#i never told you already sounds like a mental breakdown in song form so that's good | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stuckybarton · 3 years ago

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Manifestation of Happy Endings

SUMMARY: "Everyone deserves a happy ending, even you." CHARACTERS: Stephen Strange x Reader; Wong. Cloakie [Cloak of Levitation], Wong. Asshole Tony Stark. WARNINGS: Slight Angst. Brief Description of A Kiss. Toxic Way of Moving on from An Ex(for Tony, not the reader) WORDS: 2,704 MASTERLIST || Join the Taglist

Part 4 STREETLIGHT

One of the things Stephen Strange had never thought he would ever have in his life again was a woman he loved--loving so much that he was willing to endure what he was in this very moment.

Nothing scared him more than having to think of the perfect way to propose to his girlfriend. Nothing scared him shitless than the idea of you rejecting his proposal and the crack begins to form in your stable relationship.

You were doing alright, for the past few months since you started dating Stephen--or at least that was what Stephen had gotten out of Wong whenever the two of you would be deep in conversation in either the library or the kitchen.

With his responsibility as the Sorcerer Supreme and helping saving the Universe on a daily basis, he never had a perfect opportunity to propose. And when he did found the momentary courage, you would be pulled into a book tour all around the country, leaving him to device a plan with Wong on how to actually propose.

"Maybe a candlelit dinner?" Wong had offered, attention still focused on the new book you had given him--the very reason as to why you were gone for well over a month now.

"Too predictable." Stephen snorted.

Candlelit dinner was already a common occurrence between the two of you, with the rare free time, you'd often find yourself just making a hearty meal for the two of you while Stephen was in charge of setting the mood in the dinner table. It was better than heading to a restaurant, getting recognized, and having to deal with the news still circulating about you and your separation from Tony Stark all those months ago.

"Then do something you won't usually do." Wong continued on turning the page to your book.

You loved going on walks. Even with the daily chaos of New York Streets could offer, you always loved being able to go outside, look around and get as much inspiration as you could for any upcoming books you were writing. Outside to some fresh air and sunlight you often tease Stephen of not having enough of because of his duties.

Maybe taking you out on a hike somewhere could be good. A good change of pace, then he could find a perfect spot to just bend on one knee and asked you to be his wife. Easier said than done when he comes to think more through with the plan. He doesn't know any good hiking trails in New York and it looked more taxing for either of you.

"She says she always wanted to go on road trips across the country." Wong finally made a suggestion. "Why don't the two of you drive to Vegas or something else hedonistic for once."

The suggestion doesn't sound too bad. You did enjoy car rides, Stephen had come to realize. Since his accident years ago, he tried his best to avoid car rides, mostly not needing to since he could create portals to travel to different location his mind can conjure. The first time he had actually enjoyed being inside a car that wasn't his own was with you, as you two made your way to lunch.

He could still remember the way you would allow him to pick the song for the quick ride and how you would jam to whatever was on the radio. It brought a smile on his face now, remembering the patience of a saint you had whenever he would act like a backseat driver if you turn into a different route.

A thirty hour drive would be a nightmare for him, but if he had you, it doesn't sound as bad.

Before he could conjure up the plan, the simple ding of his phone brought his attention away from his plan. A text from you, from a phone you had hesitantly brought under your agent and manager's insistence. It also meant Stephen had more use of his own and Wong somehow found himself with one as well thanks to you--not wanting him to be left out.

Stark is here. I don't know what to do.

"I'll be right back." Stephen told his friend before conjuring a portal with his sling ring to bring him to California where you were currently having your Open forum.

In an audience capacity of a thousand, Alex Theatre was full pack. But among the faces in the crowd. A handful had stood out the most. Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, and one Peter Parker. It was hell and sending Stephen a quick text about it was the only solution you could think of at the moment.

You were to be talking to the audience for a good hour and a half and be open for a few questions, but just the fact that the people you wanted nothing to do with anymore was in the room had you scared.

You no longer had the feelings you once had for Tony, but you were simply scared of the repercussions that would come with Stephen knowing about it.

You knew that Stephen would try confronting Tony, but that would complicate the situation more than it should. Knowing you refused to let any of them know your whereabouts or the fact that you were closer than any of them had actually thought you would be.

"Y/N?"

At the familiar voice of your boyfriend, you were momentarily felt at ease as you tried your best to calm down and stop the possible mental breakdown you were having knowing your ex was in the building. The backstage looked smaller than it really was.

Wrapped in his arms, the fear was placed at ease. You rested your cheeks on his chest, arms sliding around his waist as he pulled you closer to him. Hands cradling the back of your head.

"You okay?" He asked.

You didn't respond, instead pulling him closer to you. Fearing that if you let him go now the man would make his way to the audience and talk some sense to Tony.

"I'm nervous about this, even if he wasn't here." You muttered.

This was the first tour you had done in years. Having lost inspiration in writing because of the stagnation in your relationship, you were still worried about what the world would react to your new book, how they would think of you now that you were no longer the woman constantly attached to Tony Stark's side in public events.

As much as your team had constantly hyped you up, with colorful reviews on your latest book, it was still different from the last one you had done, the difference was caused by this man in front of you, holding you into him like you were made of fine porcelain.

It was difference you always needed in your life, but you fear the reception of it wouldn't be well received by your supporters and your fanbase.

"Let's drive to Vegas after your tour." Stephen's suggestion had surprised you.

You were expecting his usual dry humor, but you were welcomed with something entirely different from the man. Driving across country was something you always wanted to experience, but knowing Stephen's accident, you never suggested the activity.

"I'm driving." You were quick to volunteer.

"I expecting nothing less." He smirked looking down at you. For a moment, you couldn't help but just look down at him. How his blue eyes could look at you like they did, adoration and love. "Want to get married in Vegas?" He offered.

The last question had you shoving him away and glaring at him. The hell was he talking about.

"That's not funny, Strange." You warned.

