I can’t go back. It’s like you gave me a taste of something I thought was lost to me, and now the thought of not having you…” He swallowed, the words almost failing him. “It’s unbearable. I’m… begging you, just… don’t walk away. Don’t leave me in the dark. Please.”

He looked down, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and he whispered, “I want to be better. For you, Laura. For… myself, even, if I can figure out how. But I need your help, I can’t do this alone.” His voice cracked, and he looked back up, his eyes brimming with raw, pleading desperation. "Please let me prove to you that I can be the man you see. I want to be the man you deserve. Just… don’t leave me here, alone."

For a long, heart-stopping moment, James held his breath as you looked at each other in silence. He saw the faint, lingering shadows of hurt in your eyes, and in their depths, a softness—a glimmer of something he hadn’t dared hope to see. Then, slowly, you took a step toward him, and James let out a trembling breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

When he felt your hand gently find its way to his hair, a shiver ran down his spine. Tentatively, he pressed his cheek against you, leaning his head against your abdomen, as if finding solace in the very nearness of you. The warmth of your touch was a balm, easing the wounds he’d long hidden from the world, and in that moment, he let himself collapse into the comfort of your presence. His arms wrapped loosely around your waist, as he rested there, seeking the peace he’d once thought was lost to him forever.

The silence between you stretched, gentle and unhurried, broken only by his steady breaths. He could feel the weight of everything he’d been carrying start to slip away, piece by piece, as he nestled against you, his heart finally slowing to a gentle rhythm.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. “I don’t even know why I’m doing all this for you, James. I… I don’t think I even understand it myself.” Your hand moved gently through his hair, grounding him in a way he hadn’t thought was possible. “But… if I don’t, I feel like I’ll miss the biggest chance of my life.”

Hearing this, James closed his eyes, a warmth blossoming in his chest that was foreign and achingly tender. He nodded, his head nestling against you, soaking in the comfort of your words. In that moment, he felt like a lost soul, clinging to the only light in a world of shadows, and he held you just a little tighter, as if afraid that you might slip away. The sensation was almost childlike, and he felt a tear slip down his cheek as he gave in to that sense of safety, that warmth he thought he’d never feel again.

Snuggling closer, he let out a quiet, almost inaudible whisper. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled against you, his tone layered with reverence. For the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as lost as he’d thought.

You let out a soft sigh, fingers still tangled in his hair, and looked down at him with a firm gaze. “James, if you ever push me away like that again, I swear, I’ll slap you harder.”

A flicker of humour and self-deprecation passed through his eyes as he nodded. “I deserved it,” he admitted, voice steady, acknowledging not just the slap but the wake-up call it had become. He pulled back, finding his balance again, and when he rose to his feet, you offered him a small smile before finally accepting the bouquet.

James couldn’t help the slight catch in his breath as he watched you, his heart lighter now, the weight of his earlier dread slipping away. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, Laura and I… we’re going to the beach. It would mean a lot if you’d come with us.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, and he found himself captivated by it, warmth blooming under his gaze. The sight tugged at something deep inside him, something raw and tender. He had a sudden, powerful urge to lean in and kiss the flush on your cheeks, to feel the heat of it against his lips, to let it anchor him there, beside you. And when you nodded, accepting the invitation, his heart leapt.

A smile—a genuine, unguarded one—broke across his face, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. He lingered there, letting the quiet moment say what he couldn’t put into words, and then pulled back, his eyes soft and warm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, the promise of a new day, a fresh start, held between you.

