#i just wanna cut all the rot out of my skin until there's nothing left i just wanna stop being sick all the time i just want it to stop

[bigusbossus]

Holy shit I just had the worst idea ever, I know this doesn't make sense timeline wise but uh

Tw: Child Abuse

Ocelot finds out what was going on with Otacon and his stepmom, so he kills the stepmom, kidnaps Huey, and starts bullying him for it. "Wow, Huey look how pathetic you are, tell me, are you so bad at sex that women would rather be pedophiles than fuck you or is your cock so small that the only women willing to touch it are into kids?"

GOD YEAH IVE ALWAYS LIKED THE IDEA OF OCELOT FUCKING UP HUEY AND HIS WIFE AFTER FINDING OUT WHAT THEY DID TO THEIR KIDS

the moment ocelot got his hands on Huey he was practically dead already. Ocelot just loves to drag it out, give him enough trauma to last several lifetimes, "worse" than the trauma he gave his kids.

[warning just intense prolonged sadistic torture under this and mightve projected a little bc i had a people very similar to Huey and his wife in my life 😭]

he'd hire a bunch of dudes to gang🍇 Huey for days. And it only stops when Huey gets used to it, by then Huey would be so hungry but Ocelot wouldn't ever want to spend money or effort in sustaining him. So he'd cut off Huey's legs and force him to eat them, then he'd leave because he knows Huey would argue. Ocelot does grant him the courtesy of having his wounds tended to though, just the ones that could kill him because he wants to drag out this punishment for as long as he can.

By the time he comes back the dismembered legs are rotting, fleas and maggots on them and yet Huey is slouched over eating them, he's so hungry his brain has turned off every alarm in his head telling him no. Maybe he even has to eat his wifes body who knows.

But over the months each limb huey has is severed. When hes got no arms left, he's made to wriggle on the floor to eat his own flesh. Ocelot even cuts off Huey's schlong when there isn't any more limbs to cut. In between the amputations he tortures Huey in more typical ways, injecting him with chemicals to burn him from the inside, ripping off his nails, waterboarding him, electrocuting him and even setting him on fire, on top of depriving Huey of basic human necessities.

Then Huey's eyes go, then his tongue, then his ears. But even then he isn't all gone. Ocelot skins parts of him and stuffs the flesh in his throat. Just little bits at a time so he dosnt die... until finally he's looking worse than solidus body from mgs4 and yet he's still alive. Trapped in his own body, feeling nothing but the cold floor. Ocelot just leaves him there, locked up until he starves to death, regretting every bad decision he's made...

and then ocelot goes find otacon and offers him a job at foxhound to make walking war machines :3 the exact interview process was " hey kid you look like you watch mecha anime.. wanna make irl mechas for us?" and otacon was jumping up and down going YIPEEE!!! 🎊🎊🎉🎉

[blindrapture]

SUNDAY MAY 29TH, 2011 (Everyone's Benefit)

7:05 AM I’m happy. "I'm happy too." Hi, Mistress. "It says here you want to 'deal with' me." I, uh. I just want to make sure that Donnie and I can be safe. "Well said. I want that too. I need you in top form for your job on Wednesday. I'm looking out for you, you know? I'm trying not to grow too attached, but I am looking out. And I have a small errand for you to run today." Anything, I'll do anything you ask!!! "I know you will." something like a kiss on the cheek "I want you to go to the top of Blackpool Tower. You want to go up there, don't you? Every tourist does, and you, my pet, are just a tourist here. You need to be up there at noon, not a minute later. I'm having a package delivered right to that spot, and the postman must not be kept waiting. I'd get it myself, but I have other things to do today. You can give the package to me tomorrow morning." Okay. o: "And I want to be crystal clear on this: Under no circumstances are you to open the package. Don't go reading my mail. Don't go poking your nose." I won't! I can do this! "I know. I know. But I also know you often think you're too kinky to be punished. I assure you, I will accept that challenge if provoked. I have ways. Do not doubt my power. Did you know that my Puppets can all still think and feel? That they're aware of what I force them to do? I can do that to you." I won't disobey, I promise! "I need. To make. This. Clear. You do not 'deal with' me. I deal with you. I can replace all of your skin with wood. I can lock you away for eternity, or rather, until you get used to it." grabbed my head pulled it closer to hers. she's. staring at me. with her painted, unblinking eyes. "Do you understand?" I understand!! I obey!! "…" I obey, Mistress!!! "I'm sure you won't disappoint me." she let go of me "I also don't want to leave you so scared, as much as it's making me so fucking wet to do that to you. A scared pet isn't loyal. So I'm going to cheer you up." How are you going

(These pages have been removed. For everyone's benefit.)

11:34 AM I’m at Blackpool Tower. Now I’ve just got to go up.

11:48 AM THERE MADE IT. ..fuck, now I have to wait.

11:50 AM For posterity: Last night, when I got in bed, Donnie just immediately hugged me and asked me if I was really alright. After all the zombies. Journal, I’m beginning to think she likes me.

11:53 AM I wonder how the postman is gonna get up here. I mean, Blackpool Tower may not be a very tall tower, but it’s certainly far from ground level. Maybe he’ll go up the stairs like I did.

11:58 AM I’d better start keeping a lookout.

11:59 AM Nothing yet.

12:00 PM NothMOTHERFUCKER He’s gone he left a box what what what what. That. But that. That was, that had to be, I mean we're already dealing with the Rake, why wouldn't that faceless man have been... Why am I still alive, he was right there, I don't even feel a light cough! That was the slender man!!!

12:11 PM Anyway, um, he left this package. It’s labelled “To: Harlequin.” Harlequin?

12:34 PM Back to the main street. This package smells a lot like rotting meat.

12:57 PM God, the stench. It’s worse than shit. I think I can smell shit in it.

1:11 PM strings in your head don't open it

1:30 PM HOME

1:31 PM Package safely put under the bed. The terrible stench is gonna get it spotted, for sure, but at least I won’t be the one who opens it.

4:56 PM Donnie complained about the smell in our room. I insisted it wasn’t me. Troper 1 suggested it was the smell of the zombies drifting in. Fuckin’ saved my bacon, pal.

6:28 PM YEAH I KNOW RIGHT, WHAT IS THAT??? god this is so awkward

7:12 PM Gaaah, I just wanna go to beeeed. I want to be a good boy and not be killed please please please.

8:30 PM THIS DAY IS TAKING FOREVER

10:02 PM Dinner was beans and hot dogs.Yummy.I suggested an early night. Donnie agreed. With a wink. Holy fuck, my life might just be good.

11:15 PM We cut the cuddling short because the stench was getting unbearable. Mistress pretty much cockblockedme. D:

(Attached: "I'm a piece of shit, I'm a miserable little piece of shit. That's how finding my father's notebooks affected me. I had so fixated myself on living large and being a rockstar that I hadn't bothered with restraint or self-reflection, and all this time my father had been wrestling a crippling depression. I didn't even know. He spent his childhood fleeing one government, finding the next country's government not much better, and migrating more. This brought more perspective on the reasoning behind my family's move to America when I was just a little boy. In his later years, he saw his son taking a musical talent and running it into the ground, and yet none of his notes criticize me. He saw what he believed to be American corruption turn his own spawn into an apathetic alcoholic, and he turned not to his son's faults but to the system at large. And my father never once turned to drink, himself. He was a man of a certain kind of constitution: That of self-harm. I had no idea. My mother did. This is why she grew more stressed in the years leading up to his death. She cared too much about him, and this only made him feel guiltier. When I joined the Sunsetters and we released The Mythology of Empathy, my father's notes are nothing but glowing praise and adoration. He described our music as 'the inalienable victory over the greedy eagle.' Yet at the time I kept partying hard and refusing to give a damn about my family.")

[PREV LOG] [TABLE OF CONTENTS] [NEXT LOG]

[gardeniasmadness]

Perversion

He skips along again, give her a wave

The light drops from my face

Fit so perfectly between our imaginary bond

Where’s the reality for which I long?

Please don’t be highschool sweethearts

I’m telling you there’s nothin I wouldn’t do

Sick, burning with perversion for you

Your dirty head between her legs

And now I get, a garbage pair just made for eachother

Feelings will stay inside until they dissolve

Mourning the loss of my fantasy, again I fall

————

Can you accept a truth in tomorrow

Sleeping beauty-

Just die and everyone will call you sleeping Beauty

Made to be looked at like the doll in the store window

She raises her porcelain hands

Be a sleeping beauty

Amber’s skin

Today again, she’s just so much better

And I wanna say it doesn’t matter

Such shining eyes are endearing

But a voice in the back of my head is screaming

And I feel so bad

Wanting to stab an angel in her back

And I’m so mad

Cause of you, it’s never enough, what I have

She doesn’t know, if you look a little deeper

I’d kill to wear the skin of Amber

And throw myself away

I would clip her wings and trap her in my prison

Have a taste of what it’s like to choke back acid in your throat

But what if, what if, I find It’s not able to satisfy

But What if, what if, it ain’t better on the other side

Was it a choice to be trapped within her silk web

Is it my fault, she’s nestled inside of my head

It doesn’t matter, I snap the threads

What I’d give to wear the skin of amber

Get rid of this body with bruises already littered

Rotting from the inside out

No, I can’t stop it now

What I’d give to wear the skin of amber

To trap her in my bathroom mirror

Be the reason she’s dragged into the big blue sky and gone forever

What I’d give to wear the skin of Amber

All I’d give to wear the skin Amber

What I’d give to wear the skin of Amber

————————-

Bruised and littered with

Deep sea dwellers

Dragged into the big blue sky

And gone forever

And when you see it you’ll scream

Adorned in blood

Hunting season

Every word of yours that rings in my head

When probably don’t even stay in yours

Left me to breathe the dust

Kill a sweet little deer all alone

And when his blood seeps in the snow

Steal his eyes, dull and drained of life

Kick him to the side,

——————

Unravel you to

Resurrected feeling of dread

Stuck living in your own head since birth

Monday empty heart

Chewing bullets

Keep trying to put him back together

Cut his limbs and rearrange

Must be getting the order wrong

Can’t fix a monster

And the cuts are deeper every time

You take my breath away

Got a habit of staring into space

Trying to join my conscious and body together

You take my breath away

You take my breath away

You take my breath away

Guided by his hand

Take my hand

Prince with cherry red hair

The ugly part of it

————————

Hey Cid, are you ever jealous of anyone? Anyone at all?”

Well, just a little bit.. Do ya know who?

*head shake*

*chuckle* get ready

“What..?”

Ah, nothing!

Well, I’ll start with the

The blue eyed blondies, effortless, natural beauties

People, treated like gods, who get praised and payed for just existing

People who are only teens, yet better than me at everything

People who have everyone kneeling, begging to kiss their feet

“uh .. okay.. continue”

You know, sometimes it ain’t even people, it’s animals

Like the cats and dogs, cause all they have to do is live, never have to think about anythin, allowed to be stupid

And I know I’m pathetic, absolutely pathetic, standing by, never changing

Born living inside of my head, and I can’t find my way out the labyrinth

“And you know what else I hat-!!”

Cid.. *sob* something happened!”

“What’s the matter, dear?”

*hic* My boyfriend broke up with me!!

Boyfriend.. partner.. relationship.. love..

“Cid?”

Well, Jessica, it’s quite conflicting

Who am I to say your pain isn’t real or as comparable because it isn’t the same as mine? Who am I to be mad?

But, at the same time, how can I feel sorry for you when all your problems come from what I’ve never had?

I mean of course, your success is probably a result of your actual motivation to do things in life and continuous hard work and effort and really that’s just such a great thing you should be so proud of yourself that you’re not like me but of course I can’t say that to you because that’s too long and sad so I’m just gonna say fuck you!! Fuck you!! Fuck you!!!

But of course, I’d never ACTUALLY say any of that to anyone.. except myself!!

———————-

The Italian girls that make fun of me (god, I hate New Jersey)

I just wish they’d understand

No one can save me now

It’s hard to hear when you’re so deep underground

Just beat me bloody and drag me to the bed beneath the tree

Can’t rip the memory from my head no matter how much I reach

[cum-allergy]

.

[yourtamaki]

thinking about worshipping sanji’s body on a bright morning. his blonde hair looks like gold today and you just wanna press your lips to every inch of his skin for salvation. yeah. sanji brain rot

you,,,, you get me. also this got a lil angsty sorry </3

sanji bathed in the golden morning sun is a rare sight you hardly get to see let alone savour. he’s always on the move, up to cook breakfast long before you wake up and slipping under the covers after his nightly prep work with you already fast asleep. sanji tries to make time for you during the long hours in between but with a dozen people on a tiny ship, alone time is unheard of. you’ve resigned yourself to these cold mornings and lonely nights. how could you ask for more when you see how hard he works day in and day out to take care of his crew. to take care of you.

still, when you blink awake and find his arms still wrapped around you, a greediness you thought you’d buried alive cuts through the syrupy drowsiness in your veins until you’re left bleeding and aching with need.

you twist around in his loose hold until you’re face to face with him, so close that his slow, deep breaths feel like your own. sanji is beautiful at rest, soft in a way he never lets you see. you cradle his face, fresh stubble scratching your palm as you swipe a thumb over his cheekbone. the light touch is enough to make him jerk then relax when he realizes it’s only you, eyes still closed.

sanji leans into your hand, pressing a sleepy kiss to the centre of your palm before he asks, “what’s wrong, my love? bad dream?”

“it’s morning.” his eyes flutter open as he takes in the golden hue of the bedroom for the first time, refracted light from the sea dancing on the ceiling as the sunny sways over gentle waves.

“i slept in?”

you kiss the confused furrow of his brow. “mhmm.”

“i sh-should get up.” his breath stutters as your lips start to wander, pressing against his temple before trailing down his cheek to litter his jaw in feather light kisses.

“you could.” you say, throwing your leg up around his waist and use the leverage to straddle him. “or you could stay here with me.”

“baby please. i have to go.” even with the obvious confliction in his voice, sanji’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh he finds there.

“then go.”

you’ve said too much. you know it from the way he all but freezes solid beneath you, so still and quiet you can almost hear the crack of his heart as it splinters like thawing ice under the warm morning sun.

“what’s wrong?” something lurks in the question that wasn’t there when he first woke up and asked you the same thing, something more fragile and fearful.

“nothing.” you nudge your nose against the underside of his jaw, planting kisses down his neck in a vain attempt to distract him.

“angel.” you feel his groan rather then hear it, a low rumble that tickles your lips and urges you to lick a stripe against his throat to pull another from him. “talk to me. please.”

“i’m fine. i just need this right now. i need you, sanji.”

he pinches your chin between his finger and thumb, lifting your head until you meet his eyes. you squirm under his heavy gaze, certain that the dawn’s light exposes your every thought but all he does is tilt forward to press his lips against yours and mumbles, “i’m yours.”

it’s nothing he hasn’t told you before but the pang in your chest makes you feel raw and vulnerable all the same. he’s yours. yours to know and touch and love and the reminder sends you into a frenzy, leaving a searing trail of open mouth kisses down his chest and following his happy trail until you’re slotted between his legs, mouthing and drooling over his cock.

“go ahead, baby.” he says. “take what’s yours.”

the streaming sunlight lights his flushed face gold as you slowly sink down on him. you should’ve known better then to take him without stretching yourself first but the burn is a welcome one. sanji winces as though he shares your pain and he licks his thumb to rub neat circles on your clit. when he finally bottoms out inside you, the tight, hurt feeling in your chest finally loosens enough for you to draw a full breath.

“is that better?” he asks. when you nod, sanji hugs you to his chest, rubbing a hand against your back until you relax against him. “that’s my girl. you want to talk now or later?”

“later.”

he kisses your temple. “of course, angel. tell me when you’re ready, okay? i love you.”

the buried pain eases all at once, soothed easily in a way only sanji could ever manage. “i love you, too.”

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[ragingbookdragon]

Bring On The Wonder, We Got It All Wrong, We Pushed Us Down Deep In Our Souls, So Hang On

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of this piece right here that everyone got mad at me for because I made it angsty :) Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“Will you slow down?” Bruce complained, reaching her in a few steps. “Your ankle is sprained and you’re going to—”

She turned on him, slapping his hand away from where it was reaching for her. “I don’t wanna look or talk to you or anybody else right now.” She spat. “Take the hostages to GCPD and leave me the fuck alone.”