"It's not a joke." Stephen assured with a smile.

And just like that, the man had fallen to this knees in front of you. The people backstage were witnessing and squealing on your behalf as you stood stock still in front of the man.

"I was planning on proposing on our drive to Vegas, but now is a good time as any to do so. Y/N Y/L/N, you had turned my world upside down the moment you fall face first in the café all those months ago, how you had repaid me with coffee and a deli sandwich when it was my cloak that saved you. How you made the sanctum a home, how you became a part of the team in your own special way. I love you and I wish to be able to spend the rest of my days with you. "

You were left dumbfounded and before you could do anything, you fell to your knees in front of the man even before he could ask you the question, you had said yes. Over and over you had accepted his proposal even without hearing the question. You were happy with Stephen, more than you had ever thought you would ever be since.

"Yes. A million times yes." You muttered wrapping your arms around him and kissing him square on the lips. After a moment of clapping from the people backstage, the momentary embarrassment had settled you but Stephen was quick to make the situation better. Standing the two of you back up to your feet, he had finally opened the velvet box to a sight that took your breath away.

A vintage, emerald cut diamond ring. Plucking the ring with his shaky hand he had slid it onto your ring finger before kissing your hand. An affection you were so used to seeing from Stephen at the privacy of the sanctum or your apartment.

"I can't be like Tony and give you the world, but I'll be me and give you my life and the time I left when I'm not saving the world to you."

You smiled at his promise. It was reasonable, a part of him that you will never make him choose between. Knowing he was going to be making an effort was enough for you as you nodded and kissed him once again before you were finally announced to head out.

"I'll be waiting here, break a leg!" Stephen smiled breathless as you finally stepped out to the crowd, a quick round of applause had sounded as you made your way to the podium. Hugging the MC for the event before turning to face everyone, including the likes of Tony Stark in the crowd.

"Sounds like something important happened backstage." The MC smiled knowing how he had to drag the introductions longer than needed because of what Stephen had done.

"My boyfriend proposed to me." You beamed showcasing the ring that now wrapped around your finger to the crowd.

"Congratulations. Who's the lucky guy?" The MC inquired and for a moment your eyes turned towards Tony, and for once you finally saw something you had never thought you'd see in his eyes. Regret. It wasn't satisfaction that you felt, more like this closure you never thought you could have left after all was said and done with him.

"He's a private guy. But I'm happy, the happiest I had ever been in my life." You responded before turning your eyes back towards the curtains where you saw Stephen was watching, a beaming smile was on his face. "He's actually watching backstage," you turned back to the crowd. "So if by any chance I stop mid sentence throughout, it's still the adrenaline from his proposal manifesting, so blame him okay?" You teased earning a laugh from the crowd.

"So I don't need to ask it then, who is your muse for your new book?"

You blushed hesitantly turning to Stephen as the humor lingered on his features. It was an open secret that he was but it's weird having to say it with him in attendance. Easier when he was miles away from you.

"If you're happy, you become inspired." You shrugged hoping that is enough explanation for it. "And from the reviews I've gotten since the book's launch, everyone could see that." You beamed.

"So before we get started in the plotline and the theme of the story, can you tell us about the process of this book from your head to the printing press?"

You cleared your throat knowing that this question would be coming. It wasn't long before you needed to address it and knowing now would be the best time to do so before you finally close the chapter in your life for good.

"I've been in a slump for over a year and a half, my agent and my editors couldn't bring me into writing anything substantial, I blame myself and what my previous relationship had done to me." You spoke honestly, eyes momentarily focusing towards Tony before lingering back to the listening crowd. "It's one thing to be in a relationship filled with arguments and resentment; it was another when you're the only one trying in the relationship that everything else in your life seems--meaningless."

You could still remember the life you had wasted for the years of being with your ex. How you had loved finally gaining your independence and being able to be happy again without needing to think about him and his well being most of the time.

"I found myself out of that environment and found myself in a much different one. I met this man in the café, saved before I face planted onto the floor in front of the bustling crowd. And the rest as they say is history." You added. "Because of this said man, I've found myself writing more than I thought I'd actually do since moving on from my ex. I'd be in his library for hours on until I could see the moonlight glowing below the two of us. And I just found myself writing a love story instead of a story about moving on."

You somehow found yourself chuckling at the last bit as you had come to realize something about your relationship with Stephen.

"I'm actually going to marry my rebound." You had announced somehow far too proudly earning a laugh from the crowd in the process. "So ladies and gentlemen, if you think the most serious relationship you have right now had failed, there is always someone out there meant for you. You just need to get out of your comfort zone."

"You two look ridiculous." Wong was quick to point out as the beaming smile on both of your faces lingered.

An hours previously, you had been officially married to Dr. Stephen Vincent Strange. Wearing the same dress you had on during your talk and only now adorned in a small veil you've purchased in the Vegas strip as you and Stephen had looked for a semi-decent individual to officiate your wedding.

You made it evident that Wong should also be joining, not just as a witness but as part of the family. The man had been there throughout the start of your relationship and it was only fitting to have him in this new chapter as well. Married and whatever the universe would throw the two of them from this day forward.

"We can always go to a strip club to celebrate." Stephen had teased, arm wrapped around your shoulder as the three of you had walked around the strip, caring less at this point if anyone would recognize any of you.

You smiled agreeing playful just to see Wong stutter and try his best to change the subject.

"We promise that the bigger wedding would be more tame than this." You had assured your friend. "And Stephen will make you his Best man." You had pointed out to your--husband.

The word felt still as foreign in your tongue but a welcome change it seems. Holding onto Stephen's free hand, the rings you've picked from the nearby jewelry store was perfect in it's own special way. The streetlight glowing all throughout made the rings sparkle and the smile on your face growing bigger than ever.

"Why do I think he will go more bridezilla than you?" Wong teased earning a glare from Stephen but the lack of a genuine retort made it evident between the three of you how right Wong's word were.