#silent hill #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 remake #silent hill james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #smut #james sunderland/reader #x reader #female reader

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sushiyuzu · 4 months ago

Note

Hiii, I was wondering if you could make smth with a fem-reader who gets super angry, like destructive when mad bcus she lacks self-control rlly bad (for me I'm mentally ill lol) so when she gets mad her s/o usually walks in to her room destroyed with a crying reader in the corner, especially when she hasn't been taking her meds it ends up like that, and can you do this with Megumi, Yuta, and Sukuna

a safe comfort 🤍

a/n: thank you so much for trusting me with this request! it was my second time receiving and writing a fanfic request, and i truly appreciate the support! please remember to take care of yourself, especially if you're struggling with mental health—your well-being is so important! <3

warning: this story includes themes of mental illness, destructive behavior, and emotional distress. please proceed with caution.

megumi fushiguro

it starts as a small thing, the kind of annoyance you’d usually brush off. but today, something feels different. it’s as if the tension has been building for days, winding tighter and tighter until finally—something snaps. and when it does, you can’t stop yourself.

your hands are trembling as you shove the lamp off your nightstand, the crash of broken glass loud in your ears. the sound echoes in your head, but it doesn’t register—not really. you’re already grabbing at the books on your desk, hurling them across the room as frustration wells up inside you, fierce and unrelenting.

the anger takes over everything. it’s all-consuming, suffocating, like a weight on your chest you can’t escape. and when it’s over, when the room lies in ruins around you, you’re left standing in the middle of it all, gasping for air, your hands still shaking as the reality of what you’ve done hits you.

you drop to the floor, curling into yourself, the tears coming fast and hard. shame burns deep in your chest, the guilt crushing you as you try to breathe through it. you don’t want to be like this—you don’t want to be the person who destroys everything.

you don’t even notice when megumi walks in. he’s always quiet like that, slipping into your space without making a sound. but you know he’s there when you hear his voice—soft, steady, calm.

“hey,” he murmurs, and the sound is so gentle it makes your chest ache. “it’s okay.”

you can’t bring yourself to look up at him, too ashamed of what he must be seeing. you’re a mess. the room’s a mess. but megumi doesn’t seem to care. he steps carefully around the broken glass, the scattered papers, and kneels down beside you without a word.

for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with you, his presence grounding you in a way that nothing else can. his hand hovers near your shoulder, not quite touching, as if he’s waiting for permission to get closer.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he says softly, his voice filled with quiet reassurance.

you finally lift your head, and the moment your eyes meet his, the tears come faster, harder. you choke on a sob, unable to hold it back any longer, but megumi’s arms are around you before you can even process it. he pulls you into his chest, holding you close, and for a second, you forget about the wreckage around you.

his grip is firm but gentle, his hand running through your hair in soothing strokes. he’s not one to overwhelm you with words—megumi knows that sometimes silence speaks louder. instead, he just holds you, letting you cry against him, offering a quiet strength you can lean on without fear.

“we’ll figure it out,” he says after a while, his voice steady, like a promise. “whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

you know he means it. with megumi, there are no empty promises. just the quiet certainty that no matter how bad things get, he’s going to stay by your side. and somehow, that makes it a little easier to breathe.

the minutes stretch into what feels like hours as you sink into his embrace. with every ragged breath, you can feel the tension start to dissolve. megumi’s warmth envelops you, a safe haven amidst the storm of emotions raging inside.

as the tears slow, you begin to notice the little things—how his heartbeat thrums steadily against your ear, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, the gentle way he holds you as if you’re something precious. it’s a comfort that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re not alone in this chaos.

“i know it feels overwhelming right now,” he says, his voice low and soothing, “but it doesn’t define you. you’re stronger than this moment.”

you nod against him, trying to internalize his words, but the guilt still lingers like a shadow. “i don’t want to be like this,” you whisper, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“i know,” he replies, pulling back slightly to look you in the eye. there’s a determination in his gaze, a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart swell. “and you’re not. we’ll find a way to help you. just take it one step at a time.”

he wipes away the tears on your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his touch featherlight yet grounding. in his gaze, you see understanding—an unspoken agreement that you don’t have to carry this burden alone. with megumi beside you, it’s easier to believe that healing is possible, that you can face whatever darkness lies ahead.

as you sit there, the room still in disarray, you realize it’s okay to be broken. it’s okay to ask for help. because with megumi by your side, you know you have a safe space to fall apart and rebuild. you’re not just a collection of shattered pieces; you’re a person, and that person deserves love and understanding—even in the midst of chaos.