“He wasn’t going to kill you.” Bruce said and she scowled.

“It doesn’t matter what he was or wasn’t going to do.” She pointed to herself. “I thought he was going to. That’s what matters to me.” She turned and took a step, though her leg faltered, and she went to her knees, reaching to hold her ankle. “Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“(Y/N),” he murmured, bending down beside her and she reached up, yanking the cowl off.

“Everything hurts,” she cried, anger and pain lacing her voice. “My back hurts. My chest hurts. Everything fucking hurts.” She reached up to wipe the blood still leaking from her busted nose and split eyebrow. “And I’m bleeding.” (Y/N) licked her lips, feeling the sting from the broken skin of her bottom one.

Bruce’s hand went to his utility belt, unclipping one of the pockets, and he pulled out a rag; he gently raised it to her eyebrow, dabbing at the blood as he quietly stated, “Your eyebrow’s already in hemostasis. Though it’s going to need stitches.” His hand briefly stilled near her swollen eye, then he continued to her nose where he gently held it.

She whimpered, trying to recoil but he held on. “That hurts.”

“You need to stop the bleeding,” he advised, then grabbed her hand and placed it over his, forcing her to take it.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce didn’t answer her, one arm curling under her knees, the other her back and he hefted her up into his arms. “I’ll take you back to your penthouse.”

(Y/N) wanted to cry, and she was helpless to stop the tears that gathered in her eyes; she turned, burying her face in the plate of her brother’s shoulder pad, breathing deeply to keep her sobs at bay.

“I don’t know what’s going to come after this,” he explained softly, careful to take even steps to avoid jostling her. “But I know that you’re the only one who gets to choose what happens between you and him.” He rested his chin on her head. “And if you choose to take a leave for a while, then I’ll support that.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I just want to crawl in a hole.”

“Want me to get my shovel and dig you one?”

A watery laugh passed her lips, though it dissolved into a sob and with her free hand, she reached over and grabbed Bruce’s opposite shoulder, squeezing tightly as she shook against him.

He inhaled deeply, catching Ghost-Maker from the corner of his eye leading the hostages out. “We’re going to be okay, (Y/N).”

***

Turns out that the leave of absence seemed like the best choice for her, and she’d hunkered down in a safe-house about three hundred miles outside of the state on the edges of the McIntyre Wild Area in Pennsylvania. Bruce and she had bought it years ago as a last-ditch effort if they needed to get out of Gotham and it’d taken the two of them, plus Clark to clear it out and build. Half of the time was having Clark laugh at the two siblings and call them “city-slickers trying to be country folk” as he watched them struggle to tame the land.

But in the end, it had been effective, and they’d built a rather cozy safe-house that looked inconspicuously like Ma and Pa Kent’s home in Smallville. It was stocked with everything they needed, a built-in basement for safe measures. She was alone and secure in the small cabin and that’s how she wanted to be. Since leaving some few days ago, she’d messaged each nephew and niece telling them that while she loved them dearly, she needed to be alone for some time and that she’d be back as soon as she could be.

They’d flooded her phone with messages and concerns, but she’d left the device in her penthouse before leaving, resting assured that Bruce would explain in her absence. She felt like a failure and more so, weak for leaving her brother with the job of explaining, but the last thing she wanted to do was explain the situation herself.

She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, gazing absentmindedly as the flames cast light that flickered around the darkened room. The entire room was open, living room and fireplace in the center, bedroom in one corner, kitchen in the other, a closed bathroom in another. It all smelled like pine. Fresh air and the ingraining scent of pine. But it’s what she needed. Gotham City overwhelmed the olfactory senses with blood and smog and on especially bad days, the rotting scent of fish and death. Everyone needed a break from it at some point in their life; to remember how to breathe in air that wasn’t contaminated.

The only thing she didn’t like was how quiet it was. (Y/N) was used to the distant sounds of traffic, gunshots, and sirens. Here it was the sound of her breathing and the wind whistling through the trees, wildlife scratching and hunting away in the underbrush. She swore she could hear her blood flowing through her brain. If there was any consolation, it did help to hone the senses on what she wanted to hear. And what she didn’t want to hear was knocking at the front door.

Quietly she rose from the couch and walked to the side of her bed, grabbing the loaded twelve gauge; she cocked it and stepped up to the door, warning, “If you’re not park rangers, I suggest you leave now. I’m armed and I will shoot you.”

A muffled chuckle sounded from the other side. “Well, that’s not the way I figured you’d greet me.”

“Oh, so you were expecting the shotgun blast then?” she answered aiming at the door and she pulled the trigger, blasting a large hole in the center of the wooden door. (Y/N) waited until the smoke cleared before she walked up and bent down, peeking through to see him flat on the ground, unharmed, reflexive as ever.

“Damn,” she griped. “I really thought I was going to beat you that time, K.”

Ghost-Maker cocked his head up and she was sure he was glaring at her from beneath the mask. “You crazy—”

“Bitch?” (Y/N) finished. “Tell me about it.” She set the gun next to the door and stood up, flipping the lock before pulling it open. “What do you want.”

“Well, I was coming to see you,” he said, picking himself off the ground; dusting himself off, he added, “You wouldn’t answer me.”

“Huh, I wonder why?” (Y/N) questioned, pressing her finger to her chin in mock thought, then her face lit up and she exclaimed, “Maybe it was because you tried to kill me a week ago!”

“I wasn’t going to kill you.” He griped. “You know I wasn’t going to.”

“Noted. What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you and if you’re smart, you’ll leave before I decide to reload the gun.”

Ghost-Maker sighed, gazing at her. “I was using Kyusho Jitsu to slow you down until Bruce arrived.”

(Y/N) wanted to scream, but she kept her voice level. “And that somehow justifies splitting both lips, one eyebrow, busting my nose, and throwing me into an electric fence?”

“…No,” he murmured. “No, it doesn’t.” He looked at her. “But I was concerned that if I didn’t make it look like we were really trying to kill one another, Riddler was going to kill the hostages.”

She merely stared at him for a long moment. “You know, I used to think I knew when you were telling the truth, but now that I really think about it, I don’t know when you’re lying to me either.”

He stood to his full height, jaw tightening as he said, “I’m many things, but I’m not a liar, (Y/N). And I’d never lie to you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she shot back, face pinching as she finished with, “And you can sleep outside.”

She shut the door and turned around, walking to the bed in the corner and he looked through the hole in the middle. “You know I can just come inside if I want?”

(Y/N) laughed, stripping the shorts and long shirt she had on before climbing into the bed. “You take one step in here and I’ll cut your penis off and nail it to your forehead.”

“Hmm…have it your way,” he decided, turning around and she had as she tried, she couldn’t block out the sound of him setting up his blanket and bedding on the porch.

Hopefully, he’d be gone in the morning.

***

A crack of thunder startled her awake and she sat up in the bed, looking out the window to see the rain beating down. Her eyes drifted to the hole in the door and for a moment, she wanted to get up and see if he was okay, but she felt a bolt of irritation flash through her and she huffed, flopping back down into the bed, yanking the covers over her head.

She laid there for a few minutes, listening to the thunder clap above her, the lightning illuminating the room ever other moment, then she groaned, cursing herself for being a good person deep, deep down. (Y/N) threw the covers off her and rolled out of the bed, hurrying to the door. Pulling it open, she couldn’t help but smile at the man curled up in his thoroughly soaked blanket.

“Come inside.” He said nothing in return, and she sighed, kicking him in the stomach. “I know you’re awake, K. Get in here.”

“I thought you didn’t want me inside,” he retorted, yet to pull the blanket off his head.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I don’t. But I’d be a terrible person if I let you get pneumonia.”

“You know you can’t catch that from rain, right? It’s caused by—”

“Fine. Stay out here for all I care,” she interrupted, starting to close the door and he sat up, scrambling for the inside.

“Wait!” She smirked and he craned his neck up at her to scowl. “You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” (Y/N) retorted, cracking the door open more so he could get inside. He sat against the door when she closed it and she leaned against the door frame, watching the water drip down his soaked body.

“Want a change of clothes?” she asked. “Bruce left some behind the last time he was here.”

“Thank you,” he said, and she walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and an undershirt.

She turned, seeing him yanking off his shirt and pants, then tossed the clothes to him. “Here.”

He caught them. “I’m not wearing his boxers.”

“They’re new, jack-ass.” (Y/N) snorted, looking away so he could dress himself, then she glanced back. “Feel better?”

“I feel less cold,” he retorted, walking around the fireplace to toss another couple logs inside. “You’re letting the fire die out.”

She rolled her eyes and wandered into the kitchen, returning with a clean rag. “You’d be less cold if you took the mask off and toweled your hair.”

He looked up at her, watching, waiting, and since he didn’t stop her from reaching behind him, she untied the knot at the base of his skull, pulling the damp fabric away.

(Y/N) wiped the water from his face, softly brushing over his cheeks, then to his eyebrows, and when she was satisfied, she placed the towel on his head, and gently massaged his scalp, letting the towel soak up all the rainwater.

When she was done, she tossed it aside and sank onto the brick wraparound with a heavy sigh, eyes drifting to the wall. Ghost-Maker collapsed against her legs, resting his head back on her thighs; unconsciously, (Y/N)’s hands went to his hair, stroking the brown tresses.

After a few minutes, he murmured, “I apologize for not telling you the plan.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before continuing their ministrations. “I accept your apology.” She scratched his scalp. “Sorry for what I said.”

“It didn’t hurt my feelings,” he shrugged, and she tugged his hair.

“Yes, it did.” He tipped his head back, gazing at her. “Parade it around all you want but we both know you’re not immune to having your feelings hurt.”

Ghost-Maker searched her eyes. “You truly thought I was going to kill you?”

“Yes,” (Y/N) answered. “Everything was happening so quickly. I didn’t have time to think about what fighting style you were using on me. All I knew was that you weren’t pulling punches and it didn’t feel like a plan to me.”

She stared at him. “And I was scared of you.”

“Are you scared of me now?” he questioned, and she inhaled then exhaled.

“No.” He seemed relieved, but it was short lived as she added, “But I don’t trust you anymore. And I don’t know how long it’s going to be before I do again.”

He looked away. “I see.” Nothing was said for a moment, and he pulled from her, standing to his feet. “It’s late. We should rest.”

(Y/N) stood and started making her way to the bed when she realized he was going too. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Going to bed?” Ghost-Maker offered, and she cocked a brow.

“Try again, K.” She pointed to the couch. “Go.”

His face pinched and he turned, but she caught his hand and he stopped, glancing back at her. (Y/N), against the better judgement in her head and the obvious discomfort between the two of them, stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead to the middle of his chest.

He seemed to freeze at the sudden action, even if it’d been one, they’d done many times, but he recovered, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other around the back of her neck. His cheek brushed her temple and her grip shifted, hands coming up to press flat against his shoulders; with the warmth stinging the corners of her eyes, she dug her nails into his back as if it were the one thing keeping her from breaking down.

She wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him how angry she was. How hurt. How much loathing was built up inside of her, but nothing would come out.

“I know,” Ghost-Maker murmured against her hair. “I know what you’re thinking, (Y/N), and I know.” He pulled back, hand slipping from her neck to cup her cheek; he pressed his forehead to hers and assured quietly, “I know.”

(Y/N)’s eyes slipped shut and she let out a shaky breath. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Tomorrow.” He let her go and watched as she unsteadily headed for the bed, collapsing onto the mattress; she tugged the blankets over her head, and he frowned as he saw her frame start to shake beneath them. Pulling the blanket off the couch, he laid down and watched her for some time. Waiting until she stopped shaking and slipped off into sleep so he himself could sleep too.

[paperpocalypse]

significance.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you” + 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,118 words

Warning: Swearing, violence

His head feels like it’s been split open, the rest of his body feels like one giant bruise and the Handler’s daughter has her fancy leather boot on his fucking throat.

Five couldn’t be less surprised by his luck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He forces in just enough breath to answer her. “Eat shit and die …!”

The reaction is worth it. Lila lets out a furious cry, gritting her teeth and bringing her foot down even harder – and in doing so, changes her center of gravity. Opportunity. Five digs his nails into that damned shoe and pushes upwards. The sudden force sends her flying, and he can breathe again.

Fighting the ache in his bones, Five stumbles to his feet as she does the same. “Come on,” he pants, readying his stance as the woman turns to face him again. “What are you waiting for? Let’s finish this thing.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, sniffling. “This isn’t gonna be quick. You are going to suffer for what you did.”

Suffer? For Christ’s sake – Five scoffs and drops his hands. “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ronnie and Anita Gill.”

“Mean nothing to me.”

“1993, East London.” Lila continues to stare at him like he knows what the hell she’s talking about. “You hog-tied them and you shot them in the head.”

Five narrows his eyes; it’s very possible that she’s just bullshitting him. But despite the rationality of just ignoring her and going for the kill, he searches his memories anyway. 1993, East London. Hog-tied. Tables overturned, the pleas of a couple inside a tiny flat in the middle of the night. Yes, wait – he does remember. 1993, toys strewn everywhere – he told you to close your eyes but you didn’t – East London, two quick shots –

“We had no choice.”

“I know. But …”

“The flower merchants,” he murmurs. Five looks at her with wide eyes. “They were your parents …!”

“And they never did anything to anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The Handler ordered him to kill Lila’s parents. Lila, who has powers like them. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Absorbing this newfound information, Five attempts to talk the woman down as he fills out the rest of the picture. “You’re right, alright? I killed them. But I killed a lot of people over the years. It was all just a job. Alright? That was never personal.”

At that, Lila laughs. “‘Never personal,’ my ass,” she sneers. “Yeah, I’ve killed – it’s always, always personal.”

“That’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin.”

She yanks a knife out of her boot as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Bet your life on that?”

Right then, a shadow moves in the doorway to the barn. Five immediately knows who it is, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Lila!” Your voice is firm and taunting.

Shit. Shit!

Without hesitation, Five lunges for the knife, only to find himself grabbing at air as Lila reappears behind you. The blade is pressed against your neck before he can even shout your name.

Five clenches his fists as he meets your eyes. Your expression is stony, hands stiffly grasping at Lila’s arm. Jesus Christ, just a little energy to blink – nothing –!

Fucking shit!

“Let her go.”

—

The bearded man smiles. “Sorry, no can do.”

The alley is frigid and dark, the air damp and rotting. He doesn’t move a muscle. In front of him, you breathe steadily, in and out, not saying a word. The steel barrel pressed flush to your temple mirrors the one against his.

“Just hand over your valuables and that briefcase, and we can be on our way.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice steady and cold. (It makes him proud.) “Everything stays with us.”

He looks at you. You blink.

Within the next half-second, he’s knocked your captor to the ground and the two of you are aiming the guns at their previous owners. They raise their hands almost immediately. Exactly like the exercise from his youth.

Another half-second, and both of you pull the triggers.

Five stares down at the corpse now lying on the ground. Then he straightens his tie and turns to you.

You’re still pointing the gun at the other target. His frown softens.

“[Y/n].”

Putting a hand on your arm, he notes how you stiffen, snapping out of whatever zone you had been in. You meet his eyes and breathe in sharply, then relax.

“We’re done.” You frame the question as more of a statement as Five takes the former thief’s gun from you.

“For the night,” he affirms, holding your gaze curiously. “You good?”

You wet your lips and tuck your weapon away. “I’m okay,” you eventually reply. He raises an eyebrow; your mouth twitches. “I just – well, you’re taking this whole assassin thing a lot better than I am. Pointing guns and shooting and killing for real, and – and all that pizzazz.”

“I was a member of the Umbrella Academy,” Five points out dryly. “Thirteen more years of formal training and being able to spatial jump gives me somewhat of an advantage.”

“… That’s true.” Still, you seem unsettled. “Five, you’re okay with this? We’re … killing people.”

“No. But we have no other option,” he says. “It’s only until I figure out how to get us back, alright?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”

The pair of you leave the alley, leaving the targets there to be found by the police. The fact that they had a gun pointed at your head should make him feel better about it. They were already criminals, too. Self-defense instead of cold-blooded “corrections.”

There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth anyway.

“You hold your own pretty well,” he murmurs after a while, trying to distract himself.