#Stephen Strange Series #stephen strange imagine #Stephen Strange x reader #Stephen Strange Imagines #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #Manifestation of A Happy Ending Series #Stephen Strange Angst #Stephen Strange Fluff

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yanderart · 4 years ago

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Took me longer since the “drabble” that was supposed to accompany this turned into a kind of extensive one-shot, but here’s the next installment in the Yandere POV series. Inspired by a juicy request from some thoughtful anons!

Below the cut is, as customary, a fic I wrote exploring the underlying themes of the portrait (creepy best friend tamaki x reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).

TWs: usual yandere content (delusion, obsession, deceit, etc), explicit noncon, violence, Tamaki making the frienzone his bitch. Generous implementations of the pet name “bunny”.

If you had known the chain of events that would spiral from telling Tamaki about your new relationship… well, perhaps you would’ve stayed quiet. It wasn’t like it was that serious yet either, but you had an inkling (“I really like this one, Tamaki”) that made it worthwhile enough to mention in your book. Remarkable enough to share with your very best friend.

Besides, in your defence, you really had no way of knowing just what hid behind his agitated reaction. Nerves stretched thin, voice terse as he congratulated you with a smile that appeared a little too bright, a little too strained. With someone like Tamaki, it was easy to go chalk it all up to his anxiety, stress or an unfortunate mix of both.

So easy to underestimate him, wasn’t it?

Nevertheless, there were no uses for any what ifs in your future, speculations and paranoia not even close to creeping up on you yet. So almost a week after your reveal, when you got a call from Tamaki himself, you didn’t even hesitate as you picked it up in the last few dredges of your work shift.

“Need something?” you answered distractedly as your fingers continued typing on your keyboard, sorting out the last few remnants of some menial task.

The prolonged silence however, only brokered by a subtle sound you identified as actual sniffling, was your only response. Your hands stopped mid movements then, brows furrowed with worry.

“What’s happening, dear?”

This time your voice was as calming as you could compel it to be, your tone trying to imbed reassurance into every syllable, “Tamaki?”

You heard what sounded like a whine, a strangled sound that conjured up an image of tears trailing down his cheeks, bottom lip quivering in a sorrowful grimace.

Calling him dear despite having a boyfriend now, it was like you were taunting him.

“Bunny,” Tamaki’s voice was shaking as he called you by your old nickname, sobs making it hard to understand anything but how panicked his intonation was. “I-I need you.”

Thinking your pro-hero friend was having another budding panic attack, or perhaps on the brink of a new stress induced mental breakdown, you were on your feet before he even stopped speaking. The protective side of your brain had overridden any apprehension to leave your post, your hands already reaching to turn off your work computer before you wordlessly left your desk.

You were working overtime, anyways, and any consequences that came out of going to your friend’s aid were well worth facing in your book. And by that point too, you knew enough of all of their schedules to know yours would be the easiest to clear. Mirio and Nejire had their own heroics to worry about, while you only had an unremarkable office job to account for.

Not like he’d want Mirio or Nejire there, though. Not like he would ever call for them when he had you.

“I’ll be right there, Tamaki. Please stay put,” was the last thing you told him before hanging up and rushing to get your coat.

The urgency in his timbre, the utter need, was all you could think of as you left your building in quickened strides.

And by the way you were rushing, it was clear that you actually cared for him, your very best friend. All you needed was a gentle reminder of just how much.

You got to Tamaki’s apartment in a matter of minutes, letting your cab driver keep the change as you stumbled up the stairs in urgent skips. It wasn’t the first time he asked you to be there for him (asked you without actually saying it, because he would never dare utter the words), yet you knew enough of the turmoil he went through on a daily basis. A pro-hero he might be, but his anxiety was his eternally undefeated foe.

Although was it really that bad if it kept bringing you two together?

Opening the door into a room enveloped by shadows, you dropped your things without a care before attempting to make your way into the living room.

Barely a heartbeat later, an audible hitch in someone’s breathing alerted you quickly of your friend’s location.

“Y/N?” his voice sounded hoarse and choked up as he called for you. And it felt like a fist was squeezing your heart, the same that had been consistently gripping your chest ever since you first picked up the phone in your office.

“I’m here, dear.“ You comforted him while redirecting your steps to the sound of his trembling voice.

Despite the darkness, your eyes were acclimatized enough to distinguish the silhouette of his body hunched over the only sofa in the room. Even without getting a glimpse at his face, you could sense defeat and pessimism oozing off of him in waves. As you got closer, however, he made no movements of retreat, nor flinched away when you sat beside him.

Instead, it was like his body started to release all of his pent-up tension as a response to your proximity.

You were there and it was like he could finally breathe. You were there for him, right where you were meant to be.

One of your palms was reaching out and drawing quick circles across his back, the thin fabric of his t-shirt bunching up while your voice hummed what you hoped was a tranquilizing melody. With the other one, you clasped one of Tamaki’s own vacant hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, almost as if you were willing the worries to leave his body, a piper’s songs coaxing them out in the form of your enticing presence.

By that point, you knew enough about his episodes to know physical contact and reassurance were the fastest ways to get him to come back up from his lowest of lows. So it was no wonder, then, when your reward came quickly in the form of a content sigh leaving his lips, anguish still visible in his posture but his body clearly leaning into the solace you offered.

The balm you provided had always been intoxicating for him.

“I… I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he stuttered through distressed hiccups. He looked so fragile like that, so much like a kicked puppy, that you instinctually wrapped your arm around his waist and hugged him closer to your side.

“Oh, Tamaki…,” you shushed with a note of guilt, preoccupied with the fact that he would ever think you’d leave him hanging, “why would you even say that?”

You could feel his shoulders stiffen in your embrace, his hand tightening around yours for a moment before going limp in your grip. His lack of an answer stung even more.

It was ridiculous truly, to feel so protective over a man who was a pro-hero and clearly several times your strength. Even hugging him like you were, his lanky silhouette overshadowed yours in an almost comical portrayal of your height difference.