“thank you,” you murmur, feeling a glimmer of hope rise within you.

“always,” he replies, a soft smile breaking through the worry etched on his face. “now, let’s clean this up together, okay?”

you nod, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to yourself.

yuta okkotsu

the anger hits you like a tidal wave, sudden and overwhelming, and before you know it, everything around you is falling apart. you’ve tried to hold it back—tried so hard—but the frustration is too much. your hands move on their own, knocking over anything within reach, the sounds of things crashing to the floor blending together in a chaotic blur.

you don’t realize how far you’ve gone until the room is a disaster—books torn from the shelves, clothes scattered across the floor, furniture tipped over in your frenzy. it’s only when the last bit of anger burns out that you see the mess you’ve made, and with it comes the crushing guilt. the shame.

you collapse to the floor, pressing your palms to your face, hiding from the destruction you’ve caused. your heart races in your chest, your breathing uneven as the tears come, slow at first, then uncontrollable.

you don’t hear the door open, don’t realize yuta’s standing there until you feel a presence near you. when he speaks, his voice is so soft, so filled with concern, it breaks your heart.

“hey,” he calls your name gently, kneeling in front of you. “what happened?”

you can’t answer him, can’t even look at him. the shame is too much. you’ve done this again—let yourself lose control, let everything spiral. yuta doesn’t push you for answers, though. he just watches you for a moment, waiting for the right time to step in.

“it’s okay,” he whispers after a while, reaching out carefully, his hand brushing against your arm in a tentative gesture. “i’m not mad. i’m just... worried.”

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect, and before you know it, you’re falling into him. yuta catches you easily, pulling you close to his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively. he’s warm, gentle, his hands soothing as he rubs slow circles against your back.

“we’ll get through this,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice steady. “whatever’s going on... we’ll handle it together.”

his embrace is firm, but never overwhelming. he holds you just tightly enough to make you feel safe, his chin resting on the top of your head as he lets you cry into his shoulder. yuta’s always been like this—soft, gentle, never pushing too hard but always there when you need him most.

“you don’t have to be afraid of this,” he adds, his voice low. “we’ll take it one step at a time, okay?”

you nod against him, even though you still feel the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. but with yuta’s arms around you, the world feels just a little bit less overwhelming.

as you pull away slightly, just enough to see his face, you can’t help but notice the concern etched in his features. his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of reassurance. “you didn’t have to hide this from me,” he says softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear that has slipped free. “i’m here for you, no matter what.”

the sincerity in his voice ignites something inside you—a flicker of hope amidst the storm of despair. “i just... don’t want to be like this,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i don’t want to keep losing control.”

“it’s okay to feel angry sometimes,” he reassures, his expression unwavering. “but you’re not alone in this. you don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

you take a deep breath, allowing his words to wash over you. it’s a reminder that while this moment feels insurmountable, it doesn’t define you. yuta doesn’t judge you for the chaos you’ve created; instead, he’s offering a lifeline, a way to navigate through the darkness together.

“let’s clean this up,” he suggests, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “but first, can we take a minute? just to breathe?”

you nod again, grateful for his understanding. yuta guides you back to the corner of the room where it feels a bit safer, sitting beside you on the floor amidst the wreckage. he takes a moment to simply breathe with you, matching his inhale and exhale to yours. in those shared breaths, you can feel the tension begin to ease, even if just a little.

“you’re strong, you know,” he says softly, looking at you with such intensity that it warms your heart. “even when it feels like everything’s falling apart, you’re still standing here. that means something.”

his words wrap around you like a warm blanket, grounding you further. you manage a small smile, a flicker of gratitude in your chest. “thank you for being here.”

“always,” he replies, the sincerity in his voice bringing a sense of comfort. “let’s start with one thing at a time. how about we pick up the books first?”

you both begin to clear the room together, moving through the remnants of your outburst. with each item you return to its place, you feel a little more in control, a little less lost. yuta’s presence is steady by your side, and as he laughs softly at the absurdity of some of the mess, you can’t help but join him.