You grant him a small, knowing smile. “Thanks,” you say, taking his arm as the pair of you walk the rest of the way to the motel. “I had a good teacher while I was stuck in the ruins of the apocalypse.”

He hums. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Your hand tightens around the sleeve of his tailored suit.

“The luckiest.”

—

He’s going to kill her.

Teeth bared, Five starts toward her, only to stop short when Lila presses the blade harder against your throat.

“Not another step, Five,” she warns him, her grip tightening. “Or you’ll both regret it.”

“She’s not responsible for what happened. I was the one who killed them!”

“But she didn’t stop you, did she?”

Five struggles to control his rage. The knife is sharp and black underneath your jaw, ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice.

You inhale shallowly. “Lila,” you rasp.

“Don’t speak.”

“Look,” Five forces out as evenly as he can, catching the woman’s attention again. He can’t take his eyes off that goddamn knife. Five can almost feel the edge cutting into his own skin. “You wanna blame someone, blame the Handler, alright? She faked the kill order.”

“Bullshit! I saw the kill order. AJ Carmichael ordered it, and you and [Y/n] carried it out.”

“Lila, listen to what I’m telling you, alright? The Handler gave us the kill order. She came on the job, which she’d never done before.” He unclenches his fists with unwilling, trembling fingers. His mind is reeling. “You’re Commission. You know execs never go on jobs, but that day in London, she was there. Ask yourself why –”

“Stop trying to muddy the waters.”

Five swallows, pulse racing. He rips his eyes away from your neck to gauge Lila’s expression. Doubt is beginning to bleed into it, and he manages to keep his tone level.

Focus on completing the picture. No sudden movements.

“Think about it, Lila. It all makes sense.”

Lila’s grip on the knife relaxes by the smallest amount. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “What?”

“She never cared about your parents. She was looking for you.”

What little is left of her anger melts off Lila’s face. For the first time, the girl looks completely vulnerable. And it’s not a farce.

“Why?” she whispers.

Come on …

“‘Cause you’re one of us.”

Lila whips her head around when Diego cuts through the silence, holding you even more tightly against herself. Five’s gaze snaps back to the knife again and he swears internally.

Dammit, Diego, you better have a plan!

“The Handler stole you, Lila. Just like our asshole father took all of us,” his brother explains carefully.

“No. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” Diego approaches her, staying low to the ground, hands outstretched. “Listen to me, Lila. You were born October 1, 1989, the same day as all of us.”

The rest of his siblings close in on Lila, slowly, warily. The movement sends her into a panic, and she cuts a little into your neck. You let out half of a gasp and swallow the rest of it, but it’s enough.

Five sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

“STAY BACK!”

“Five! Back off!” Diego shouts. Chest heaving and blood roaring in his ears, Five looks at him and then at your sweaty, frozen face – and against every fiber of his being, he listens and backs off, glaring venomously as his brother then turns to Lila again. “Lila? Lila, stop. Let her go.”

She turns her head from side to side, knuckles white as she keeps the knife against your throat. “No,” she chokes. “Diego, you don’t understand. They killed my parents. They took my life away from me.”

Five seethes. “For the last time, it was nothing personal –"

“And it was wrong. I know.” Diego’s eyes flit to Five’s, silently reprimanding. “You want to make them pay for what they did. But killing [Y/n]’s not gonna bring your parents back. You know that.”

“It’s not about bringing them back.”

He nods once, softly. “You’re right. It’s about justice. Honoring their memory.” Diego’s voice is gentle. “Trust me, Lila, I get it. I lost someone to the Commission too. She wasn’t family, but she was my friend, and I cared about her. She wasn’t supposed to die. She didn’t deserve to die. But she did.”

As Diego continues talking, Five keeps his guard up on the other side, watching and waiting for a contraction of a muscle, a single forewarning of violence. If another drop of your blood stains that blade, shit, he’ll kill the woman with his own two hands, Diego’s feelings be damned.

Tightening his jaw, Five shifts on his feet as he looks at you. You stare back with calm eyes – just like that night in the alley, but this time, with no signal for him to make a move.

Goddammit, they should’ve gotten you to safety by now!

“… Just think about whether taking another life would honor their memory. [Y/n] deserves a chance to start over, live a peaceful life with people she cares about. And so do you.”

Lila’s trembling. Yet, she refuses to budge. “If it weren’t for her and Five,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t need that second chance. I would have been all alone if Mum hadn’t found me that night.”

“But there’s a reason she found you. She’s using you, Lila. The Handler.”

“You’re wrong. She raised me.” Lila pauses, then asserts, “She loves me.”

“She’s dangerous,” Diego emphasizes. “And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. That’s why you dragged me to the Commission. Because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.”

—

“Oh, my.” The Handler puts a hand on his shoulder, hovering behind him. “One hundred and forty-three kills on the simulation? That’s a new record. Very, very good, Five.”

Five bristles at her closeness, but he doesn’t move away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of unnerving him. “Thanks,” he says tersely.

“Tell me, Five. From what I’ve seen during your training, you’d be a lot more efficient in the field if you were a one-man team. Working alone is when you work best.”

“I’m partnering up with [Y/n].”

“And you’ve filled out the paperwork and everything, I know. I know. But I implore you to think about it logically,” the Handler tells him, leading him down the hallway. “[Y/n] has highly marked assessments, but frankly, they’re nowhere near your level.” She raises her eyebrows at him and blows out a stream of smoke. “Forgive me for assuming, but perhaps this is less about a partnership that would benefit the Commission and more about your personal … relationship.”

Five smiles thinly at her. “With all due respect, we’ve worked together for years. Almost forty years, in fact. I can assure you that our partnership will deliver more than satisfactory results.”

The woman just hums serenely, eyebrows still raised and cigarette holder between her lips as he faces her. Behind her, he sees you approaching.

“Excuse me,” he says politely.

As he sidesteps the Handler to meet you halfway, your shared employer calls out to him, voice ringing through the sparse crowd of Commission drones. “You’re a dangerous man, Five,” she drawls, “and this is a dangerous job. If you want to protect someone, we won’t stop you, but don’t let it endanger this opportunity we’ve so generously provided. To the both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Five replies over his shoulder, walking away with you. He can hear the Handler’s heels click against the floor as she goes on her way as well.

“She’s suspicious about us partnering up, isn’t she?” you ask him lowly.

He frowns. “I would be too if I were her. But we have to stay together.”

“Well.” You reach up to adjust his hat, tilting it slightly. “In any case, I’m pulling my own weight in the field. Just like in the apocalypse. No one-sided protection.”

“[Y/n], this is different from the apocalypse. We’re not dealing with food shortages or bad weather – we’re dealing with people.”

“All the more reason for you to trust me.” Despite your usual controlled tone and mien, he sees the way that your eyes glint. “I’m kinda dangerous myself, Five. Especially for the people I love, and I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Five sighs.

“You’re so sappy, you know that?”

(Nevertheless, he finds himself mumbling those four words, just loud enough for only you to hear.)

—

“Difference is …” Diego glances around at their siblings, then looks down, “they love me back.”

“Shut up.”

“The only thing she loves is power. Now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, I know you know that.”

She tilts the knife against your neck. Five sucks in a breath, his heart pounding.

“You don’t know me, Diego.” Lila’s voice is hoarse.

Diego steps closer. He lifts a hand to cover hers over the knife.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. “I know that we can be your family. If you just let us.”

Lila’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Hesitantly, she turns her head to look around at his family, and in that moment, Five has a cautious inkling that Diego’s words actually got through to her. She doesn’t resist when Diego pulls her hand gently.

When she releases you, he almost feels weak with relief.

Five murmurs your name as you stagger over to him; you grab his arms, and he raises his hands to hold your face between them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “[Y/n] –”

“I’m okay,” he hears you say, but his ears are ringing and your skin is cold and shit, your neck – delicately, Five tilts your head back, and you attempt to brush his hands away. “Five, it’s – it’s just a scratch …”

His fingers brush against a wetness on your skin. You wince, almost imperceptibly. He draws back to look at his hand, and when he sees the blood on his fingertips, your blood, the wave of relief crashing onto him abruptly morphs back into rage.

Before you can pull him back, Five lunges at Lila.

Gunshots echo throughout the barn.

—

You’re smiling.

—

He wakes up, gasping for breath.

“Oh, good! You’re still alive,” the Handler says, looming over him. Her lipstick is bright red through the dizzying blurs. “Lucky you. You got to see how this all played out.”

Grappling for air, Five tries to speak – tries to give one last word, to finally tell the damned snake to fuck off as he stares into the barrel of her automatic. But it hurts to breathe and he can’t. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts. His tongue feels like lead and his throat is closed up. All he can do is look.

But before she can pull the trigger, he hears gunfire.

Bullets rend flesh that isn’t his. Five’s eyes widen, stunned; the Handler gasps sharply. She turns. More gunfire.

She falls.

Shit, that could only mean.… Five struggles to lift his head, almost blacking out from the pain as the gunman approaches, crushing straw underfoot. A shadow falls over him.

The Swede silently tilts his gun down at his face, and he realizes: they are both the last ones. Everyone else is dead. The Swede’s brothers. The Handler. Lila. His siblings. You.

This is the end.

(This doesn’t have to be the end.)

… Five blinks, numb.

(You’re the one who got us stuck here.)

Unless …

(Seconds. Not decades.)

Seconds.

His lungs burn. Hope blooms in his chest.

(C’mon, Five.)

Concentrate. Hands clenching sluggishly, Five focuses on gaining back the feeling in them. Seconds, not decades. A familiar, electric buzz thrums through his bones, warm, crackling with energy. His hands begin to glow. Blue envelops them like they had so many times before.

It happens slowly, time reversing itself like molasses oozing back into a jar. The Swede lowers his arm and retreats. Bodies begin to rise. Five feels himself getting pushed up, and his feet touch the ground; he presses forward, running, refusing to look back. The sharp pains recede to a singular ache.

Seconds.

Seconds.

He breaks through behind the barn door with a gasp. Air fills his chest, full and crisp.

Immediately, Five looks back at you and everyone else, standing and breathing, and pats himself just to make sure.

Holy shit.

Spotting movement outside, Five leaps at the Handler just as she walks in, seizing her weapon and turning it on her. His finger curls at the trigger. She raises her hands in surrender, lips pursed.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What Five said,” he hears Lila ask. He doesn’t dare look away from her mother, meeting her poisonous glare with an equally cold one. “Answer me! Is it true?”

The Handler takes in a breath. “Well –”

Before she can finish her sentence, blood sprays out from her chest. She collapses. Dead.

The Swede. Five stares at her body, gun lowering. There’s a pregnant pause, void of any air – and then in his periphery, Lila shoots forward.

Luther charges after her. “The case!”

“No!”

Diego tackles him to the ground. Lila disappears in a flash of blue.

One dead, one missing. Neither of which are you or his siblings. There might be hope for them yet. Rolling his shoulders, Five turns his attention to the rogue assassin, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. The Swede reciprocates.

Nobody utters a word, for fear that it may be their last. But as Five feels the weight of the automatic in his arms, he wonders, suddenly, just how much he has in common with this man. A forgotten humanity. The death of their families. The force of a person with nothing to lose.

Except in the Swede’s case, he has no chance of gaining back what he had lost.

This is the end.

Five takes his finger off the trigger, then after a brief hesitation, lets go of the gun.

“Enough,” he says.

Nothing happens at first. The only sign that the man heard him is how he looks away from Five, surveying the rest of the barn’s occupants.

Five returns his gaze firmly, muscles tense, when he meets it again. The Swede regards him for another moment, then finally speaks.

“Inte mer.”

He drops his weapon. No more killing.

—

After Vanya helps the kid and calms him down, she goes with him and Sissy to help them pack up. Everyone else exits the barn as well to rest up and say their goodbyes before leaving, save for Diego, who talks to Herb and Dot with you and Five before joining the rest of the group at the house.

As soon as everything seems like it’s on track, Five brings you straight to the bathroom before you can protest.

“Five, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

In a familiar turn of events, you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sulking as he cleans the rest of the dried blood from your neck. Five scowls as he inspects the thin, rough scab underneath your jaw. For shit’s sake, it’s more than a ‘scratch’ – but at the very least, the cut wasn’t deep enough to cause too much bleeding.

Obviously, he’d have preferred it if you hadn’t gotten cut at all.

“She could’ve killed you.”

“I know,” you murmur. He glares at you softly, and you reach over to hold his hand. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Five scoffs, shaking his head. “Worrying me? I was damn well past worrying when she –” At that moment, he makes the mistake of seeing the guilt in your eyes, and he sighs. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You shrug quietly as he opens a large Band-Aid. “That I had to do something to keep you safe.”

“At your expense?”

Your miniscule smile changes into a grimace for a split second when he sticks the bandage on, but it returns immediately after. “You would’ve done the same thing, Five.”

All he can retort with is a displeased huff.

Silently, you stand up and turn him around, urging him to sit down this time as you pluck another hand towel from the stack that Vanya had given the two of you. Five sits still, mouth shut and eyes watching, as you start cleaning his face. Your expression is tender. A familiar feeling wells up inside of him.

Suddenly, you chuckle.

“What?”

“It’s just – if I didn’t know any better,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly grimy spot on his cheek, “I’d think that you were a schoolboy that just got into a fight and lost.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, good thing that you do know better, because I obviously would’ve won.”

“Obviously.” Your eyes glint, like they have so many times before.

—

“How bad does it hurt?”

Your hand is soft in his as he glances at his wrist, propped up on a stack of books, then into the small fire burning a few feet away. “Not that much,” he answers. “Thanks for splinting it.”

“Thanks for talking me through it.” You breathe in, head on his shoulder, testing the words on your tongue before you continue. “I was worried. I’m glad it’s feeling better.”

A wrist sprain is nothing to write home about, figuratively speaking. It’s more of an inconvenience than an actual concern; Five figures that the injury will heal in a week, a week and a half at the most. Frankly, he’s more concerned about how much longer it’ll take to complete daily tasks in the meantime.

… You, on the other hand – well, he wonders if you’ve ever gotten anything more than a few cuts and scrapes growing up. The closest he had ever seen you get to panicking was after he fell today, and you’ve been wandering around with him for years.

In a strange way, Five thinks, he was glad for it. He is glad for you. Glad for your presence, your level head. He is glad for the way you hold his hand and talk to him during the day and after dark. And he is glad, secretly, that you want to protect him just like he wants to protect you.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, rough and unbidden.

Five holds his breath when they echo in his ears. You stop tapping your fingers over his skin. Perhaps that’s a bad thing. It was not a mistake, of course, and he isn’t going to take it back, but if that wasn’t what you were saying this whole time – shit. He lets go of your hand, his throat scratchy and strangely closed up.

But then – your fingertips brush his face. He swallows.

“I love you too.”

[inkbyajm]

Bottled Up

pairing: C.H. x fem!reader

category: angst, fluff

warnings: yelling, crying, insecurities

word count: 2.2k

notes: apologies for the tardy post, i wrote and rewrote and re-rewrote the whole angsty scene because i didn’t know if it was written well enough, i wanted to make sure you guys could feel the emotions that i vividly visualised and tried my best to put into words  :( i did send it to a friend to check and she seemed to like it, so let me know how it goes for you, my loves. the angst for this one was inspired by 2 different songs - hold me while you wait by lewis capaldi and i will run from you by cemeteries. it’s not necessarily about the lyrics, but more about the melody and the mood you get into listening to them (they go in order). give those a listen :) also, beware of the upcoming philosophy references, i did study philosophy last year, hopefully no one gets triggered lmao

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Is a person’s scent something a normal human being picks up on before taking into account the rest of their features? Would a normal human being remember said scent and be able to recognise it in a crowd full of strangers? Corpse wasn’t too sure about the answer, but one thing he did know, is that she smelled delicately sweet, like cherry blossoms, and that ever since he had noticed it during their game night a few weeks ago, he simply couldn’t let it go. It was intoxicating, but in a calming way. 

━

Corpse and (Y/N) each lay on their beds in their own homes, going into the third hour of their call. He couldn’t exactly fall asleep, so he had decided to see what his dear friend was up to, and even though she was this close to succumbing to sleep, she said nothing and stayed up to keep his busy mind company.

“Okay, hot topic: what do you think about soulmates? More specifically the romantic type?” the girl asked, not knowing how much of a risqué question it was. How was he supposed to answer?