But he was your dearest friend —taking care of him came as second nature.

He adored you for it.

“You know I could never ignore you when you need me,” you whispered as your thumb drew patterns on the hand you were holding, soft insignificant drawings that to him felt like ancient secrets being exchanged. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

It was always like this with you two. Tamaki stayed quiet while you rambled on in his ear, trying to scatter any doubts or anxious thoughts still clouding his mind. At first you had thought it’d be annoying for him, overbearing in the worst of senses, but he had quickly insisted that you always knew just what to do to calm him down. You were his best friend, the one person besides Mirio and Nejire who just got him, who truly understood…

So it only made you feel guiltier, to think that you wouldn’t be able to help him this one time. He was a hero who saved countless lives, someone whose time was worth more than you could ever hope to achieve as a meager civilian. And yet you couldn’t even comfort him as a friend?

But it wasn’t your fault. You just needed to unlearn your behaviour. And if he truly was your best friend, didn’t you want him to feel loved too?

Which was precisely when an idea came to you, an epiphany from above in the form of a vivid memory of the last time you two met up, of the news that had seemingly left Tamaki acting oddly sour.

“You didn’t think I’d just forget about you because I have a boyfriend now, did you?,” you joked good-naturedly.

Only instead of having the comforting effect you’d hoped, your comment resulted in your friend stiffening even more, his face finally snapping to look at you with hurt written all across his features. The strength was back in the manner in which he was now seizing your hand, clasping it until you started to feel the blood circulation being slowly cut off.

“Isn’t that how it works, though?” His question was fretful on his tongue, barely above a whisper and with the slightest hint of resentment. His eyes were impossibly wide, impossibly alert as he studied your reaction, “Isn’t your boyfriend supposed to be your priority? The person you care for the most?”

But even with the switch in his behaviour and the worrisome path his words were taking, you were still too preoccupied by him to heed any of it. It was just Tamaki over analyzing things, as always, and his anxiety popping in to get the better of him.

“Human relationships don’t work like that, dear.” And there the fucking nickname was again, that jest of a loving pet name on your lips. “It’s not a hierarchical structure. I care about both of you in different ways.”

It felt silly to explain it out loud, to say such an obvious thing, but you couldn’t help wanting to appease some of the conflict eating away at your friend. Did he really think you’d ever drop him for anyone else? You had known Tamaki for years now, cared for him for what felt like a lifetime. The thought alone seemed completely ludicrous to you…

Even as his touch started hurting, as you felt a stern pressure that would surely become a bruise on your wrist, all you could think of was that this was just Tamaki being Tamaki, right? And you just needed to calm him down, like you always did.

He saw the misery on your gorgeous face, the blossoming pain colouring your expression despite your attempts at hiding it. For once, he wasn’t the only one hurting anymore, and he oddly enjoyed that.

“You’re saying that, but why… why can’t I believe you?” It sounded like he was conflicted, tone frantic as he attempted to wrestle down whatever doubts were increasingly plaguing his mind. He tugged at your wrist with a clenched fist, stealing a whimper out of you while his face got closer and closer, “Uh, I bet he doesn’t give you as much trouble either. Bet he takes care of you.”

I bet you love him was left unsaid. I bet you love him like I wish you loved me.

You attempted to push him off with your free hand at that point, discomfort quickly growing into annoyance despite your best intentions of being understanding. You were still under the impression that this was just a moment of clouded thoughts on his part, something bound to pass as he regained a grip of his senses. But the nerves flaring from the strength of his hold were impossible to ignore.

“Tamaki, let me go first,” you commanded in a carefully composed manner, still attempting not to sound as harsh as you would’ve if this was anyone but your anxiety ridden best friend, “and then we can talk about why you’re feeling like that.”

Yet his reaction was abrasive once more, twisting your arm by the wrist harshly until your entire body was collapsing into his.

“Don’t be like that. Don’t lie to me and tell me everything will be okay,” he was agitated, jittery and unstable in the way his eyes kept darting around. “All of this time I’ve been waiting… waiting to gather the courage…” He was making little sense now, just mumbling while he kept cradled your pained hand between his, a darkened gaze fluttering from your own eyes, to your lips and lastly some obscure point in the wall behind you. “And then you couldn’t wait for me anymore. And now you don’t need me.”

It was hard to think through the mist of your budding worry and the agony still emanating from your wrist. Somehow, your other arm had stopped fruitlessly hitting him and was instead just trying to keep him at a distance, your neck cramping from how far back you were trying to get yourself.

He was impossibly close, intense and expectant as his stare once again found its way to yours. You could still see the doubts twisting there, but it was rapidly becoming eclipsed by a new creeping resolution. Even while you continued silently fighting to escape his grip, as terror encased you and you tried to understand why your best friend was acting like that all of a sudden.

After that night, would you perhaps think a villain’s quirk was to blame? Or maybe you’d think one of his enemies had decided to impersonate him in a twisted bid for revenge? Surely you couldn’t accept what the reality was, the fact that his love for you was just that blinding.

Don’t worry, though, he’d make you understand.

Tamaki’s voice was feverish once he broke through the silence again, a new type of determination steadying his usual stutter in a way you’d never heard before.

“But I’ll fix that,” and then he was cupping your face with his free hand, your numb one still clutched tightly in his lap while his attention was diverted to your worried expression. “And then you will need me just as much as I need you. Then…“

And there was a pregnant pause before he continued, a space of time where his stare bore into yours full of hidden meaning, “We can go back to being best friends again.”

Somehow though, on his tongue the term best friends sounded suspiciously like something else entirely.

“Tamaki, listen…,” you tried again, refusing to quit still, before being interrupted by a terrifying sequence of actions unravelling.