“what a tornado you’ve created,” he teases gently, picking up a shirt and throwing it playfully at you. “it looks like a fashion disaster.”

“hey! don’t make fun of my style,” you retort, a laugh bubbling up despite the heaviness of earlier. the sound feels good, like a small victory over the lingering despair.

“i’d never!” he exclaims, mock-indignant. “your style is unique, and it needs to be respected.”

as you work together, the atmosphere shifts. the heaviness that had settled in your chest begins to lift, and with yuta’s playful banter, you start to find a lightness you thought was lost. you realize that even in moments of chaos, you can create something beautiful—like the bond you share with him.

once the room is tidied up, yuta turns to you, his expression serious again. “remember, it’s okay to ask for help. i’m just a call away, and you don’t have to face anything alone.”

you look at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “i really appreciate you, yuta. for everything.”

“anytime,” he replies, reaching for your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “let’s take care of each other, okay?”

as you sit together in the aftermath of the storm, you know that with yuta by your side, you’ll find a way through whatever challenges lie ahead. the world feels just a little bit less daunting, and that’s more than enough for now.

ryomen sukuna

it happens fast—too fast for you to stop it. one moment, you’re pacing around the room, frustration boiling inside you like a pressure cooker, and the next, your hands are smashing into everything within reach. you’ve never been able to control it, this anger that builds and builds until it spills over, consuming everything in its path.

furniture crashes to the floor, papers scatter across the room, and the sound of breaking glass rings in your ears. you’ve wrecked the place, torn it apart with your bare hands, and now, standing in the aftermath, all you can feel is the hollow emptiness left behind.

your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, tears blurring your vision as the weight of what you’ve done settles in. you sink down to the floor, curling in on yourself, the world around you too much to handle. the anger is gone now, but the shame remains, thick and suffocating.

then you hear him—sukuna. his voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and unmistakable.

“well, well,” he drawls, his tone laced with amusement. “look at the mess you’ve made.”

you flinch, expecting the worst, but when sukuna steps into the room, there’s no mockery in his eyes. he surveys the damage with a raised brow, but instead of berating you, he simply smirks, as if he finds the whole thing more fascinating than anything else.

“you always did have a flair for destruction,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “but this... this is something else.”

you don’t respond. you can’t. the shame is too heavy, too overwhelming, and the last thing you want is for him to see you like this. but sukuna doesn’t leave. instead, he walks over to you, his boots crunching against the broken glass, and crouches down in front of you.

he tilts his head, his red eyes gleaming with something almost like curiosity. “are you done?”

you nod, though it’s barely a movement. your throat is tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, and sukuna just watches you for a moment longer before sighing. without another word, he reaches out and pulls you into his arms, not caring about the mess around him.

you’re too tired to resist, too worn out to push him away, and sukuna just holds you there, his grip firm but not painful. there’s a warmth to him, a strange sort of comfort in the way he wraps his arms around you, despite his usual roughness.

“you’re a disaster,” he mutters, his tone teasing but not unkind. “but i suppose you’re my disaster.”

you don’t know why, but his words make the tears come harder, and before you know it, you’re sobbing against his chest, your body trembling with the force of it. sukuna doesn’t shush you or tell you to stop. he just lets you cry, his hand resting on the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair.

“let it out,” he says, his voice soft now, quieter than you’ve ever heard it before. “you’ll feel better after.”

and somehow, with him holding you, the world feels just a little bit less chaotic. sukuna may not be gentle, but in this moment, he’s exactly what you need. the weight of his arms around you, solid and unyielding, keeps you anchored, keeps you from spiraling any further.

he’s not one for soft reassurances or whispered comforts, but his presence alone is enough to ground you. he lets you break down in his arms, lets you be vulnerable without judgment or impatience. there’s something oddly calming about it—being in the presence of someone so powerful, so utterly in control, when you feel like your world is falling apart.

after a long while, when your sobs finally subside, sukuna pulls back slightly. he tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. his red eyes bore into yours, sharp and unwavering.