“I don’t really have an opinion on it. Why?”

“I read Symposium by Plato the other day and it presented an interesting concept about human beings. Basically-” Of course she fucking read philosophical books. How were they even having a conversation with each other? Why were they even friends? She was on a whole other level of smart. “-so this guy says that humans were like androgynous blobs, so they’d come in two sets of everything a normal person has. But those humans were so powerful, the gods were literally shaking in their robes, so Zeus decided to cut everyone into two to weaken them. But then humans became so miserable, they spent their entire lives searching for their other halves. In the end, Zeus kinda felt bad and said fuck it, I’ll give y’all dicks and vaginas for every time you wanna hug each other. And that’s the oldest explanation there is about the idea of soulmates.” she sighed, finished with her rant.

“That was...not at all the story I expected to hear.” she heard him mumble on the other side of the call. “Yeah, Greek philosophers were up to some reeal freaky things, you would have loved them,” he laughed at her joke, “I honestly think it’s cute. Not the whole cutting people into two thing, but like, longing for someone and then finding them because you finally feel complete. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a prince in shining whatever to sweep me off my feet. But it does sound nice, that ideal comfort, a person you’re just...meant to be with, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence that neither of them really minded, before it was Corpse’s turn to ask the second bold question of the night. “Have you found that person yet? Your soulmate?”

She’s never thought about it before, but she hasn’t really thought about soulmates that much either, it was a spontaneous thought she had said out loud. “I’m not sure, actually. (B/F/N) could be one, I guess.” (Y/N) shrugged in return. Wasn’t she going to ask him about it? She probably didn’t care that much. Understandable.

“My favourite quote about love is «You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly.». It’s by Sam Keen, the American philosopher. It maay be the hopeless romantic in me shining through, but I do very much agree with his statement.” Did this mean anyone could have a chance with her despite their fuckups? So if he were to try, would she-?

“Obviously, there are some things that just can’t be ignored or avoided, but at that point it’s preferences and personal tolerance. Depends on the person, ya know?” she swiftly added, unaware of the effect it had on him. Sick. Some people were just meant to rot alone.

The final question was posed by (Y/N). She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at all curious. This little crush of hers had been steadily growing with every hang out, every laugh, every hug and every glance. There are rarely ever moments where one could casually discuss a topic this personal with friends, at least there weren’t with friends one had feelings for. This was the perfect opportunity.

“Corpse?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever been in love?” her voice was soft, her approach gentle.

“Well, I’ve been in relationships before, so I guess, yeah? It’s been so long, I don’t even know what love feels like anymore.” he let out a breath resembling a chuckle. Lamest fucking answer ever. But it was true. He hadn’t thought about love in that way in quite a while.

“A lot of people describe it as having an intense range of overwhelming feelings. Lightheadedness, slight shakiness, heart palpitations, some people have even reported losing their appetite. Crazy how human bodies work, huh? Oh! Speaking of chemicals-”

She had continued on to ramble about...chemistry? Eyes? Corpse couldn’t really hear what she was saying anymore, let alone concentrate on her words, as he pieced everything that’s been happening for the past few months together. The nauseating feeling. The pounding of his heart so fast it felt like he was about to die. The urge to make as little eye contact with her as possible, because otherwise he’d turn into a furnace. The obsession with her perfume, like he was some fucking creep. The fool was falling in love. And it was at that moment that everything had come crumbling down.

━

(Y/N) and Corpse hadn’t talked for a couple of weeks. Or rather (Y/N) messaged the 23 year old many times, but he’d either claim to be busy or just not answer at all. There were two possible reasons for the sudden lack of contact: he was indeed busy with his musical projects and couldn’t allow himself to be distracted; or something much more serious was going on. It didn’t matter, for she was already in her car, on her way to his apartment.

Arriving at her destination, she used the spare key he gave her months ago, a sign of absolute trust, and allowed herself into his humble abode. Silence reigned in her friend’s residence. She thought maybe he had gone somewhere, and though that was unlikely, it wasn’t unprecedented. The door to his recording room was closed, and while she was tempted to check if he was in there, she refrained from doing so, knowing that specific room was not to be entered unless he was around to give permission.

“Corpse?” she called out just to make sure. There was no response for a few minutes, which made her assume she had the place for herself, until she heard a door open behind her. Turning around, she saw his figure emerge from said recording room in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants, his curly hair disheveled.

“Hey, how are you d-”

“Why are you here?” he spoke flatly, interrupting her. “Well- You weren’t, um, answering your messages or any of my calls, so I thought something had happened.” she replied, suddenly nervous, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “Nothing happened. I told you I was busy.”

The air around them seemed colder as tensions rose. (Y/N) could tell he was irritated, but she couldn’t exactly figure out why. She had never seen this side of him before. “Okay. Tell you what, I assume you haven’t had dinner yet, so why don’t I go ahead and start cooking something up while you-”

“Get out.”

She blinked a few times, not quite registering the words that had just left his mouth. “Sorry?” Her voice was quiet. She was taken off guard.

“Are you deaf? I said get. the fuck. OUT.”

Corpse shouted the last word, making her flinch in what appeared to be fear. Good. Run away while you still can. Heart pounding, (Y/N) took a second to remind herself whom she was speaking to. “I see that you’re angry, but at least give me a reason why-”

“You want a reason? I just don’t fucking WANT you here!” Anger grew inside of him like a tumor, but it wasn’t intended for her. She had simply been caught in a storm that had been building up for years. “Do you understand that?! I can’t fucking be around you without feeling like I’m going to EXPLODE.”

His words hit her like paintballs. They were only words, plain and simple, but they dug deeper and deeper into her skin with each hit, until, eventually, it broke. Eyes burning, she felt the tears slowly welling up in them.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” her own voice grew louder with frustration, but mostly, confusion.

“Maybe because I can? Because I’m a goddamn asshole?” 

“Don’t say that.”

“How?! How can I not say it when it’s the truth!” He wanted to stop. His mind told him to cease whatever it was that he was doing. However, blinded with resentment towards himself, he only spilled words he would regret after it was too late. 

“I can’t function like a normal fucking human being. I can’t be a good friend, son, or whatever the fuck else, and I sure as hell can’t love you.”

The paintballs had turned into a singular sword. A very long, very sharp sword that had found itself plunged deep inside her chest. How did he found out? When? Had she been too obvious? Had she been pushy? Clingy? Way out of line? The woman before him was unable to conceal her shock, as tears came rushing down her hot cheeks. Her voice brittle, she tried defending herself. She couldn’t leave it at that. She had to try. Try to have him see reason. “You don’t love me, that’s fine. But you didn’t have to deliver it this way-”

“But I did.” breathless with fury, Corpse clenched his fists so tight they had turned cold, yet they were still trembling. “You can get so naïve and dumb, you won’t understand things unless they’re spelled out nice and fucking bold for you.”

He closed with (Y/N) until their noses nearly touched. He noticed the way she silently shook, her eyes which shed endless tears never leaving his gaze. Unable to make a single sound, she felt the man’s hot breath on her face, his aura domineering.

“Now get. out.”

Her body wouldn’t cooperate as she just stood there. Staring back at him, her inner brows raised. Corpse wanted to hug her. Envelop her trembling figure with his and tell her he was sorry, that he meant none of it, that he had lost his mind. But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. And with his own tears threatening to spill, he created a distance between them. He needed her gone.

“Leave! GO!”

His yelling was enough to jolt (Y/N) out of her trance, and, in a hurry, she sprinted towards the entrance. The door closed behind her, she felt a sudden urge to fill her lungs with much needed air. She jumped at the resounding scream that emanated from deep within his soul, letting out all of his pent-up rage.

Feet carrying her all the way to her car parked outside of the building, the young woman managed to climb in, and this was the queue for her body to break down. The night was young. The street empty. No one around to hear her long-lasting wailing. She clutched the steering wheel for support, fingers wrapping around the leather in a tight grip. A headache was creeping up from the back of her skull. Her ears pulsated in response to the heavy pounding of her heart. Clumsily, (Y/N) inserted the key into the ignition, felt around for the gear stick, and drove away. She didn’t know where she was going or how long it was going to take to get there. She needed to get out.

What went wrong? When did it go wrong? She couldn’t help but feel guilty, feel at fault. She had never seen that side of him before. He had never treated her that way before.

It was the hugs, wasn’t it? He had to have noticed the way she held on for a second too long to enjoy the smell of his cologne. Her vision blurred as she resumed softly weeping, her salty tears staining her top. Or it might have been the touchiness, she would practically glue herself to him during their movie nights. Unaware of both her actions and surroundings, (Y/N)’s breathing quickened, becoming ragged. Maybe he didn’t like the way she called him three times a week. Her hands were slowly losing control over the wheel, over the vehicle she was driving. She invaded his privacy. That was definitely it. Fuck. How could she have been so damn blind, selfish, ignorant, FUCKING STUPID.

Lights. Something was moving towards her- MOVE.

With a sharp turn, she dodged the approaching car just by a hair’s breadth, but as she had avoided one accident, another came just as quickly. 

[post-nuclear-sweetheart]

Tranquille Moments In Chaos (1)

The start of several moments that fill in the gaps of developing a friendship, then relationship, with Hancock.

Hancock x reader/sole.

Find it on ao3 as well!

(1853 words)

“Come with me.”

You had begun to question your sanity before the words fully escaped your lips. You leaned against the wall of the State House in Hancock’s disorganized bedroom, attempting your best not to look like a complete mess inside.

You saw how his blackened, clouded eyes looked you up and down. It was casual, and it reminded you of how the “cool kids” - you deemed them - would look through your flimsy persona back in high school. His dry and malformed lips stretched into a grin, and you could see amusement play across his face.

Hancock let out a short, breathy chuckle, before reaching into his back pocket of his trousers for the crumpled pack of cigarettes. “So lemme get this straight,” he started as if you were merely having a casual conversation. He pulled out his lighter from his other pocket, leaving you hanging off his words, until he lit up the cigarette and took the first drag.

“This is your… what, second week? Roamin’ around the Commonwealth like a stray dog?” That amused look slowly turned into a scrutinizing smirk. “Fahrenheit told me all about how you turned on Bobby. Can’t even hold a gun without the recoil throwin’ your arms all over - and you wanna run with me?”

The heat of embarrassment crept up to your face. True, you still weren’t terribly handy with a gun, despite your ex-spouse having military experience, but you made plenty sure they kept that sort of violence outside the house, what with the arrival of your newborn. Oh, how you would come to regret that rule.

But if there was one thing you were good at, that you honed over your college years, was how to fake confidence. You steeled yourself and pushed off the wall, standing your not-so-tall stance against Hancock. Sure, your cheeks were still very red, but you fronted a coy smile and a raised brow.

“I dunno, Hancock. You said it yourself - you’re soft. I may have been out here for a few weeks, but you’ve been lounging around longer than I’ve been surviving. Are you sure you can run with me?”

You stared into his dark eyes, appearing so sure of yourself. You began to falter inside, however, when his playfully degrading look turned to one that was serious. He took another painfully slow drag, starring you down all the while, then blew a puff of smoke into your face. You suppressed your cough, but the tears from the stinging smoke escaped.

Hancock chuckled darkly. “I can admire a babe willing to stand up to the man. Alright, hot stuff. I’ll tag along and maybe give you a few pointers.” He winked at you then, deciding he was done with his half-burnt cigarette, tossed it down and squished it out with the heel of his boot.

“First I gotta address the people; give ‘em a big mayoral speech. Don’t wait up.” He pressed the tip of his tricorn hat down, as a way to physically show he was switching over to his “business side”, and disappeared through the white door next to the wall you had leaned next to.

You released a sigh. There was no way you could keep up that air of confidence for long, especially around the man who radiates pure confidence. Pair that up with his natural ability to remain cool and keep it all from going to his head, and you looked like a nervous teenager on the first day of work next to him.

You heard the guards that stood outside the door to his bedroom snicker. You didn’t blame them. There was one thing that made you feel a little better about devolving into a mental puddle around Hancock. Irma had told you all about how he used to be a major hit with the ladies, and sometimes the gentlemen, and it wasn’t unusual when a person or two would fall at his feet. Of course, this was all before he turned into a ghoul, and yet…

Something tells you his ghoulification only amplified his charm.

-

He made good on his promise, even if it was made in jest. In your days wandering with this alluring ghoul at your back, he had taught you how to properly hold your 10 mm gun, and when you felt ready for rifles, he taught you how hard to press the stock against your shoulder and how to safely handle them. Although seeming to be intimately familiar with most common place guns, he himself preferred the ol’ reliable shotgun.

You’ve also come to be acquainted with his way of life and his morals. He lived up to his self-proclaimed title of “freedom fighter” with his rebel-rousing, tough guy nature who kept an eye out for the little man. He tried telling you after he shanked Finn to death, but you didn’t quite believe it then. A mayor, fronting as a freedom fighter? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t until one dark day with a downpour to rival a waterfall that would change your mind.

After one particularly bad firefight, you both found shelter in a half-dilapidated, vacant home. You had a friend in this neighborhood many years ago, although he moved away to another town to attend high school.

You sat on a dust covered cushion near a fairly in-tact windowsill, watching languidly as the rain fell heavy. One leg was tucked under you, while you stretched the other so that Hancock could remove the bullet deeply embedded in your thigh. You didn’t feel much of his makeshift surgery, what with the drug concoction he fed you. You were more entranced by the rainfall, and how the droplets pattered on the crumbling road not far from the house. The only light you had to serve was the half burned candles from the last squatter at the residence; five waxy candles that illuminated a warm, flickering orange against the cold darkness of the rest of the house.

“Hancock?” You quietly called for him, never moving your stare from the outside world. He hummed in response.

“Did you-“ you paused yourself. Your drug-filled mind struggled to figure out how to word your question. “Were you… Did you grow up here, before the war?”

Although the pain was completely numbed, you did feel an intense pressure from his work. You felt that pressure stop momentarily, before starting again.

You heard Hancock let out a scoff. It didn’t sound rude, but baffled. “What makes you think I’m one of those pre-war ghouls?”

“You’re a ghoul.”

Hancock laughed quietly. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m in my thirties?”

“Thirties?” You lulled your head, rolling lazily on your shoulders to face Hancock. Your vision was blurred by the pain killers, but still you could see the deep ravines in his skin. His eyes appeared exceptionally black, and where his nose rotted off long ago appeared darker. At the sight of what would have frightened you 200 some years ago, you smiled. “You look amazing for your thirties.”

“You should’a seen me before.” He looked up to wink at you, before reaching for a roll of bandages he kept hidden away in his coat pocket. “Drugs are a hell of a… drug.”

“Drugs can make you a ghoul?”

“Not just any drugs. This stuff,” he blew air from between his recessed lips as his mind dove back into his memories. “they didn’t even have a name for this stuff. Picture it - a vial of this scary glowing liquid that promised to give you a high that was outta this world. And get this, there was only one more hit of it left. You know what I did, doll?”

There was something so charming, so endearing, about the way he spoke. It was old school, but his rumbling voice, no doubt caused by their decay via radiation, kept you enraptured. Your smile grew more silly and enamoured. “What did you do, Hancock?”

“I shot it up.” He began to wrap the bandages around your thigh. “Lemme tell you, there’s nothing else in this whole damn world that’ll make you see - no, feel - the things I did. Everything else pales in comparison.” He tied them off with a yank, and gave your leg a light pat before continuing his story. “‘Course, it came with a price. That price is this gorgeous mug you see before you.”

You giggled at his display of gesturing to himself and giving you an exaggerated smoulder. He shifted over to the cushion that was beside the one you sat on and took his place beside you. You came to an agreement to wait, guns ready, for the rain to pass before moving on. Hancock leaned his back against the wall from where he sat, and in your drugged-up haze, you slumped over against him.

“Good Neighbour didn’t mind a ghoul for a mayor?” You asked, unaware of how your line of questioning came across. Still, Hancock answered freely.

“I wasn’t a ghoul yet.”

“How did you become mayor?” You asked him, moving your head to look up at him.