Because he was tugging your wrist down again after that, but this time twisting and twisting until your entire field of vision filled with the aftermath of an unbearable pain. A snapping sound echoed in your ears, a scream clawing its way out of your throat before you had a notion of what was even happening —Tearing through the rest of your composure, probably hurting his ears just as much as it left your vocal cords feeling raw. By that point, the hand that was previously pushing at his chest with firmness had turned frenzied, clamped fists now carrying the weight of urgency.

Tamaki looked halfway surprised at his own actions, halfway scared. Halfway excited, too.

Following a pattern of behaviour which did little to deter the horror rapidly embracing you, your so-called friend inhaled thickly before, suddenly and without warning, capturing your lips in a kiss. Your eyes were opened wide as you felt the pressure of his mouth claiming yours, taking advantage of your numb state to persuade you into opening up and allowing an even more intimate intrusion.

It has to be a nightmare, you thought in shock as his hands fluttered against your cheeks, sliding down to your neck and massaging your shoulders. It was like he couldn’t decide whether to stay still, where to touch or caress as his lips openly devoured you.

He waited so long for this, an eternity of yearning for someone right at his side.

“T-Tamaki,”i, you willed yourself into speaking up once he broke away from you, gasping for air and with his hair looking as wild as his gaze, “I don’t know what happened but… you’re not being yourself.”

Were you seriously still trying to deny his feelings? Trying to pretend like it hadn’t taken everything in him to finally gather his courage and just act. What a fucking friend you were.

If he didn’t love you so much, he’d hate you for that.

“You need help. Something happened”, you were rambling, too intimidated by the intent with which your friend was now listening to your words. “Once you’re feeling better, we can talk. I… I’ll promise to be understanding.”

And despite the throbbing sensation in your injured hand, despite the disgust at his actions and unadulterated horror, the worst part was that you really meant it…

But who were you really trying to convince at that point?

His hands were still on your shoulders, but the way they squeezed around your flesh reminded you of the talons you had seen him grow with his quirk, sharp nails sinking without a warning and driving more half-hearted cries out of your throat. You looked like a mess now, lips still plump from the force of his kiss, mixed spit clinging to your face from it, fat tears freely cascading down your cheeks.

“But… Y/N,” his voice was oddly soft when he addressed you again. There was a timid smile back on his face, one that reminded you of the friend you refused to believe no longer existed, and you briefly wondered if you had finally gotten through to him despite the unflinching strength of his grip, “I’ve never felt better.”

He genuinely sounded so relieved too, so content with the dark implications behind his words, that you felt the blood become icy currents in your veins, liquid fear being pumped instead in its place. Before you even realized your course of actions, you were leaning your head to the side and biting down on one of his arms with everything you had.

Tamaki was the one groaning then, retreating his hands instinctively and giving you the spare second you needed before you were jumping from the sofa and diving for the door.

It’s unlocked, was all you could think about as you leapt to the exit. You could get away if you just managed to cross it, run until your legs gave up on you. You could go to your boyfriend’s place and wait there until you had enough courage to reach out to the police, to a hero —to anyone who could help you. Things could still be fixed.

And maybe, just maybe, the silliest part of you added, whatever was clouding your best friend’s senses would magically be gone once you had gotten away from his grasp.

You never knew how to quit, truly. But it was okay, he liked that about you too.

A suffocated cry was all the sound you could make as you were fiercely shoved to the floor, your face smashing against the carpet and your nose making a horrifying sound before your entire head felt like it was on fire. The white-hot pain was all you could think of, the dam lifting entirely from your eyes as tears trickled down your cheeks in copious amounts.

“D-don’t make me hurt y-you,” Tamaki didn’t sound at all winded, but anxious, pained himself from the wounds he had to inflict on you, “I want to make you feel good, not like… like this.”

Which only made it more fucked up when, once you started fighting again, you felt the unmistakable pressure of a growing erection pushing against your lower back. As pained as you were, you willed yourself to keep struggling after that, trying fruitlessly to get away or somehow kick him, bite him, do anything in your power.

In all honesty, it only made him get more excited. He really was a sick, sick man. But only for you.

“Stop, Y/N,” Tamaki pleaded in hushed whispers, his hands shaking as he tried to comb your hair out of the way. There was blood pooling around your face, flowing freely from the place your nose had smashed into the floor. You could barely breathe through it, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you attempted to otherwise fill your lungs through panicked gasps, "If you… if you stop, I’ll stop too.”

It was easy to recognize the lie as soon as it was uttered, a poor excuse for deceit as his hips stuttered into yours almost of their own volition. You heard him curse then, right as you both noticed that all your wrestling did was just press yourself harder against his arousal.

However, before you could voice your growing terror, one of his hands was suddenly on your back, drawing circles in a mocking imitation of how you had tried comforting him earlier. The sickness in the pit of your stomach at that gesture, that feeble attempt at consolation, was all you could think about as the tears of impotence continued furiously trickling down your cheek.

You were disgusted, not only at the monster humping you as he continued mumbling poor excuses and null reassurances, but also sick at yourself for willingly going there to attempt to help him in the first place. You couldn’t believe part of you still stuttered to call him your friend moments ago, yet, even through your disgust, you’d also be lying if you didn’t admit how hard it was reconciling your aggressor with the soft spoken boy you had grown to foolishly treasure.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” his voice tickled one of your ears as he allowed himself to continue resting more and more of his weight on you, almost suffocating you under the pressure. He wasn’t even pretending like his hands weren’t wandering now, palms still mockingly gentle in their nervousness, but stopping his poor attempts at consolation long enough to grip your shirt and lift it up. “I don’t even remember what it felt like not to want you.”

You wished you could scream again, but breathing was already such a laborious task between your fractured nose and Tamaki’s hold. When you refused to turn on your back after he gently nudged you, his hands just closed tighter around your top and tore it apart from your body, leaving you shivering —not due to the cold but due to a fear and impotence that trumped any temperature.

Then, because he couldn’t even leave you to suffer in peace, you felt the torn fabric of your shirt being pressed against the side of your face, prodding you with a meekness that felt completely out of place as the cloth started to soak in the blood gathering around you.