“feel better?” he asks, his voice low, his expression unreadable.

you nod, not trusting your voice to speak. he studies you for a moment longer before he lets go of your chin, standing up and brushing some debris off his clothes as if none of this bothered him in the slightest.

“next time,” he says, his tone casual, as if offering advice on something trivial, “try not to destroy everything. or at least wait until i’m around to enjoy the show.”

there’s a teasing lilt to his words, and despite yourself, despite everything, a small, tired smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“come on,” sukuna says, offering you his hand to help you up. “let’s get out of here. you need to clear your head.”

you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand, and he pulls you up effortlessly. as he leads you out of the wreckage of your room, there’s a strange comfort in knowing that, for all his arrogance and rough edges, sukuna’s still here—still willing to stay by your side, no matter how many times you break.

and somehow, with him, that’s enough.

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losers-clvb · 1 month ago

Text

got the one thing that i want // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x female!reader

summary: you were in love with dean winchester. unfortunately for you, he was in love with someone else.

content: unrequited love, reader is kind of lovesick over dean (but she isn't stupid!!!), suggestive content towards end, dean is kind of a heartbroken asshole, soulless sam makes appearances, nickname "kid" used (but there is no significant age gap), angst, sam x reader if you squint

word count: 3.3k

note: as always, this is unedited. now, personally I am a sam girl first, however dean fit so much better into this idea. hopefully when i write for dean again it will be less angsty (even though i love angst). the storyline revolves around dean with lisa but the timeline and events may be off or not fit into the episodes including it. in that same vein, soulless sam may seem to have a little soul. the title is from lacy by olivia rodrigo as it was the song that was spinning around my head as i wrote this. also: lisa is not the evil woman who is insecure over the reader. i tried to make that obvious, but it may get lost in translation from not being outwardly mentioned. anyways, enjoy!

masterlist

----

Dean wasn't happy with his life. He hadn't been for a while. Driving around the country and hunting the things that go bump in the night was all fun and games until it cost him his brother. Even then, he could try to grapple with the grief he felt as long as he played house with Lisa and Ben. It was almost natural how he fit into their lives. Golfing, PTA meetings, the whole domesticity of it would have made him ill before, but now he was just happy to be safe. Of course, he never really felt safe. He was waiting for the ball to drop, for some god or witch to come out and tell him it was all a sick game to toy with his mind. There was no way Dean Winchester could ever be out of harm's way.

Then it came. The Djinn were there to tear down the dream life he had built for himself. He knew after that he could never be normal. There was just too much on the line for it. He had to be a hunter, it was in his blood. At least he had his brother back again. But, as time went on and he attempted a long distance type of relationship with Lisa, he knew something was wrong. His little brother who he had practically raised was different, cold and calculated instead of kind and intelligent. He figured he couldn't ask for too much, at least Sam was alive.

Then came you. You came from a family of hunters, dating back further than his mother's line. He hadn't seen you since you two were kids, you 10 and him 12, but you had grown up. He couldn't lie, you were hot as hell and under different circumstances he would have been all over you, but he was a taken man. He was loyal to Lisa and would do nothing to jeopardize the relationship. You, on the other hand, had been falling in love with the Winchester since you had reconnected. When you were young you had a small, school girl crush on him, but it had blossomed into more once you had gotten to know the man he had become. It wasn’t lust. You wanted to be around him all the time, wanted to make him smile, wanted to be the one who reassured him when he was feeling worthless.

You had halfway become that for him. You were one of the only people who made him lighter, someone he confided in about pretty much everything. Of course, that meant hearing about Lisa. You tried not to feel jealousy when he talked of her. It wasn’t her fault Dean thought she had molded the sun and stars while thinking of you as merely a friend. You knew it made you a terrible person when you mentally cursed the woman. Maybe you had never really been a good person. How could you when your life revolved around killing? But it certainly didn’t make you better to hope that Dean would leave her for you.