Seeing no harm in telling you, Hancock regaled you in the bigotry of Diamond City, and the reign of terror Vic held over Good Neighbour. He told you, laughing through it as he explained how the red coat of John Hancock could speak to him, and with the courage of drugs and a take-no-bullshit attitude on his side, he and a group of fed up people stormed the town hall. He went into gruesome detail of gunning down Vic’s men, and how they tied a noose around Vic’s neck and hung him over the same balcony Hancock would give his speeches. It was then, with unanimous decision, that John Hancock became mayor of Good Neighbour. It stayed a safe haven for everyone Diamond City rejected, and the rest was history.

It was then, as you stared up at Hancock with a mixed look of disbelief and admiration, that you truly believed he was, and is, a freedom fighter.

“And you traded a life of gunning bad people down for office work?” You nudged him playfully.

“Hey, I can do both, can’t I? Good Neighbour’s full of good people. They can fend for themselves while their fearless mayor cuts his teeth on some raiders.”

You attempted to nod in agreement, but found your head heavy and comfortable against his shoulder. You let out a yawn, the last thing you remembered, before the haziness you felt finally took over your senses and dragged you to sleep.

Hancock glanced your way and lightly chuckled at your slumbering form. He gently moved your wrist in your lap to peek at the time on your Pip-Boy. It was getting well into the evening, but still it was early enough that raiders and gangsters didn’t roam quite yet.

He reached up to tip his hat down over his eyes and slouched against the wall. There was a long night ahead of you both, and if there ever was a time to nap, a dark rainy evening was certainly it.

“Sweet dreams, vault dweller.”

[andilovetowrite]

The Chosen Couple (Part 1)

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary- Peter and you have a movie night to celebrate the school year ending, but the night takes an unexpected turn. (Not that you minded of course)

(Btw- the reader is an avenger, and Tony is kind of her father figure)

Warnings- None really, just tooth-rotting fluff and awkward confessions.

Word Count- 2.2k

Posted April 21, 2021

Here is Part 2 and Part 3

God, I hate the rain, you thought as you ran across the street, pulling your jacket even further up your head. You knew you should’ve bought an umbrella or even a raincoat, but since it was movie night, you didn’t even hesitate to run to Peter’s house after you dropped your bags at home. Every Friday was the same. Either you or Peter would have the privilege to pick what movie you guys wanted to watch, and then both of you would relax on the sofa until you left, or fell asleep.

This Friday was different though. It was the last day of school, so the day was even longer than usual. Everybody was just glad that the year was over, and summer had finally arrived. Sophomore year had been challenging, especially Physics, but you couldn’t wait for the next two months. Obviously saying goodbye to your friends had been bittersweet, but the feeling of relief of not having to do any homework or tests triumphed over the sadness. Tonight, you and Peter would watch movies until morning, and eat every possible snack you could find. The entire week had been leading up to this.

Trying to shield your face from the sharp drops of water, you finally reached the door, pushing it open with one hand, the other occupied with holding four huge packets of chips. Finally reaching the top floor, you dropped the bag on the floor, holding your knees and taking a breather. Hey, not all of us have superpowers to walk up seven flights of stairs and not get breathless. Pushing the jacket off your back, you knocked on the door, bouncing on your feet, waiting for Peter. A couple of seconds later, after the sound of a thud on the floor and May’s laughter, the door flung open, revealing a flustered Peter.

“Hey Y/n!”, he breathed out, smiling his signature grin before engulfing you in a hug. You felt his arms circle around yourself, pulling you close. Smiling slightly, you reciprocated, throwing your hands around his neck.

“Hi Peter”, you said, your voice muffled in his sweatshirt. Pulling away from him, you pushed him off me, laughing at the cute pout on his face. “I’m soaking wet with this thing on me.” Plucking the clingy jacket off yourself, you squeezed it, water splashing off it. Peter stifled a laugh, taking the bag out of your hands.

“Drenched, aren’t you?”

Elbowing him, you gave him the bags of snacks, muttering sarcastically. “That’s the sympathy I get for bringing the best food for our movie nights”

“Ooh, Doritos and… sour cream Lays!” He looked up at you, smirking. “You got the good ones.” Rolling your eyes, you nodded, walking inside the apartment.

“Is there any place I can dry this?”, you asked, referring to the sad bundle of cloth in your hand. Peter took it from you, despite your complaints.

“Let me do it. You are my guest”, he said, looking over his shoulder, winking and he threw it into the washing machine.

“Well, I am your guest every other day”, you shot back, walking into the kitchen. It was true anyway. The Parker’s house is your second house. The tower was nice and all, but with all the Avengers and Bucky and Sam constantly arguing, it can get annoying fast. Peter’s house is a shadow of calm in your life. Ever since you found out he was Spiderman, well, (he actually told you, but that’s a different story), you tried to come to his house every night to make sure he was fine. Tony had stopped you from fighting crime since last month due to exams, as well as Peter, but it didn’t stop you from coming and visiting him. You know, since he was your best friend.

“Hi sweetie!”, May called out, embracing you. Knowing where Peter got his talent for amazing hugs, you hugged her back, smelling the scent of warm cookies and cinnamon. Realizing that the smell of cookies was coming from behind her, you looked across, seeing a batch of cookies starting to burn.

“May! The cookies!”

“Oh-oh!” Running at them, she grabbed a towel, quickly pulling the burning hot cookies out of the oven.

“Here!” Pushing some of the items off the counter, you made some space for the tray of cookies. Dropping the tray down with a clatter, she blew on them, fanning the golden-brown discs with her hand. “They look awesome Aunt May!”

“Aww, thanks Y/N”, she said, staring at the cookies on the table. “They are, aren’t they?”

Smiling, you nodded, getting hungrier just looking at them. “Oh my god, what smells so good?” Peter called out, walking out of his room. Gesturing to the perfect cookies on the table, you pointed to May.

“Wait a second, they aren’t burned” Peter looked at May in astonishment, carefully taking one off the pan and biting it. “It tastes perfect May!” She merely smiled, walking over to the counter, grabbing her purse and some packs of gum. Now noticing her clothes, you called out.

“Where are you going, Aunt May?”

She looked back at me, quickly applying some lip gloss. “Oh just a night out with my friends. I need it. Plus-”, she glanced at the TV and then Peter, “- I know how loud movie nights can get.” You laughed, jumping off the chair and walking to the front door. Grabbing an umbrella, you gave it to her, mumbling about how to not make the same mistake you did. “Okay sweetheart. I’ll see you both in a few hours. I might stay over at Ashley’s house, but I’ll call you if that happens.” Kissing Peter on the cheek, she walked out, shutting the door behind her.

The minute the door closed, Peter jumped up, pulling you towards the sofa, showing you the array of snacks that he placed out. “Okay, so we have chips, chocolate, cookies that May made and there is ice cream in the fridge.” His eyebrows furrowed like he was remembering something but his eyes lit up in recognition when he was the small box next to the door. “Oh, and Mr Stark sent over a couple of things for us for tonight.”

Chuckling, you told him to get those, while you picked out the movie. Trying to choose one between Star Wars and Harry Potter, you chose the latter, knowing that you two were going to have a Star Wars marathon in the near future anyway. Grabbing the remote, you chose the first movie, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, pausing it to wait for Peter. Looking for him, you saw him standing at the door, the box lying open, untouched. He was holding a small index card, his face bright red.

“Hey Pete, you alright?” Worried, you slipped your hand under your shorts, feeling the edges of your dagger sitting over there. Pulling it out, you carefully walked over to him, thinking that something was wrong. However, when you got closer, Peter heard me, turning around so fast he hit his head on the wall. Crumpling the card in his palm, he threw it behind him, smiling nervously. “Are you okay? What was that?”

“Nothing”, he replied, too quickly. Quirking your eyebrow, you shrug, letting it go.

“What did Mr Stark send for us?”, you asked, trying to get a glimpse at the box.

“Uhh, just some snacks and drinks. I think there was some cold coffee in here as well. Why don’t I go heat us some?”, he said in a high voice, the same one he used when he lied.

Not even letting you get a look at the mystery box, he began pushing you towards the couch, mumbling something under his breath.

“Y/N, your t-shirt is soaked! Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged half-heartedly, not wanting to go home and change. Seeing your expression, he pushed me down the sofa, telling me to wait. A beat later, he ran back, holding out a dark blue hoodie with a picture of Luke Skywalker on the back. “Here, change into this. Don’t wanna get a cold”

A half giggle escaped me as you took it from him, walking over to the bathroom as you changed into it. Pulling it on, the familiar scent of Peter embraced me. The plush inside of it felt warm against your skin, making me shiver involuntarily. Biting your lip, you looked into the mirror, liking the sight of Peter’s hoodie on me. The more you stared at your reflection, the fuzzier you felt. This just seemed like a very boyfriend thing to do. To be honest, you always thought of Peter as more than just a best friend. The first time you saw him was in 8th grade. You had just moved to Queens, due to your parent’s job, and you were quite excited. It had been a month since you had gotten your newfound power of controlling objects with your mind. It was hard. Your parents didn’t know about it just yet, and it was getting harder to block out your power off from simple everyday objects. You remember how one time you almost threw a plate at your mom because she was freaking out about your Math grades. Soon after you had moved in, you met Peter Parker. He lived across the street from you, wearing glasses and carrying lego boxes home most days. Since you were the same age, it was only a matter of time before you two became friends. And friends you became.

“Hey Y/N! You alright?”, Peter yelled out from the living room, cutting me out from your thoughts. Shrugging your shoulders, you walked out, seeing him sitting comfortably on the couch, chips, ice cream and some sandwiches in his hand.

“Delmars?”, you asked, nodding to the sub in his palm.

“Yup got it earlier” Pulling the sleeves into your hands, you brought the hoodie closer, loving the warmth. “Come here, I’m freezing”, Peter said, making ‘grabby hands. Chuckling, you carefully jumped in, arms curling his midsection. Resting your head on his shoulder, you grabbed the remote, pressing play.

On the screen, the intro of Harry Potter and The Philosopher’s Stone began showing up, as Peter scrunched up his nose. “Wait, Harry Potter?”

“Yeah, it’s my turn? Remember?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s mine. The last time was yours.”

“But I had an extra one, right?”, you looked at him accusingly, “because you came and ruined my date.”

He looked down sheepishly, trying to hide the small smile. It had happened about 3 weeks ago when Brad Davis had asked you out. You couldn’t begin to explain how hard it was to explain to him why Spiderman had swooped me out of the sky to go help him do English homework. But truthfully, you weren’t vibing with him. He talked too much about sports and how much he worked out. No offence Brad, but you could backflip him out of a window within minutes. Sadly, he didn’t know that you were an Avenger, so you had to act like you were interested in his biceps for 2 hours straight. Thank god Peter had shown up, otherwise, you would have had a very awkward conversation with him.

“Fine fine”, Peter muttered, grabbing a few chips and stuffing them in his mouth.

“Aww, come on”, you said, threading your hands in his curls, “you love Harry Potter” Smiling cheekily, though it sent a twinge of pain through your heart, you teased. “Especially Hermione Granger”

His cheeks turning pink, he mumbled. “No, I don’t”

“Uh-huh”

“Alright alright, let’s just do this!”

“We have literally all summer, I’m sure we can spend some time discussing your crush on Hermione”

“In that case, let’s talk about Mrs Potter over here”

“Okay, I think we got it”, you said, making the word much longer. We grinned at each other, ready to watch the movie, as the intro began playing in the background. Little did you know that these beautifully crafted cinematic adventures that you guys were about to have would change your relationship with Peter forever.

Thanks for reading till all the way here! If you liked this, please follow me and I’ll send out the next part in a couple of days :)

Here is Part 2 and Part 3

[passivenovember]

Try as We Might.

Harringrove April, Day Eighteen : Heatwave.

--

Billy’s grandpa taught him how to fight after the first time Neil hit hard enough to bruise.

It felt like a betrayal. 

He was still too young, then, to know that he’d be able to land a few punches of his own someday. When he grew tired of shouldering the brunt of things he couldn’t possibly carry. 

Grandpa Milton said it wasn’t Billy’s fault. Men grow restless in the heat. Bad men take detours toward violence when all the ice has gone from the bucket.

Pistol at the ready.

Billy had to decide if he wanted to be holding the gun or looking down a steel barrel.

Those were the words of a man born in a little town just west of the Missouri River. Spit between wads of tobacco, that smelled always of mint Julep, into the muggy air between them.

Bad men grow restless in the heat.

That was the truth. 

Written into history on stones carried down the mountain by every woman in his family tree. Grandpa Milton wasn’t a bad man. 

Rough around the edges. Hard in the middle, with things Billy could never wrestle free, and Billy wasn’t a bad man. 

He wasn’t like his father. 

Wasn’t restless. Wasn’t cruel.

But with that first push, his fists held in front of him, dodging the swing of a red punching bag as his knuckles kissed leather in a way that didn’t sting.

it was impossible to recognize the difference.

--

Joey is clutching a pair of Max’s leather gloves to his face when his head rounds the corner onto Holbrook street 

All Billy can see is red.

Sheets of it, covering bronzed, delicate skin where it hasn’t soaked through his tee-shirt.

Joey’s left hand slips on the worn, tattered handle of his bike. 

“Oh my god.” Steve drops the garden sheers, rushing to meet their nephew at the end of the driveway before Billy can register the movement. His hands are everywhere, prodding gently at Joey’s forehead, gingerly removing the wad of leather from his nose until.

Blood starts pouring down his chin.

Somewhere on the front steps Dawn is crying big, wet crocodile tears that could make flowers grow if she knew the way. 

Billy tells her to go inside. 

She doesn’t listen.

She takes his hand, instead, leading Billy down the scorching pavement toward something that feels cosmic. Life changing, in the crackling set of Joey’s shoulders when Steve says, “I don’t think it’s broken.”

His eyes are bright. 

Open flame against something uncontrolled. Burning where only Billy can see. He notices Joey’s knuckles. Cracked and bruised and hurting like hell by now, if memory serves.

He clicks his teeth. “What happened, kid?”

“Nothing.”

Steve wipes the blood on his pants, clearly in emergency mode. “It’s not nothing, you need ice and a fresh towel for that thing before the swelling gets too bad.”

“I’ll go get the first aid kit.” Dawn says. Sounding so.

Old.

Mature.

That Billy does a double take when she and Steve disappear into the house together, moving like the summer sun has really set everything ablaze. 

Like they’re running out of time.

Joey hasn’t stopped moving. Pacing up and down the mouth of the driveway, vans scraping over red-hot cement like a poker in fresh coals. A caged animal biding its time. 

Billy gestures to the front porch. “Want some lemonade?”

Joey doesn’t respond. 

“You know. If you wanna land a good punch, you gotta square your wrist.” Billy says, lighting a cigarette just to bide his own time, until. 

The kid cracks open. Spills the beans.

Joey turns on him, confused. “What?”

“Your wrist. Good hit’s all in those three bones. Leave it flopping around and you’ll hurt yourself pretty badly.”

“How do you know I--”

Billy looks at Joey’s hands, skin already turning dark blue from the fight. Ice cubes in a river. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Know a thing or two about taking hits.”

Joey snorts. “You own a ceramics shop.”

“So?”

“So, potters don’t fight, the fucking.” Joey moves the air in front of him, exasperated. “Preach abstinence. Healthy coping and talking things through. Y’know, violence doesn’t solve anything.”

It’s Billy’s turn to snort. “Yeah, fuck that.” He takes a pull from his cigarette, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’m a bit of a goody-two-shoes now that I got a husband and a kid. A house and shit that I. Care about, but. Wasn’t always that way.”

He turns, meandering to the front porch.

Billy doesn’t have to look to know Joey is scrambling after him. 

“Mom said you used to be an asshole.”

“I was.”

“She said you didn’t used to be someone people wanted to know. Or mess with.” Joey sits on the front step, watching Billy out of the corner of his eye. “How come?”

Billy likes to imagine things as they are now, likes to pretend all the shit that happened before. Monsters and black rot and worlds inside this one--likes to pretend none of that existed. 

It was a bad dream. 

A side effect. Punishment, for who Billy was. Who he had to be if he wanted to survive. 

He thinks Joey is a little bit like that. Trying to get past his own skin, so.

“Did what I had to do.” 

Joey frowns. “What’s that mean?”

Billy shrugs. “To protect myself. From others, or protect them from me.” He takes another pull from his cigarette. “I used to be weak, y’know. Easy pickings because I was different than other kids my age.”

“Because you were gay?”

And. 