“Press it against your nose, so it stops the bleeding.” He continued softly tapping it against your cheek until your unharmed hand went to roughly retrieve it out of his and do as he preached.

You could’ve told him nosebleeds didn’t exactly work like that when you had a busted nose, that just pressing a piece of cloth wasn’t going to help your case much (or that his kindness was void, when he was the reason you why were bleeding in the first place), but all of that implied talking, and right now all you wanted to do was shut up, pass out, dissociate. Whatever it took to ignore his fingers now drifting to the hem of your pants.

Yet he just wanted to take care of you. So why wouldn’t you let him? You were making it so difficult, when all Tamaki only ever wanted was to make you feel loved. Loved by him.

“You… hmm, you aren’t going to trust me right now,” it appeared like he was fidgeting with the waistband of your work pants as he drew out the admission, the thrumming in his voice sheepish and uncertain. It reminded you of how he would sound like when he attempted to talk to strangers, forcing himself into being pro-hero levels of courageous just so he could exchange a few words, “But that’s okay, Y/N, because you’ll understand.” One of his hands ghosted the plush curve of your ass, so lightly that you could’ve thought you imagined it in any other situation, “And when you do, you… you can break up with your boyfriend then. Things can go back to how they were. To just us.”

The image of your partner crowded your thoughts then, his kind smile being conjured up in your mind as you heard your pants being torn apart next. It was enough to have you openly sobbing, biting down on the fabric of your ruined shirt as you tried to quiet down the sound of your own grief.

But you’d thank him soon, once you understood. You already loved him before…so how hard could it be to love him again, but properly this time? To show him how much he knew you cared.

Once the remnants of your pants were thrown aside as well, you didn’t even get the luxury to cross your legs and put any kind of further struggle. Tamaki sat up on top of you, relenting the pressure in your chest and waist but comfortably setting himself on your hips, his legs encasing your thighs in an inescapable prison.

You could almost sense his eyes scanning your exposed flesh, hear his delirious muttering as his fingers got greedier and greedier in the paths they weaved across your body, the quick circles from before being exchanged by longer, drawn out movements. It felt like he was memorizing a map, with every little scar and indent in your complexion being the marks leading down to a hidden treasure, wonders to marvel at and inspect.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve dreamed of this for so long…” His tone was barely above a reverent whisper as you felt him finally reach your bra, unclasping it with a shaking that could only be attributed to unrestrained excitement, “dreamt of you even while awake.” He parted the fabric and left it precariously hanging off your sides on the carpeted floor, hands ceremoniously splaying across your shoulder blades next, “But you feel so different from anything I could’ve come up with. So much softer.”

His lips were on your back in an instant, almost as if he just couldn’t help himself, and he was sucking and licking while trying to cover up the sounds of his own elation. The slow grinding against your backside had stopped, though, and the weight of his heated groin lifted from your back for the first time since you had been crushed to the floor. It was such a relief, to be able to move again (even if you weren’t foolish enough to try and get away by that point), that you didn’t even realize the alleviated sigh managing to escape your mouth until it was too late.

You felt Tamaki’s lips curling against your spine, the satisfaction in his gesture crystal clear.

“Does this feel good, bunny?,” he asked you in a pleased little rumble, mistaking your sounds of relief for something else altogether. “Does it feel good when I kiss you like this?” He pointed his question by leaving another sloppy flutter of his lips against the nape of your neck.

But then his presence disappeared from your back altogether, a moment so brief that hopefulness could not even begin to be reborn before it was crushed at your feet. Because before you could savour the retreat,Tamaki was now grasping and lifting your hips with his arms, deft hands sliding the lone piece of underwear still hiding your modesty from his prying eyes.

You briefly wondered why he hadn’t just ripped it apart like he’d done with the rest of the items that got in the way, but the distinct sound of someone sniffing gave you all the answers you needed. Deep, earnest inhales followed by a purr of satisfaction. Goosebumps blossomed across your body from disgust.

But to him, that was just another sign of you being into it. You were just too stubborn to admit it, weren’t you, bunny?

“I’ll make sure to kiss you all over.” Your eyes were closed with such force, your intact hand losing colour from the strength you were using to grip the torn piece of fabric against your mouth. “If… if I’m honest”, and he was back to sounding sheepish, contradictorily embarrassed as if he wasn’t the one carrying out the assault, “Bunny, I’ve been wondering how your moans sound for the longest time, too.”

If you weren’t as determined not to let a single sound slip out, you would’ve gagged. But all thoughts of Tamaki’s words were soon replaced by his actions, cold calloused hands snaking between your legs as the pro-hero’s arms kept a secured grip that made sure you could not wiggle out of his grasp. He was hunching over you again, dark purple hair tickling your thighs, and your exposed entrance twitched as a gust of air was blown directly into it.

You wanted so badly to cry out, to protest again, but you were afraid of ever loosening your grip on the fabric that covered your mouth. So instead you tried to steer your body, not to get away but to move your damaged hand until it was being crushed by your own chest, new waves of pain radiating off of it in order to distract you.

Were you that afraid of liking it, that you’d take your own pain over the pleasure he’d deliver?

“Bunny,” he groaned that nickname again, laying a bed of kisses across your inner thighs, slobbering and disorganized while his hands kneaded your flesh with acute urgency. “Y/N…”, your name was chanted like prayer, the holiest of incantations being whispered into the flourishing goosebumps of your inner legs.

It was hard not to squirm when you physically felt his voice reverberating through your body, when the hands holding you up were so excruciatingly close to your now quivering hole. Even while fear coursed through your veins, what you dreaded the most was the way heat was starting to pool in your stomach.

You tried pressing harder against the limp hand below you, but Tamaki’s arms steadied you from their place around your legs before you had the chance to properly act.

“Stop trying to hurt yourself, please,” and to his credit, he actually sounded anguished himself, although you doubted it was due to the same reasons you were currently suffering. “I want to make you feel good, bunny. Please… please let me.”