That was the situation you were in now. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala, sipping on a once cold beer while Dean talked of his recent trip to visit Lisa.

“-cooks the best turkey. Juicy on the inside, crispy on the outside.” Dean had been rambling about her cooking for over twenty minutes now. It wasn’t the first time he had talked about it and there was only so much you could say in response to her culinary skills. You nodded along as you mentally counted the stitches of the seat. There it was again. The pit in your stomach as you thought of all the nasty things you could say about Dean’s partner.

“Any romantic prospects for you?” Dean asked cheekily, which broke you out of the trance. He asked you this nearly every time when he was done gushing about Lisa. Your answer was always the same, a lie you told perfectly to his face.

“Not looking right now, maybe once we’re done with this case.” You looked up to him with a forced smile. He chuckled lowly and drank his beer, finishing it off.

“One day you’ll find him, kid.” There it was. The nickname he had chosen for you as kids that had somehow stuck in his brain once you were grown. You cringed at it, hating the way it made you feel.

“I’m two years younger than you, Winchester, don’t call me that.” Your tone was playful, trying not to hurt him. Even when you were sticking up for yourself you were still looking out for him. He shook his head as he looked out the front windshield of the Impala, laughter still in his eyes.

“Still a kid.”

----

Dean was gone now. Off to go help Lisa with some problem she had run into with Ben. It was pathetic, you thought, the way he dropped everything to run to her. Instant regret came with the words. No, it wasn’t pathetic. You were. If it was you he was running to you would have thought it was sweet. You were a pathetic, horrible person for thinking this way. You wallowed in this self pity as you worked on cleaning the gun in your hand.

“I see the way you look at him.” Sam mumbled as he worked on researching the case you two were currently on. He had been watching you, and he had noticed for a while now how your eyes lit up when Dean came around. He had also noticed how that light dulled when his brother spoke of Lisa.

“What?” You asked with irritation. There was no way you were talking with Sam about this. Bobby had tried once, but after getting a door slammed in his face he had thanked God for never giving him any girls to look after.

“You looking at Dean like he’s your lifeline.” Sam’s words made you clench your jaw. You weren’t angry with him, just angry with his words. They were true, of course, but you would have rather a demon take you as a meat suit before admitting it out loud.

“Just shut up.” You snarled at him before feeling just as guilty again. It wasn't his fault you were in love with a man who wouldn't love you back. You continued cleaning the gun as the guilt gnawed away at you. Sam sighed and turned his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

“All I'm saying is it's not worth it. Dean's happy now, but he's never going to love you back.” Sam's words were harsh, just another reminder that he was soulless. He had tried to be a little less direct with you after getting berated by Dean, but it seemed his patience had worn thin. Normally, you would have snapped back, telling him it wasn't true, none of what he said was true. But you knew it was. Dean would love Lisa until she stopped letting him, but he would never love you.

----

Dean had called you that night to check in. He knew you were hunting and even if he had no romantic interest in you, he still cared if you were living. You had been waiting patiently by your phone. He had promised to call every other night and you had promised to answer within the first three rings.

“How's it going kid?” That was how Dean chose to greet you. You squeezed your eyes shut in response. Why did he always have to make you feel so small?

“It's, uh, it's fine.” You stammered out as a Sam watched you. You ignored him and chose to fidget with a loose thread on the comforter of the bed. You heard Dean's chuckle through the phone.

“You don't sound too sure, but ill take your word for it.” His voice was gravelly from fighting off sleep. He had almost skipped the phone call in exchange for more sleep but had decided he didn't want to disappoint you. A silence fell over you two. You cleared your throat.

“How's Ben and Lisa?” You spoke, opting to ask something you knew would bring on a wave of talking. You just wanted to hear his voice.

“They're great. Ben, he, uh, has a crush on this girl in his school. I've been giving him tips on how to win her over.” This pulled a laugh from you.

“I don't know if I'd take your advice, Dean. You don't have the greatest track record of keeping relationships.” You teased him, drawing another chuckle from him. You heard rustling on the other end and a female voice laughing quietly enough you almost didnt hear it. Almost. There she was. Lisa.