“Yeah.” Billy says softly. “Except I didn’t know it at the time, so when people said those things and called me shit and punched my fucking retainer down my throat for having a crush on Frankie Daimio, my only choice was to fight back.”

Joey nods. “I understand. The kids at school, they.”

Billy turns to look at him, nodding. 

It’s okay. 

Joey takes a deep breath. Clears his throat. “They think I’m weird.”

“How come?”

“Lots of things.” Joey picks at the frayed hem of his shorts, voice trembling. “Who my mom and dad are. The way my hair looks. The kinds of music I listen to and the clothes I wear and the fact that my best friend is a girl two years younger than me who puts dead animals on people’s cars when they call me a fa--”

“They’re jealous.” Billy says. Plain and simple. “And even if you are. That word. You’re cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Joey looks at him, eyes sparkling. “Will you teach me how to fight?”

Billy gears up to say a million things.

No, it’s not responsible. No, Uncle Steve will throw a fit. No, your mom will cut my balls off and toss me into the river. No, I don’t run like that anymore--

But as Joey watches him, tears burning hot in the apple of his eyes, Billy doesn’t really have a choice.

“Alright, Kid.” He says, defeated. “I taught Dawn to look after herself, I can teach you.”

[dreamingofaizawa]

Save Him

Alright. Got an idea and I gotta get it out before I lose it completely

Shigaraki Tomura x Reader

There are no gender specific terms in this, so it’s anybody’s read.

Warnings: Slight angst, light fluff, Shiggy being really freaking soft and vulnerable

Word Count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: Weak Shiggy has me weeping and I love it so much. Like, there’s no way he’s not struggling with the nature of his quirk. It’s gotta take a toll on him mentally, and I really wanted to channel it here. I may or may not write a part 2 if I can figure out what to actually write...

*Update, I figured out what to write lol*

Part 2 - Part 3

Enjoy~

*

*

*

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like your quirk at least a little bit. It wasn’t an offensive quirk, in fact you couldn’t use it for any type of combat. But it did have its perks. Anyone within a ten foot radius of you would have their quirks temporarily nullified while in that space. Hell, they didn’t even have to be standing in that ten foot radius. Once a quirk got past that mark, it quite literally dissolved. It had taken a while for your quirk to even be able to show itself. When you were little, most people thought you were quirkless. It had taken a couple years for you to realize that people’s quirks stopped working around you.

That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? Nobody wanted to be anywhere near you, because you couldn’t turn it off. Your parents hadn’t even stuck around for a week after you were born, choosing instead to dump you at the doorstep of an orphanage. You’d gotten sick of that life rather quickly. Now you were living on the streets, stealing and fighting your way around. You didn’t care about society anymore, the world could burn for all you care. It’s left you to rot, completely forgotten.

Other than survival, you had a slightly different goal in mind. There was a person - a villain, so they say. He couldn’t touch anything with all five of his fingers, or the subject of his touch would crumble to dust. And you wanted nothing more than to give him what he no doubt wanted: To be able to touch, and not fear leaving nothing but dust in its wake. You couldn’t possibly imagine what that felt like. Sure there were things like specialty gloves he could wear. But it’s not quite the same, is it?

And that goal is what put you here, right now. Like an idiot you’d gone and decided you’d look for the famous leader of the League of Villains. And you’d gotten caught. And you were strapped to a chair, in an old bar, with Tomura Shigaraki’s ungloved hand at your throat, one finger lifted in a threat he had no idea was stupidly empty.

“I’m not going to ask again, doll, who the fuck sent you?” he spat, the alcohol on his breath swarming your senses. “I won’t hesitate to let my finger down and watch your body crumble into dust.” You look him dead in the eyes and repeat the same thing you’d said about ten times before. “Do it Shigaraki! Put your finger down! You don’t fucking scare me. I wasn’t sent by anyone. I came on my own! I came to find you and finally give you something you might want.” You nearly snarled into his face, your voice hoarse and throat raw.

Dabi was the only other person there, at the far end of the bar. He’d been watching the entire scene play out, and he was finally getting bored. “Just fucking kill ‘em already. This shit’s getting old.” But Shigaraki wasn’t having it. He was convinced you were there for some ulterior motives. And, well, he wasn’t completely wrong. You didn’t actually tell him what you wanted to ‘give’ him. He decided he couldn’t do anything on his own. “Dabi, get the fuck over here. You’re gonna burn it out of this thick ass skull.”

The patchworked villain’s eyebrows shot up and his lips pulled into a sickly sadistic grin. You weren’t at all worried, though, knowing exactly what would happen. As soon as he stepped into that ten foot radius, he froze. His face dropped, and he looked you right in the eyes, knowing exactly why you were unfazed by Shigaraki’s threats. He titled his head at you, and he glanced over at Shigaraki, then back to you. “Give…” he muttered, recalling your words, and you gave a small nod.

“What the fuck are you just standing there for? Get your fucking flames out!” Shigaraki growled. You had no idea how he hadn’t noticed his missing quirk. Dabi looked at him, “Do it. Put down your last finger.” “What the fuck? Now you wanna kill the little shit?!” he yelled, clearly annoyed. Instead, Dabi waltzed over to you, brought out a knife, and cut all the ropes from your chair. He knew exactly what you were here for. And the second you were free, he left the room.

Shigaraki only stared, dumbfounded. His moment of shock gave you just enough time to grab his wrist, pull it up in between your faces, and lace your fingers through all five of his, squeezing hard. He stared at his hand entwined in yours, and his eyes drifted to meet yours. Your eyes were full of resolve and conviction, and his shifted from anger, to fear, to complete sadness in a split second. “This is what I came to give you, Shigaraki. This is why you don’t scare me. This is why all of your threats were completely, ridiculously empty,” you say, never breaking eye contact. 

You didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect from the villain, considering his reputation for being completely and utterly ruthless. People always said he was a bloodthirsty monster, a villain in all respects of the name. But the man that stood in front of you was so incredibly vulnerable you didn’t know what to think. You stood there, his hand in yours, staring into each other’s eyes for nearly a minute. 

After a long, thick silence, a lone tear fell down the man’s face, and the hand you were holding began to shake. In that moment you knew that this limited contact alone wasn’t enough. You slowly dropped his hand at his side, and opened your arms wide. He looked down at your outstretched arms, and in a split second he launched himself into your embrace, wrapping his arms around your torso, cradling his face into your neck, clawing at your back like it was his lifeline. You held him as he shook, stroking his hair and rubbing circles into his back.

When his sobs died down, you began to pull away, and he squeezed you tighter in his arms. You chuckled softly, “I’m not going anywhere. But I think it would be a good idea to get a little more comfortable,” you said, still petting his hair. He nodded, letting you out of the embrace and lacing his hand through yours again, and began to lead you to his room. He was completely silent the entire time. As he reached his door he hestitated, and made sure to keep one finger off the doorknob.

You noticed the small break in his movements. “You don’t have to worry around me. Your quirk doesn’t work at all in a ten foot radius of me. It will be completely nullified, like you’re quirkless, until you step out of the area.” He looked at you once more before wrapping all five fingers around the door handle and opening the door. Such a simple task would seem normal, but for him it was a haven he never wanted to leave, and he held onto the door for a few seconds longer.

When you reached the mattress on the floor, he let you lay down first on your back, and he lay down almost completely on top of you. His head was on your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers digging into your skin under your shirt, relishing in the feeling. If he wanted to keep you here forever, you’d be more than happy to stay. Because you were finally wanted.

For once, someone desperately wanted to be around you.

For once he could touch without fear of destruction.

[itstittycitybaby]

Flirty (Lin Beifong x reader) Part 6

a/n: bro. im having to cram all my ideas and edit it. i have so many plans for these next couple of parts and im excited to write them. i want to say that this chapter has self harm in it along with some other heavy topics. idk if anyone actually reads author’s notes so there will be a trigger warning below. the self harm is caused from anxiety and an anxiety attack/anger moments. please be careful and if you are struggling with self harm, or struggling right now. i encourage you to reach out to someone because someone out there cares about you. as always be safe, ily guys

WARNINGS: ANXIETY ATTACKS, SELF HARM, PTSD/TRAUMA FLASHBACKS, CHILD ABUSE, DEPRECATING THOUGHTS

The room was dark and dingy. The cold air was freezing and the table you were cuffed to didn’t help your comfort either. Your wrists were sore from wiggling and shifting so much. The rawness in your throat from crying and screaming throbbed. You didn’t care if the guards heard you anymore. It’s not like they’d come back in here for hospitality. You were alone again. This was the thing you had to face by yourself.

“It always comes back to this with you doesn’t it?” Her harsh words played on repeat in your brain. The shadows in the dark giggled and whispered amongst themselves. You were frozen and trapped in that awful chair that dug into your ass. You were a victim to the dark’s cruel and twisted ways as its children mocked you with their laughter. This room was perfect for you. 

Lin knew you hated the dark. She would hold you tightly and kiss your tears away when it got bad. Those memories used to bring warmth but now they plunged you further into the icy waters of your mind. It made you gasp for air and it forced you to cling tightly onto the past. You laughed and cried as you stayed, rotting in that interrogation room. Time felt endless from being alone in the dark. It always bothered you when there wasn’t a way to tell it.

You hissed in pain as your fingernails dug into your palms. They burned as you kept pressing them into your hands harshly. The red stinging pain filled your senses;the red became deeper as you refused to let go. You whimpered out into the cell, its echoes carrying out from the room and to anyone who passed by. 

They weren’t totally cruel. A guard had come in with a lantern before the metal shields closed. They left it on the table without a word and left quietly. They were like a ghost and quiet enough to make you believe you had imagined it. The flame that flickered in the lantern barely did anything to keep the fear at bay. At least it was something, though.

 It was eerily quiet. You couldn’t hear anything from outside. Inside held your wails and cries that fell on deaf ears. Your voice was hoarse from screaming and sobbing so hard. The soreness in your throat made you parched. There was no water for you to drink, so you sat there unmoving. Now, you just watched the flame lazily flicker and dance in its little casing.

You fingernails lifted from your palms. They stung like hell and burned so fucking bad. You felt hollow and empty. All the tears you had shed and the mourning you endured now left you with a hollow pit.

She was so angry with you. The tears in her eyes and her tone shook with betrayal as she spat venomous words that had cut into your heart. You didn’t know what to feel. Scared, angry, hurt, betrayed. Aiwei, the bastard, had the perfect alibi. Of course he’d use a traveler and pin it on them. Someone who hadn’t seen the Beifongs in so long, but still knew them. It was perfect.

No one believed you. Not Korra, not Mako, not Suyin. Not even Lin. Could you even blame them? It all fell into place. Aiwei is a bastard, but you’d give credit where it was due. The plan was fucking brilliant, he was brilliant. 

 The interrogation room reminded you of home. The coldness from your mother and the isolation you had faced due to not being the child they had wanted. Everything in your life was a fucking metaphor now. The metaphor always tracked back to your shitty childhood and your shitty life. The terror and the isolation was always the thing that came to comfort you in the end, with open arms. It was ironic;.the thing that had been killing you for the past thirty fucking years had finally caught up to you. Its embrace was all too familiar. The warmth  it held welcomed you loving, but its thorns sunk into your skin eventually. 

****

He was crying again. You could hear his wails through the thin walls of the hut. His sobs made you feel horrible, knowing all you could do was stand by the pot. Stir, stir, stir. The wooden spoon stirred the stew your mother asked you to make. Stir, stir, stir. She sat behind you on the floor, staring into the fire. Stir, stir, stir. The stew was red and its heat warmed your face. All you could focus on was the soft stirring of the wooden spoon and the smell. It was a very cold night tonight, so your mother kept the fire warm.

Your eyes stayed on the stew in front of you. Dee’s crying kept getting louder and louder. You felt helpless, trapped there in the kitchen as Dee kept crying. You were rooted to the spot; you knew better than to disobey. You were no good to your brother if you got hurt too. The leverage your mother and father held was strong. It was easy to manipulate and make a person compliant when you dangled what they cared about in front of them like a carrot.

Stir, stir, stir. It was done. “Mamma,” you called softly, “it’s finished.” She didn’t say anything. She kept peering into the fire, observing the flames flickering on the wood. She was alway entranced by fire, even though she’d seen it all her life.You set the spoon down on the counter softly. Your meek footsteps barely creaked on the floor. You stood a couple of feet away from her. Her back faced you stubbornly. “Mamma,” you called again, timidly. No answer. Slowly, you lowered your hand on her shoulder. Smack! You flinched, pulling your hand away. The skin reddened and it stung. “Don’t touch me!”

“Sorry ma,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from cracking. She didn’t say anything but slowly rose up. Your hand was hot and inspecting it closely you realized it. Your mother had burned you. The edges of your vision became blurry until it was hard to see. Your throat tightened and you struggled to breathe.

Your mother paid you no mind. She grabbed three bowls out and began scooping them with stew. Dee’s sobs turned into whimpers. They played like a mantra in your head over and over. Your hand began to sting more and your throat started to hurt from the stone you were trying hard to swallow. Even as Dee’s whimpers became a crescendo again, all you could think about was stir, stir, stir. 

****

You hit your head smack dab on the table. Must’ve fallen asleep. You looked around drowsily and focused on the on the sun’s raise peeking through the windows. It seemed to be early evening. The muscles in the back of your neck had become cramped along with your back. Your ass was numb from the stiff chair you were trapped to. You didn’t even wanna think about your wrists.

The ground rumbled beneath you. The table shook and the lantern rattled. You watched it nervously, praying to the spirits that it didn’t fall and break. After a few moments, the rumbling stopped.

The lantern sat dangerously on the edge of the table but everything else seemed fine. Ears straining, you held your breath and focused for any signs of life. Nothing. You sighed, looking down at your wrist.

 The cuffs hid the cyan string bracelet you stubbornly kept on after all these years. Though you couldn’t see it, you knew it was there. It gave you hope. Someone out there still cared about you. Someone out there still loved you. Even if he had forgotten about you, the bracelet served a reminder. That someone at some point, had given you a chance.

***

The door slammed open. You shot your head up. The impact from the door echoed among the cold and dark room. You squinted into the room. The sunlight poured in, blinding you. You hissed, screwing your eyes shut.

“(Y/N?)”

Suyin. 

Her face fell. You looked rough. It had been only a couple hours since you were taken in. She was filled with regret at your sullen eyes. The bags under them looked dark and heavy.

“You can get out now,” Suyin said softly. Two guards entered the room and the cuffs opened with a clack. You looked down at your wrists. Your eyes widened at the sight of them. They had angry red marks around them and they were sore. You hissed as you gently pressed your fingers on them and rubbed softly. “Why,” you whispered, voice croaking.

“Aiwei was the traitor.” Su’s eyes shimmered with remorse as she stood there. She glanced down at your wrists. “We should get you to a healer.” You shook your head stubbornly. Placing your hand on the table, you slowly got up. Your ass burned from being forced to sit for so long. Your joints felt like they were on fire, and your feet wobbled as you made you way towards her.

 “Please,” Suyin asked. “You must be in so much pain right now.” She had always been stubborn, just like her sister. “Maybe,” you whispered. Her eyes flashed with worry at your sullen expression. The rawness in your voice worried her. 

 You had hoped Lin had come instead. It hurt all the more knowing she didn’t come instead of Su. You hoped, stupidly, she’d sweep you in her arms and apologize profusely while kissing your face all over. But she didn’t. She left you in that room to rot. Lin had to have found out by now that Aiwei was the traitor. So why didn’t she come for you yourself? I’m just not special, you thought bitterly. She’s gone just like everyone else. She’s done with me.

“I’m so sorry,” Suyin muttered as the two of you left the interrogation room. She refused to leave you alone until you made it to your rooms. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “It’s fine,” you rasped. Su shook her head. “No it’s not and you know that.”

You didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. You grabbed her hand and gently squeezed. Suyin lifted her up head, shocked. You didn’t know why you did it. It could have been the isolation that had gnawed into your brain and made you needy. Or, if you tried hard enough, Suyin wasn’t there. In your mind it was Lin standing beside you instead.