He was kissing the skin of your thighs again before you had the opportunity to argue (not that you’d consider willingly opening your mouth again by that point). Your assailant trailed a path of shivers until he was hovering over your mound, tickling you with his quickened breathing as a wanton groan reached your ears.

“So beautiful,“ and his nose was pressing against you, face nuzzling your cunt with such an affection that only helped to make you feel infinitely dirtier, his voice dripping with reverence. “My bunny’s beautiful little pussy.”

You were wriggling again before you could attempt to calm yourself down, the alarms that had never stopped blaring now drowning any other thoughts circling your mind. But you had nowhere to go, nowhere to escape, and before another moment passed your entire body was tensing up again when you felt a wet appendage slowly licking up your folds.

He explored you through the movements of his tongue, guttural sounds of appraisal being smothered as he tasted your plush folds for the very first time. Even without the aid of his arms, still holding you up as they were, it was becoming increasingly obvious that he did not need them in order to thoroughly savour you.

So long he had been deprived of all sustenance, teased by your hugs and touches and left to starve while you went to seek affection elsewhere. Maybe he was undeserving, but could anyone blame him for finally snapping after so long? For finally, for once, daring to be selfish enough to demand.

“Delicious,” his trembling compliment was proclaimed between licks, lips slowly journeying their way to your clit before he was audibly sucking it in, his own whines echoing through your entire body once more and making you bite down harder on the bloodstained cloth. “And… you’re getting wet for me too,“ which was only accentuated by the lascivious sounds he made as he started lapping at your rapidly gathering juices. “Am I making you feel good, bunny?”

Shut up, you wanted to scream, shut up and just be done with it. But it was getting so hard to concentrate, your fingers cramping from the force you were using to keep the piece of your torn up shirt tightly in place. He kept gingerly savouring your unwilling excitement, relentless in the way his tongue continued teasing and prodding, even dipping into your heat as his gluttony for you became an unbearable constant.

When you felt one of his hands descend from your thighs, the sound of a belt being unbuckled, your eyes opened up again in fear. You almost stopped biting down on your shirt in order to voice one last protest, but then his mouth was wrapping itself harder still around your bundle of nerves —shoots of a pleasure you tried to ignore warming their way further up your stomach as the unwanted thrills in your gut built up to a crescendo.

“Fu… fuck, Bunny,” he sounded so needy between the squelching sounds filling the darkened room. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

You shook your head as the pressure kept building up, muscles cramping and your one free leg attempting to kick him out fruitlessly. Your head was filled with the cries you could not voice, heavy with an agony that far exceeded any physical turmoil. You wished the pain was enough to pass out, to mute the heat coiling up further and further, but such was your plight that not even the faintest mercy was granted.

Although even your silent rejection only served as encouragement in Tamaki’s mind. It was the first time you were acknowledging him, the first time you were responding to any of his comments after he had tackled you to the floor. Even with your mouth covered, the tears now dried against your mascara stricken cheeks, it felt to him like the sign he had been waiting for.

It only drove him madder.

You heard clothing being tugged down while he kept the eager rhythm of his tongue on you, pants and boxers being discarded in one go to free a surely painfully aching erection. Not long after that, his breathing became even more ragged against your core, one of his shoulders moving against your thighs rhythmically while his previously free hand stroked himself for some much needed relief.

The sounds he started to make, accompanied by the slow pace he was setting as he tugged at his own cock against your dangling legs, were ones of desperation and debauchery—whines that filled you up right alongside his intruding tongue. It made you curl your toes, close your eyes again as you tried and failed to will the sensations away.

You thought your teeth would snap at any moment too, just from how furiously you were biting down. Yet your cunt kept pulsating against his flushed face, answering to his relentless teasing by coating his mouth in more your juices, strings of saliva mingling with them as you felt the wetness gathering around his chin too.

“You… you don’t need to fight it,“ he was whispering right into you, humming the sounds until they were forcing themselves inside right alongside his tongue. “You can cum, Y/N,” and with the hand he wasn’t touching himself with, he finally freed your other thigh as well, opting instead to trail a path with his extended palm until he was reaching out for your face.

You were so tired, so preoccupied with the unwanted pleasure clouding your vision, that the thought of attempting to escape again didn’t even cross your mind. Both of your legs were now limp, supported only by his shoulders positioned below them, and the sounds filling the air were wet, squelching and downright sinful.

Which was why, when his palm started caressing your cheek, you were too far gone to run from the new coercive intimacy of his touch. His tongue was pulsating in and out of you, and yet your insides felt impossibly warm, impossibly empty.

“Bunny,“ that damned pet name again. It was something you remembered him calling you first after a particularly bad panic attack, sheepishly whispered as you held him and rocked the both of you in a calming motion. Only now it sounded absolutely depraved, filled with a lust that terrified you, and the word sullied as it was now half-moaned while Tamaki jerked himself off to your torment.

Or was it pleasure at that point? You kept wriggling, but he didnt think you wanted to get away anymore.

Some part of you noticed his rough fingers drawing circles again into the covered side of your face, another cruel joke that mimicked the way in which you had always thought appropriate to soothe him.

“Please,” he begged you and kept repeating it, mixing in the pleads with the insistent licks of his tongue, the shaking in his own face warning you of the furious pace his other hand was now setting for himself.

Please, please, please. Bunny, please.

Your orgasm hit you with a force that left you breathless, gasping for air and with a new current of despair trailing down from your dazed eyes, mimicking the arousal surely dripping down his lips.

You had never felt something like what you were experiencing, an orgasm so potent that it transformed your body into such a limp and pliant thing, enticing your mind into a forceful lull as Tamaki dedicated himself to drinking every last drop you unwillingly offered.

To your subsequent shame, the hand tenderly holding you pried the crumpled shirt away from your mouth. He was finally freeing the sounds you so selfishly kept from him, and by that point you were too far gone to think of stopping him, your cries and wails filling up the shadows of the room until they were bursting at the seams.