“Hey, I've done a pretty bang up job keeping this one.” Dean replied, which triggered another laugh from the other line. You could assume Dean had motioned to Lisa. You smiled bitterly before Sam took the phone from your hand. You sat up quickly to argue the sudden thievery of the item, but his raised hand silenced you.

“Dean,” Sam greeted his brother. He watched you as he spoke. You shrunk under his stare, knowing he was frustrated about something you had done.

“Sammy! How are ya?” You could hear Dean through the phone, even with it being a couple of feet away.

“Fine, listen, we gotta let you go. Early morning.” Sam was short with the man on the other end of the line. You could hear Dean bidding a “good night” to Sam before they ended the call. Sam sat on the side of your bed before handing you back the phone. You watched him, waiting for him to say something, anything to explain why he had interrupted your time with Dean. Sam stretched his neck then laid his eyes on yours.

“I told you to back off of him.” He said. If you didn't know any better, you would have swore you heard caring come through in his words. You swallowed down the shame you felt.

“I was.” Your voice was more fragile than you intended it to be. You looked away from Sam, but could still feel his soulless gaze on you.

“No, you weren't,” were the last words said between the two of you for the night.

----

Two weeks later, you heard the slam of a door. You and the Winchesters were staying at Bobby's while waiting for another case to pop up. You had been lounging in the room you had been calling yours for the past few days, reading a book. Sam was God knows where while Bobby was running the phones for Rufus. It had been a quiet afternoon. Quiet up until Dean entered the house.

He had received a text from Lisa stating to call him immediately. Which he did. Immediately. That had been an hour ago. You hadn't known what the woman had to talk about with Dean, nor had he. By the sounds of not only the door but his angry footsteps as he entered your room, he was upset about something. He shut the door when he made it inside. Dean started a slow, furious pacing, but didn't say anything at first.

“Did something happen?” You had put your book down and had moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Your eyes trailed the path he made as he moved. He rubbed his face after stopping in front of you.

“Lisa said,” he paused and took a deep breath. “She said to leave her and Ben alone. That I crossed a line, pushing him.” Dean's voice was wavering between anger and heartbreak.

“Oh,” you breathed out. You felt sorry for him, you did, but a small part of you, one that was buried deep within, was overjoyed. Maybe either Lisa out of the way Dean would see what he was missing with you. Of course, the second this thought popped into your head that sinking pit in your stomach appeared, the one that only seemed to show up when you thought about Dean and Lisa. You were watching him still, waiting to see what he was going to say or do next.

“It was either eat him or push him! What was I supposed to do, let the kid die?” Dean was frustrated. That was obvious with the way he was rambling on, ignoring any reaction you could have had to this information. You remembered this. A week ago, Sam and Dean had gone on a hunt which ended in Dean becoming a vampire, temporarily. Long story short, he ended up at Lisa’s house before taking the cure, and instead of opening up, he had almost killed them both in a fit of vampiric hunger. You were unsure of why exactly Dean had never told them the whole truth, but he hadn’t. Maybe he thought it would make it worse? You were sure it couldn’t have gotten worse than this.

Dean collapsed down next to you. He held his head in his hands. You sat next to him, blinking at the floorboards. How could you comfort him when you had been praying for this day since they had started dating? You weren’t great with words, words of comfort especially. Hug him? No, that might make things weird. You reached a hand over to place on his back, hesitating before ultimately making contact with his shirt. He was tense. Obviously he was tense. You stayed there, sitting next to him, hand on his back, waiting for him to make the next move.

Dean’s world was crashing down around him. It sounded dramatic, but it was true. Just when he had finally gotten to a place where he could at least be halfway happy with his life, it blew up in his face. Was he cursed? He didn’t know, but it felt like it. He didn’t know much of anything, actually. He had spent so long pushing his emotions away from the surface that he was clueless as to how to deal with it. Drinking wasn’t enough. He needed to get it out some other way. He looked up at you, eyes brimming red on the edge of tears.