****

Your room was torn to shreds. Several plans for new gadgets and tweaks on your weapons were now destroyed. Smashed parts from new projects glinted on the floor. Suyin wanted to stay and help but you shooed her away. You wanted to be alone while you picked up the pieces. You didn’t want nobody to witness you as you fell. Most people came back to a warm loving family after being away. You got to come home to a ruined and smashed room, with a bitter reminder of all your hard work being spilled down the drain in a matter of seconds.

  You swallowed the tears in your eyes and scanned your destroyed room once more. You felt nothing more than a husk. The silence rung in your ears. Your breathing was roaring compared to the quiet.

Azure and Ruby were still missing. The space with their birdcage and food were gone. It made that part of the room was bland and empty. “Assholes,” you ground out bitterly. “Had to go so far as to stealing my fucking birds too.” You threw your turtle neck off forcefully, flinging it against the wall along with your trousers. The draws slammed open from the force of your anger. You pulled out a black tank top and pajama pants. The joints in your bones burned as you tugged your clothes on. They felt comfortable and loose on your skin. It made you sigh with relief and give you some sense of comfort. You trembled as you inspected your room. Your eyes flitted across the damaged state and the tears came rushing back. The fury that had been curling around your heart was threatening to let loose. Let go, a voice whispered. Just let me go.

Knock knock. “Can’t I just be alone for five fucking minutes?” You stomped over to the door, turning the handle. You wanted to be alone so no one would have to see it. See the breakdown and the fall you haven’t had in a long time. The thing that was keeping you together was threatening to snap. You were going to slip from the rope that dangled in the sky and crash into the ground.

Your heart stopped. She stood there with Azure and Ruby in their cage. It all came rushing back. The dark room, the disgust, the hatred in her eyes, and you never really meant anything to me.

“Lin,” you muttered thickly. “What a surprise.” You looked down to Azure and Ruby. They were sleeping soundly in the cage they hated. Anytime you had to put them in there they squwaked and pecked you into you bled. Lin’s hands had little scratches and marks on her hands. You shoved the guilt down and replaced it with something easier to feel. Pettiness, smugness.

“Can I come in?” Her voice was strained. She tried so hard to focus on keeping eye contact with you. Lin didn’t want to cry on your doorstep and have the whole world see what was about to occur. You were silent for a few moments. She deserved to have the door slammed in her face and to be told to fuck off. She had left you cuffed to a table for two hours and refused to listen to anything you had to say. Most of all, Lin told you she didn’t love you anymore. 

She waited patiently. It all felt so weird, like a dream or a film. What if this wasn’t real? What if you were still cuffed to that table and had fallen asleep again. You wanted to yell at her, or scream at her for leaving you there broken hearted.  You hated that deep down, you wanted Lin to hold you and tell you everything was alright. You hated how easy it was to crawl back to her like some fucking sick puppy.

You swallowed harshly. There were tears in your eyes and you nodded. It was slow and sluggish from the way you had jutted your chin out. You left the door way and moved so she could come in. Lin followed after you, closing the door with a soft click. The quiet clinking of her armor pounded in your head. It was the only thing you could focus or you’d drown in the tension that crackled in the air.

Lin set Azure and Ruby on the table gently. They didn’t stir from their sleep, making them look more peaceful. Her green eyes swept over the destroyed room. They followed to the turned over books and sheets, to the paper that had been ripped onto the floor. Lin saw the red and raw marks across your wrists. She felt awful looking at the state of your room but seeing you hurt because of her? Lin didn’t know what to feel.

It was silent for a bit. The both of you waiting for the other to say something. Lin was awful with confrontation and apologizing. You used to be patient with her. Your eyes would be soft as you waited for her words. Now, they were cold and hollow, peering into her soul. You were tired of waiting; you wanted this to be over with.

“You have some balls Beifong,” you said, chuckling. There was no humor or lightness to it. It was the calm before the storm. Before it all blew over and went to hell.

She gulped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her voice had cracked slightly. There were tears in her beautiful green eyes.  “I’m so sorry.”

You laughed. Lin’s eyes snapped up to you. It cut through the air as sharp as a knife. It sounded empty and bitter. “A sorry? A fucking sorry? What makes you think a sorry is going to make it all better Lin? What you said can’t be undone. You said what you said and that’s that.”

The tears fell freely now. You didn’t want to move and wipe them away. You wanted Lin to see what she had done. Maybe you were too angry or bitter, but you wanted her to regret it. Most of all, you wanted to love her again.

All you could feel was the rage. The way it curdled dangerously in your veins. You loved her, you loved her so fucking much and you hate that you still did. She had shoved you in a cramped room. She told you that she was done and that she didn’t love you anymore. Worst of all, Lin didn’t trust you and she never did. You were just another shitty person in her eyes. You were nothing but another endless blob in the back of her mind. Lin didn’t care about you.

“I didn’t want it to come to this, I-I never wanted to hurt you. All those things I said were a lie. Please, believe me... I do care about you and I want you to stay in my life.. I want you to be here with me.”

Lin’s eyes shimmered with tears. You watched one fall down to the side of her cheek. You folded your arms and read her. There was nothing but honesty in her eyes. Your lip quivered as more tears fell. You felt like throwing up from the nerves and the anger that threatened to burst.

“I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of acting like this. That..I’m not happy you’re back and that I hate you. Even when you left I couldn’t hate you for being gone. I-I don’t blame you at all. I was..cold and bitter..I didn’t listen to your feelings..Even now I still didn’t listen..but I want to make things right.” 

She bit her trembling lip and cried. Her tears were silent. Lin had always been a quiet crier. She would cry and make sure there was no sign of it afterwards. Lin used to say it was because being angry was better than being sad. You guessed she still thought the same even after all these years.

“It hurts. It fucking hurts. I want to hate you and I-I want to hold onto to the anger..but I can’t. I still love you even after all of this. After all this-” you choked on a whimper. You sniffled, feeling disgusting that snot was sliding out of your nose.

You wiped your eyes delicately. Lin’s eyes were puffy and red along with her nose and cheeks. She hung on every word you said. “Please,” she whispered, “I’ll do anything. Let me make this right.”

You scoffed. There was a smile on your face. It was one of disbelief and you couldn’t help but laugh at it all. At the world crashing around the two of you. It seemed like a never ending reality. The two of you would always suffer together and always have the world trying to end.

 “Why should I? Why should I give you a second chance Lin? After all this? Leaving me in that shitty cell and having Suyin free me from those cuffs?”

Lin barely flinched. If it were anyone else they wouldn’t have caught it. But you weren’t everyone else. You were the only thing that Lin knew was worth fighting for. 

“I don’t know,” she said. Her voice faltered but it still held strength. Her posture was tight and strong. Lin always faced the danger and the dark with a brave face. Even now she seemed to cower but she still faced your rage and the hurt that lingered in your eyes.

“Oh my god,” you muttered in disbelief. “You don’t know?” Lin was silent as she tried to read you. Your eyes were red and they were slightly crazed. She could tell that your stress levels were high. Your eyes fell from her piercing gaze and instead you focused on the room around you. On the failure your life had become. The one you had built anew was destroyed into a matter of minutes. Everything was gone and all you were was a hollow husk, left to drift away in the wind.

 “No. I don’t. But I still love you. It’s all I know. I-I know nothing else but this.” Lin choked slightly and she breathed in deeply before continuing. “I want to fight for this. I want to be able to love you again.”

You laughed. It was sharp and turned into a wheeze. Lin’s brows furrowed in concern as you hobbled over. She rushed to your side as your knees hit the floor. There were tears streaming down your face rapidly and your breathing was irregular.

Lin’s hands cupped your face. “Breathe, breathe with me. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” Her thumbs brushed your tears from your face gently. Lin’s eyes watered with tears again as she held you there in her arms.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, “It hurts so bad.” “I know,” Lin whispered, her voice faltering. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve believed you. I should’ve listened to you but instead I let my anger get the best of me and hurt you instead. And I’m so so sorry.”

You clutched her arms tightly. “I could see him in there. I could see Dee. He was crying he was..he was..” “Shh,” Lin shushed you gently. “It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you could have done would allow that to happen. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I turned around and uncuffed you right there so you wrists wouldn’t be so bruised. Then you wouldn’t have to suffer through that alone.”

Your swallowed the lump in your throat. All you could hear were the sniffles from your nose as Lin rocked you gently. 

After a while, you wiggled out of her hold. It was quiet again and you could feel Lin’s eyes peering into your back as you turned to Azure and Ruby. “Thank you..for taking care of them.” Lin’s lips quivered as she pulled them into a smile. “Of course. They’re wonderful birds.” You helped her up from the floor. There was still more to be said but the air felt better. It didn’t feel as tight around your throat anymore and the sadness settled lighter in your chest..

“Thank you for the apology.” Lin watched you carefully. Your eyes bored holes into Ruby. They were blissfully unaware of what was going on. “But I can’t accept it right now.”

Lin nodded. Another tear fell from her eye. “I understand.” She moved to your door slowly. Her hand clenched the handle. “I still love you,” you choked out. “I-I..I just need some time.” Lin turned to you. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes and there were tears flowing down her cheeks. “I’ll wait for you. I will always wait for you.”

****

After Lin left, you hurried into the bathroom to look at yourself. Everything made your head slightly spin and your skin felt clammy. Your reflection peered back at you in the mirror. Your eyes were sunken in and your skin looked sickly.You felt your chest tightened as you choked on the crisp air. The panic hit you like a sack of bricks after spending so fucking long in that shitty room. The confrontation with Lin was the final nail in the coffin. You felt dreary and exhausted as you stood there. The adrenaline had finally wore off and pain flooded in every bone in your body. Everyone had thought you were a traitor. They had looked at you with disgust and hate. Like you were some kind of junk to discard. Lin had turned against you and had the guards shove you into the cramped interrogation room, knowing your fear of the dark. She wanted nothing to do with you anymore and left you to rot. But then she came running back, crying and asked for forgiveness. 

Were you too cruel? Should you have told her it was okay? You were awful to say those things to her. You should apologize and tell her it’s all okay, that it was your fault instead. The guilt came flooding with remorse and anger. It became a deafening roar in your ears as it threatened to swallow you. You should have just stayed quiet and been a good girl like your mother had taught you.

Crack! Your fists bashed against the mirror in front of you. Glass shards flew onto the floor, slicing your hands. Your knuckles and palms filled with a burning hot pain. All you could see was the red and the white filling your vision. The rage and the suffering had finally been freed. It swept all around like heavy smoke and curled it’s whisps around your heart. All you could feel was the heat inside of your chest and the wrath that prickled your veins.

You looked down and saw that your hands had been cut open. Glass shards had dug its way into your skin. The sharp points had pierced your palms good enough that blood gurgled to the surface. Then, it became numb again. The stinging pain in your hands was replaced by adrenaline again. You felt nothing as you bashed your fist against the mirror for a second time. Then another followed suit. The mantra of the sickening crack was the only thing that rung in your ears. It was the only thing you could hold onto.

 Blood slid from the broken mirror. It dripped from the bottom of the ridge to the sink beneath it. The drops turned into splatters once it oozed onto the white porcelain. Your fingers blazed once the ringing in your ears wore off. The glass in your palms and fists pricked your skin like thorns. You laughed bitterly. Tears sailed from your eyes. The black mold on the cabinet that held the glass stared back at you. At least I can’t see myself anymore, you thought, trying to smile. Your lips quivered as more tears fell from your puffy eyes.

 Cleaning would have to come another day. You sank to the ground with your knees hitting the tile. They clinked against the glass on the floor. Your thighs stretched with a burn as you kneeled there on the ground. You were just bad as your parents. They hurt and killed everything they touched. It was futile to try and resist; this was your destiny.

*****

The closet was dark. Dee sat in your lap clinging onto you. The closet was cramped, barely fitting the two of you. It felt like the walls were pushing up against you. The closet muffled your mother and father’s screams. They shouted at one another. “When are they gonna stop,” Dee asked, digging his fingers into your tunic.

A plate smashed against the wall. The both of you flinched and Dee whimpered. “I don’t know,” you whispered. The air was heavy and made it feel like you were choking on it every time you tried to breathe in. “I’m scared.” You swallowed the pit in your throat and pulled Dee closer. “It’s gonna be okay,” you said softly, “I promise.”

You rocked him on your lap. Your knees and thighs burned from kneeling on the floor for so long. Your arms felt heavy as you held Dee close, humming. The screaming didn’t stop for a while. Some glass shattered on impact of being thrown. You hummed over your mother’s weeping, trying to drown it out. 

You told yourself that it would be alright. That they wouldn’t hurt Dee or you if you stayed still. It was all going to be okay one day. Yet, even as you rocked your younger brother, something told you that things would never change.

[younghoax]

• Brockton, Massachusetts • 2021 •

She’s dead. He just needs to accept it and then it can’t hurt him. Not that it should fucking hurt him. She’s been dead to him for years -- and him, her.

She’s dead.

“Hey, kid.”

Sean is leaning against the door frame, blocking the small opening like he expects Jordan to push right past him and tear the place apart again. The beard he had in the winter of 2013 has been buzzed down to stubble but he’s not fooling anyone: rotting teeth and yellow eyes are a dead giveaway. He must know why Jordan’s here but doesn’t cut him any slack, just looks at him expectantly until finally, brows pinched and sloped all sorry-like, he asks, “You wanna come inside?”

She’s dead.

The apartment is small, everything crammed into one room apart from two doors which he guesses is a bedroom and a bathroom. All in all, the kitchen-living area is about the size of his bedroom in Midtown. It smells the same as his mom’s last place. Musky and acidic. There are blankets on the couch and he can picture his mother there, passed out in front of the TV like she always was back home. Always freezing cold with a hot water bottle stuffed down the side of the cushions which... he sees now, stained and old, still full, but not the one she had when they first moved to this city. He remembers when that one burst, how she’d screamed even though the water had some-what cooled by then. Just from the shock, really, and how they couldn’t afford to ruin that couch.

So there are blankets and a hot water bottle and two mugs on the coffee table. Sean sits in an armchair that looks older than even him, and Jordan lowers himself in what he guesses is his mom’s seat-- was his mom's seat? Because it’s been a month or so since he started getting phone calls, but that doesn’t mean Sean would have erased any trace of her (it took months before he started cleaning up after Curly) and it’s not like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, because it’d be a damn relief if she was gone, but...

“Why’d you call?” Jordan asks. No point being polite about it. No point apologising. He didn’t miss them, he ignored them. He’s only sorry that he couldn’t help but come here after all. Couldn’t just let it be. “I’ve been busy,” he then adds, antsy when the man doesn’t respond after a while.

Sean nods, leant with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “Yeah, I figured,” he says with a nod before he takes a long breath. She’d dead. Fuck, okay. She’s dead.

“Is it Tracy?” Well, he knows the answer to that. “Spit it out, man.”

She’s dead. Say it. Tell me she’s dead. Let me move on. Let me stop thinking about it. Let me stop re-writing up my work notice and looking for apartments in Brockton and searching up insurance plans and NA meetings and family fucking therapy. Spit it out and tell me it’s over before I cave and give her another chance. She’s dead.

Sean is still silent for a while, mouth opening and closing as he rearranges the words in his mouth. Spit it out. Jordan almost tells him again, wringing his own hands now as he waits but, just as he opens his mouth, Sean tells him, “She’s dead.”

Jordan’s bouncing his knee, biting the inside of his lip as he gives a slow nod. Okay. It’s what he expected. All those calls out of nowhere, this weird fucking feeling he’s had. It’s what he knew it was the whole time. It’s not. It’s not a shock. Or, it shouldn’t be a shock.

Jordan clears his throat. Nods again. “Right, okay.” Scoffs. “Was it that fuckin’ hard?”

He leans forward, away from the blankets stuffed across the seat, stinking of her suddenly.

“I’m sorry, bud. It was... She wasn’t.” Sean tries. Fails, but he does look sorry. Sorry to be the one delivering the news after everything. He was there when Jordan showed up to their last apartment in 2013, crying for his mom like some fucking twerp. There was shit he couldn’t tell anybody else. Like the letters he and Curly started to send, both of their spelling so laughably bad. Like how they never spoke about them when Jordan visited. How Curly would just give a knowing smile until the last visit when he. Didn’t. Because he already knew by then. He’d already written what he’d written.

“Who’s Curly?” That’s what Tracy had said, Jordan shaking against her side, sobbing like a bitch whilst Sean tried to remind her of Jordan’s boyfriend from England with the curly hair and the blue-green car that was parked out front sometimes. He walked Jordan out in the end, when his mother started getting defensive and hysterical. Walked him to the door to tell him, slurred, “you’re too young to lose people, J, but your mom will get better. I swear--” He just left. In that moment, he truly didn’t care.

Sean’s not slurring now. “It was a long time coming. It wasn't... We knew that eventually... She knew... Look, I can talk you through it all, if--”

“Nah,” he interrupts, standing and dusting something off himself. Off the backs of his thighs and the elbow that had pressed against the armrest. Rubs his palms awkwardly against his clothes, her blood on his hands. “Just had to ask,” he mutters, already heading for the door with the sound of the man standing up behind him.

Sean calls, “Stay awhile, J. Lemme make you a coffee.” But Jordan’s already at the door, calling “I’m good” over his shoulder as he turns the handle.

God knows what the fuck possesses him, but Sean shouts up again then, tells him from a couple paces back, “It ain’t your fault, Jordan!”

The windows rattle when he slams the door behind himself. Don’t even sound like real glass as they tremble against the panes. Some cheap plastic. He makes quick work of the steps, furious as he paces back to his car where the smell of more death, a different death, fills the space right from the driver's seat to the trunk where his belongings are crammed into the space that somebody else’s belongings once were.

That’s it, then. That’s everyone. His whole family, anyone that’s ever really come fucking close. That’s all of them. What’s funny is that Jordan knew she was dead, and he knew it wasn’t his fault and now... Now it’s all fucking flipped. She’s dead. How the fuck--

It’s not until Jordan reaches a red light, a couple yards from a church he only ever visited twice, that he realises how his chest burns, the air in his car full of smoke. Something else burns his eyes. Acidic, like vinegar, and he feels something crawling over his arms and a hand soothing through his hair and gold jewellery cutting into his skin and he smacks at the fingertips getting under his skin.

“Are you there?”

The light’s on green. There’s a car behind him, the driver punching the horn as Jordan sinks back into his seat, hands off the wheel, eyes on that church, Spencer on the line.

She’s dead. It’s not his fault. Damn fucking right it ain’t.

“Jordan. Are you okay?”

Jordan kicks back into gear, moving along the road again, taking a right into a big, gritted parking lot. He chokes as his car jolts to a stop, dust rising around the wheels, smoke rising inside. He opens his mouth to speak but something... A groan. A choked breath as he breaks through the surface.

She knew.

And what the fuck does that mean? That she’d been killing herself the whole time? Well, that’s not news. He fucking refuses to believe she was doing that shit outa sadness. She just didn’t know anything else. Nothing ever lived up to the euphoria of a hit, that’s all it was. No kid, no amount of money, no life. Nothing.

Curly left a note the first time. That’s what it means to know. It ain’t that his mother didn’t know, she just didn’t fucking care.

Curly always told him he was lonely. Always asked if he loved him. Never said sorry. Said I love you instead until it was time to write it down. I’m sorry. Jordan told him never again. Never, ever say those two words again after he had to read it on that paper. He never did. Not until it held the same weight again. His last letter after he stopped smiling knowingly when J visited him.

“Where are you? I’m coming. Who are you with right now? Let me just--”

He’s crying like a fucking baby, choking and snotting and spitting and heaving because he told himself she was dead. He knew she was dead. Thought he knew. Maybe it felt too fucking obvious to be true. Shit, he fucking hates her. He travelled miles to get the fuck away from her and she still managed to leave him one last fucking time.

Travelled fucking miles away and now she’s dead and he’s suddenly so alone that he feels it. It’s psychical, shrinking smaller and smaller, or maybe the world is bigger. Maybe just the state. “I’m alone,” he finally responds, raw and muffled against this forearms, hands tangled in the hair at the top of his head.

“Are you drunk? You’re scaring me.”

“I have to tell you something.”

There's shuffling over the line, Spencer muttering something, hand over the microphone before he’s back again. “Where are you? I’m coming. Tell me when I get--”

“L-listen.” He breathes through it, his heart heaving now that it’s only the size of a quarter, fingers numb as his hands shrink, his shrinking heart puling a pulse through his palms. “Listen to me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t-- Whatever it is, just wait. Okay? Wait.”

“I’m alone,” he tells him again through another sob and he swears his lungs must be no bigger than dimes. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Nothing. I’m getting into my car right now. Tell me where to go.”

There’s this whooshing sound, like waves or thunder or something. He doesn’t mean to bark at him like he does, torn open with fear or anger or something completely different. “You can’t fucking tell anyone!”

“Of course,” Spencer says before he even knows what he’s agreeing to, and his car growls to life. “I’m coming alone.” That’s not what he means. “It’s just me.”

“He killed himself,” he chokes, speaking into his hands, his face and palms wet. His nose is bleeding-- is his nose bleeding? Jordan checks his palms and they’re clean. Touches his nose. Clean.

There’s so much blood on his hands.

I love you. The words are scratched into the steering wheel. Only small and harder to see now the edges have smoothed out. Curly wasn’t on anything that night. He was tired and happy. Talking about the stars and his family and scratching nonsense into the wheel with an old pen that didn’t work anymore. Beneath it, in the glove compartment, all of his CDs are still there. I love you. J had scratched it into one of the many mixtapes long before Curly used the same pen on the car. I love y- and then Curls said it out loud before he got to the end of it.

In his letter after his dad died, when Jordan told him they weren’t moving to England, Curly wrote I’m sorry. I love you so much, I’m so sorry. And then almost two years passed before he wrote those words out again. I love you. I miss you so much I’m so sorry. His writing was slanted like it is on the dashboard. Shrinking like Jordan’s organs are now. By the time the letter got to him, he’d been mourning for days.

“I love you too. It’s okay, I-- Jordan, you’re freaking me the fuck out.” Spencer’s voice is muffled under his car engine and the growling thunder- water- whatever it is “Talk to me, please, or I’m calling the police. Do you hear me? I’ll call the police if you don’t--”

“My mom died.”

Something happens. His ears pop or the weather changes or he and the car and his hands and lungs and heart are life-sized again. The smoke in the air clears out and the hands tickling his skin are gone.

“Where are you?”

Jordan says, “Brockton. I’m just. I’m at the church.”

He doesn’t even know where his phone is, but Spencer’s voice says, “okay, I’ll-- I’ll call you back. I’ll be there.”

[yejiroh]

Hello! I love your Wake Up and See Me story! (not so secret slut for angst and character death) I'd like to request very angsty HCs for Obey me! charas x fem!reader who is still grieving for her family singing her mother's lullaby while spacing out somewhere public. The lullaby in question being Lullaby of Woe by Ashley Serena, The Hanging Tree from Hunger Games series or Come Little Children by Erutan. Wanna see their reactions so bad!!!

I- I really need to update that series. Thank you so much for the support of it anon!

And thank you for the request darling! I’m sorry it took so long, but the lullaby’s were beautiful! So yes, I decided to listen to them all and match them with who I think it’d get the best reaction from! I made a little scene as well before the reactions, so it may or may not be a bit of a long read.

Lullaby Reaction! Obey Me BROTHERS x Fem!MC (ANGST)

Couldn't add the Keep Reading link because Tumblr is a beeotch. Sorry not sorry to everyone because this is LONG!

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TRIGGER WARNING: death, loss of parents, toxicity, mentions of cannibalism, more death, child abuse, traumatic stress, mentions of suicide, nightmare factors, unintentional murder, loss of siblings, and as the anon requested, A SHIT TON OF ANGST!

Side note: I really really liked Lullaby of Woe...may consider making a series based on the lyrics. Who knows?

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This one is kind of long because I did get carried away, but I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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Lucifer, Mammon and Beezlebub: Come Little Children

As the cool Autumn breeze hit her face, MC took a sip from the hot cup between her clothed hands. Today would mark the 15th year since the orphanage- her orphanage, had burned down. All 23 children and her parents except she had burned to an ash- less than that truly. She, with her ill body and frail stature, she, with her poor value and level of importance, she, the one who had been trapped in the building longest of all.

Every time she had walked into the toy store around the corner, MC felt pulled towards the puzzle sets. Specifically, the 24 piece sets. MC was the 24th child. But she was also the first. Every day, she’d buy a set, just to lay it on their graves, sorry that she had been left behind. 

“Come little children, I’ll take thee away, into a land of enchantment…oh momma, I’m so sorry I let you all down...I’m sorry I played with the fire, I’m sorry.” A tear had poured down, slid to her dry lips as she desperately held them back.

“I’m sorry momma...papa...I’m sorry I didn’t listen...I’m sorry I killed you all…”

And, as she walked away from the tombstones, a heart that was not hers broke.

{Reactions}

LUCIFER:

1.Never before had Lucifer been so...disturbed.

2.The song was stunning, and that was true….but somehow he could relate

3.He would definitely stay on the down low for a while, his pride showing when he has to come up with lies as to why he wasn’t talking to you

4.Okay, flashbacks for weeks. He was genuinely affected by the song.

5.In the end, he needs more comfort than you once he finally kicks pride out the window and sheds tears in front of you.

6.“I’m sorry, MC…”

MAMMON:

1.Okay...he wasn’t the best at spying on you-but he was worried! Your behavior was odd since last Sunday...actually, every Sunday.

2.He ran out to you, crying hard as he tackled you, saying how sorry he was for digging into your personal life. 

3.The demon was holding fistfulls of little puzzle pieces, candy, and notes, claiming they were from the souls of the children, who wished you the best in life and to move on.

4.He, the avatar of greed, had done something of huge charitable value for these children as he held you close

5.Yes, he got flashbacks….but decided not to dwell on them, more so trying to comfort you.

6.“Stupid human...you can come to me always, ya know that?”

BEEZLEBUB:

1.Beezlebub doesn’t always show his feelings, sure. But he does, forever and always, come for those he cares about. 

2.It’s like a magnetic pull as you cry. He’s there, wiping the large tear threatening to spill with his thumb, licking it off before wiping his hand off. 

3.A kind smile with eyes pain ridden as his big hands engulf your own, for he too, had a tragic past and lost someone he considered blood.

4.“It’s okay, MC. They’re right here, and always will be. Please don’t cry.” He says as he points to your heart, right by your breast, but with no sexual intent. Only comfort. 

5.“Come on, big girl, don’t cry, I’m here.” He says, holding you close and running his fingers through your hair with the gentlest of touches.

6. No one can harm you in your vulnerable state as the Avatar of Gluttony protects you.

Satan and Asmodeus: The Hanging Tree

It was in class- herbology. The lesson was on wisteria trees when MC bordly began to hum a tune.

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree? They strung up a man, they say who murdered three. Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight, in the hanging tree.” 

“Miss L/n quiet down! I’m trying to teach!” The professor had called out, but MC was lost as tears began to bubble up. She continued her little song quietly as her desk mates huffed in annoyance. She’d done this every day of the week, only to end up crying. Nobody knew what was wrong with her, nor did they get a word out of her. Not until Amso took MC and Satan out for a spa treatment.

Filing her nails, Asmo blew off the dust, his brows furrowed.

“Say, MC?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is it you sing that depressing song every time someone brings up wisteria trees?”

Now Satan looked up, lifting a cucumber off his eye, his curiosity sparked. MC looked away, pulling her hand away from Asmo’s as she pulled her knees to her chest, a deep sigh escaping her lips. Asmo quickly waved his hands in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, sorry MC! I didn’t know it was a touchy subject-”

Satan interrupted. “Care to share?”

“Satan!”

“No, no, Asmo- it’s okay. It’s...it’s just not something I really talk about.” MC said, finishing off with a whisper. 

The two leaned in, eyes big and expectant when MC looked to them.

“You know, my father passed away when I was really young. It was a selfish reason, really- to put it into his own words, it was, “To escape the responsibility of life.” , but that wasn’t the case.” MC  raised her pant leg, revealing all the burn marks and scars covering the skin. 

“It was really to escape the guilt of hurting me.”

The brothers went quiet for a moment before Satan put a hand up.

“So what does that have to do with that song you were singing?”

MC smiled bitterly. “Because he was the man in The Hanging Tree my mother always sang to me.”

“So what happened to your mother?”

“She too, joined him in death…and left me alone.”

{Reactions}

SATAN: 

1.He was at a loss for words, to say the least.

2.Never, in the demon’s countless millennia had he come across such a pitiful soul

3.Taking a bite of the cucumber before tossing it aside, he took the other off, tracing his fingers across the burns that resembled his rage: Ugly, loved, and traumatizing

4.As the room was quiet, he just felt intrigued to know more, had to know more. 

5.“You’re very strong, MC.”

6.The Hanging Tree did not leave his mind for quite some time as he tried to figure out the mystery MC had unknowingly left implanted in his brain.

ASMODEUS:

1.He has never ruined his makeup by crying in front of somewhere. Never ever.

2.But he sure as hell came close to it. 

3.Asmo had nothing to say but grab MC’s hands and kiss them softly over and over again before continuing the manicure he had initially started.

4.A mental note to take MC’s mind off other things so as not to give her wrinkles from stress or depression. 

Leviathan and Belphegor: Lullaby of Woe

She never had a peaceful night's rest. The dreams always came back to haunt her.Each night, she’d live through it, again, and again, and again. Oh, how the false man in white would come to her, a mischievous grin on his handsome face before cutting into her mind, showing her the deaths at her fault. Her mother, kind and beautiful, always coming in to protect her, reassure her that it wasn’t real, that she was seeing things. 

“Momma, please! I’m scared! I don’t wanna see him again momma!” A little girl wailed, holding onto her mother’s waist, legs wrapped around in a firm hold, hands bundled in her clothes.

“My darling, please just sleep~ I’ll always be here love. Always.”

And always she was, for her remains laid in that rotting home to this day, not yet known. Still, no one would believe the late Mrs. L/n’s daughter.

MC shuffled more in her sleep before finally waking up, eyes puffy from the unconscious crying. Slowly she got up, getting ready for the school day as she washed her face, prepared, and left the room. 

“Good morning.” Each of the brothers would greet her, to which she’d return a small nod. There was nothing to talk about. Not when these nightmares haunted her so.

A little girl sat by her mother’s corpse, a man beside her.

Drink, child. Feast in the blood of a sinner.

“...But….but mother wasn’t a sinner…”

“Ignorant child. You are but a bastard, for she was never married. Drink and cleanse yourself of the blood of a sinner. Repent and be saved.”

Truly, the false man in white was but a liar, wanting nothing more than a child’s innocence and fortune as he toyed with her. 

Lost in her own fantasies, she began to sing, the tall Jubokko tree towering beneath her with the damned’s skulls by her feat. 

“For the witcher, heartless, cold...Paid in coin of gold, He comes he’ll go leave naught behind, but heartache and woe…”

“Deep, deep woe, for the witcher, heartless, cold, Paid in coin of gold, he comes…”

MC’s voice broke into it, pathetic cracks of the voice clear but quiet as she stopped.

A small applause was heard behind her; Belphie and Levi had seen and listened patiently, attentive and concerned.

The Avatar of Sloth put his arms down, kicking a skull as he sat down.

“That was a beautiful song, MC. What has made you so upset?”

Levi too, had sat down, his eyes no longer focused on the forgotten D.D.D.

MC just smiled sheepishly, sitting down with the boys as she tucked back a loose strand away. 

“It was nothing important. A story for another time.”

{Reactions}

BELPHEGOR:

1.Girl, honey, darling. You're lying. It’s okay! You can trust him!

2.If MC doesn’t end up telling him, then he can just slip into the dreams (I think?)

3.Honestly worried for you. He’s the Avatar of Sleep- he KNOWS you’ve been disturbed lately, and more so than others.

4.Can you imagine the pure look of hatred once he finds out about this man?

5.And ew, you drank your mother’s blood? 

6.But that’s cannibalism, which is a major sin so…

7.I guess you really can stay with him forever!

8.Honestly, he’s like a flame; burns as long as there’s fuel, then will move on to another topic.

LEVIATHAN:

1.So yeah. He didn’t really say anything.

2.But he was listening. 

3.Didn’t make an anime reference once because nothing he’s ever knew of had been that horrifying. 

4. Didn’t wanna make you feel shy about it, but kind of hints about it later on. 

5.No, he doesn’t care about the man, because as you sat down on the skull ridden dirt, you just seemed so...peaceful