Dean knew you loved him. He had known for a while, but knew you wouldn’t act on it. He wasn’t worried about how it would affect the friendship because he would simply ignore it. That was what he did with most things that didn’t benefit him. Ignore it until it got too big, let it blow up his life, then find a way to clean up the pieces. That was what was happening now. This thing he had ignored was suddenly so big, and he knew he could use it for himself. It was a wrestling match in his mind as he looked into your eyes. In the end, there was a winner and it seemed to be the little devil on his shoulder.

You were surprised as hell when Dean lunged towards you. That surprise only increased when you felt his lips on yours. It was strange, the kiss and the fact that you had almost immediately melted into him. You were underneath him as he cupped the side of your face. His kiss was feverish. It wasn’t passionate in the way two lovers kissed, it was more sexual than that. You knew this was wrong, not just morally, but the whole situation. Dean was just grieving the end of his relationship a split second ago. Now he had suddenly found the urge to kiss you? No, it wasn’t right.

“Dean,” you mumbled against him. In response, he kissed you harder. It would have been a lie if you were to say you didn’t enjoy it. Dean Winchester knew how to kiss a girl. You felt his hand go to your side before wrapping around to your back. He pulled you up closer to him as he kissed down your neck. Your own hands found his chest and you tilted your head to allow him better access to you.

“Dean, I have to tell you-,” he cut you off with a sharp nip at your collarbone. He was working his way down you, preparing to do only the things you had dreamed of. You felt that guilt creep in again. Was he doing this because he thought he had to?

“Dean, please!” You pushed him off you, scared you had somehow manipulated him into doing this. Dean scrambled back. He looked upset, not from what you had done, but from what he had done. You were both breathing hard, from the rush of what had happened or from the tension in the room, you didn’t know. You swallowed and tried to keep your eyes on him.

“You don’t have to do this. We can wait.” You managed to get the words out without your voice breaking. You offered a smile, which fell when Dean shook his head. He wore a pained look on his face, which panicked you.

“I love you, Dean.” The words fell out before you could stop them. It wasn’t like they were a lie. You just hadn’t expected to tell him, not now, not like this. Your eyes were wide as you waited for a response, hoping for a good one. It wasn’t as if it was completely unexpected. It couldn’t have been. You spent all your free time either with him or helping him in some way. You laughed with him, cried with him, confided in him. He was charming, which he knew. All of this you knew to be true. Yet all of this hadn’t mattered anymore when Dean turned away from you, sniffing before he spoke.

“I know.” Dean’s reply was only two words, but they held meaning. Meaning you understood. You could read through Dean. He knew the whole time. He also didn’t feel the same. He hadn’t ever loved you. He hadn’t even wanted to try to love you.

“You kissed me.” At this point tears were daring to spill from your eyes. He had known you loved him, known he didn’t love you, and he had still kissed you. He had been more worried about soothing himself that he hadn’t spared a thought for what would happen afterwards. You hated it. You hated him. You hated that you were about to cry like the kid Dean always called you.

“I’m sorry.” Those were Dean’s last words before he left your room. The door was still swinging when the rumble of the Impala’s engine roared to life, triggering a sob to rip from your throat. You hugged yourself and dipped your head between your knees. Everything had changed and you knew it wasn’t for the better. You hated yourself for even putting yourself into this situation. You knew the risks of falling in love with Dean Winchester.

The bed dipped down next to you, signaling the arrival of someone else in the room. You didn’t have the heart to look up. It wasn’t Dean. You knew that. He wouldn’t have come back so soon unless it was to tell you he had lied, he actually reciprocated your feelings for him. But he wouldn’t have done that, because he didn’t. It was Sam. That much you knew from the way he wrapped an awkward arm around you. He was trying his hardest to comfort you without saying “I told you so”. You knew he wanted to, knew it was taking everything in him to not be cold to you. The two of you sat wordless as you cried over a love you imagined you would never feel again.

#x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #supernatural x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader angst #supernatural

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