It felt like forever as you kept cumming and cumming, feeling like you were forcefully plunged from one climax straight into the next. Tamaki refused to separate from your heat, instead opting for continuing to mouth his appreciation right into your tender flesh.

“So gorgeous for me. So good. My sweet little bunny,” he wasn’t even trying to be coherent at that point, rapidly reaching his own peak now that he had you breaking down underneath him, now that he could finally witness your undoing at his hands.

While your orgasm reached its shaking end, however, your cunt clenching against nothing as Tamaki’s face finally left it alone and pulled back, you were again too preoccupied with the aftermath of your own pleasure to sense anything amiss. You failed to acknowledge the pause in his own movements, how his hand had stopped his own ministrations in order to reach out for your glistening folds instead, nervous digits twitching as they gathered your juices between them.

It almost hurt when he trailed your sex, your flesh sensitive still from the force of the after shakes still coursing through your body. A new unfiltered whine left your throat, jaw starting to ache from all the strength you had previously used in your bid to keep those very same sounds securely muted.

“Tamaki, please…” You sobbed, intending on pleading with him to stop, to grant you the mercy of wallowing in your shame all by yourself.

But all he could hear was the intoxicating sound of his name on your lips, your tone heavy from exhaustion and being utterly spent. It was the greatest melody you could’ve provided him with.

“F-fuck,” his exclamation was equal parts devotion and raw need.

After his fingers were retreating, it wasn’t long before you felt him lowering your hips gently. The warm pressure of his cock prodded at your entrance, already coated with your fluids and only getting messier as Tamaki trailed it up and down your slit.

“No, wait. Tamaki, wait,“ your voice was distraught and still feeble, what little struggle that still managed to cling to you coming back with a reckoning as a new kind of panic started setting in.

Of course he wasn’t wearing a condom, and of course your pleas did little to stop him now. A heartfelt sound of protest shook your vocal cords as he slowly breached your cunt, his cock sliding in inch by inch while drawing long, wet sounds out of you.

In reality, all he could hear was the sound of his name on your lips. You could’ve been insulting him with all of your might, Tamaki didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself even if he wanted to.

“Fuck, Bunny,” his hands fluttered between your thighs in hiccuped movements, fingers stretching your nether lips in order to give himself a better view of the place where your bodies joined, the sacrilegious union he had oh so desired for years now. “So,, he kept breaking into you inch by inch, “fucking,“ the length of him feeling eternal as he sheathed himself, “perfect.”

You had barely any time to adjust to being stuffed before apologies were scattering out of his mouth, actions contradicting as his hips rut into you, hands making sure to keep you on display for his gluttonous eyes. It was your new brand of torment— how snug he fitted inside, how full you felt and the way his shaft curved just enough to quickly turn any discomfort you were first experiencing on its head. You wanted to feel pain, but even that was out of your reach too.

You were chasing after a distraction, but why did you need to be running in the first place? You needed only to keep still, lay back and let your best friend take care of you for once.

The pace he set was slow, excruciatingly so as he savoured the way in which your cunt clenched around him, the way your walls spasmed with the memory of the orgasms he gifted you with earlier. He kept hitting that spot every few shallow thrusts too, the patch of skin on your insides that made you grind your teeth while whines still somehow managed to leak out. It was with maddening guilt, then, that your mind realized the extent with which your body truly welcomed him.

You felt dirty, violated by a man you had trusted for years, someone you had considered family beyond reproach. And while he kept drilling into you in that leisure way of his, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you had done to get him to obsess over you like that. What exactly you could’ve changed to stop your life from being utterly ruined.

But with all honesty, the answer to that was nothing. Because even without the pressure of your new boyfriend to pull him into motion, Tamaki doubted he would’ve been able to keep himself from you for much longer.

He had loved you for so long and for so many different reasons; Your laughter which was the greatest symphony to his ears, the kindness you had always embraced him with, free of judgement and ulterior motives. Your caring soul, too, and the way in which he just knew you understood.

“Please, please,“ and you didn’t know why you kept begging, your mouth running off on its own accord as your body tried to squirm against your intruder’s, unclear whether it wanted to escape or get even closer. “T-Tamaki.”

But most of all, he thought he loved the way you cried out while he fucked you now, a wrecked mess for his eyes alone.

“Do you think you can come again for me?” he asked you between frayed exhales, still oddly meek as the shallow thrusts into your hole made sweat drip down his skin and bathe you in its shine. “I know you must be tired but… I wanna… wanna hear it properly.” And there was an underlying greed just below his apologetic tone, a craving you wondered just how long had been there waiting to be let out, “Wanna feel it, too.”

It appeared like his own words excited him to a notorious degree, because he was rutting into you with quicker motions now, the sound of skin slapping against skin driving the despair even further into your heart. Your afflicted hand didn’t even throb anymore, your nose barely a faint nuisance either, for all you could think about was the way you contracted around him, the way the coil in your gut was once more beginning to tighten to a feverish degree.

And the palm against your clit too, which had stopped pressing against it in order to extend its fingers and circle them around, prodding and pushing until you were being overwhelmed by him, devoured on the carpeted floor with a face caked in blood and a body sore and resentful yet so damned inviting.

Your cunt was holding him so tight, it felt like you didn’t want to let go, like you needed him there… it made Tamaki, someone who had spent his entire life feeling different degrees of inadequate, think he had finally found a place to belong to.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re… really gonna cum again? For me?” You didn’t want to hear him, didn’t want to feel him, but when he pulled out almost entirely you found your hips shamefully pushing back until his length was being swallowed whole again. “Fuck,” you heard him curse as his hands left your sopping folds in order to grip the meat of your backside, barely contained strength nailing you to the spot as he set a new frantic rhythm, “so… needy for me. So tight and beautiful, does my bunny want it harder now?”

He was hitting your spot in relentless movements, his own hips stuttering as he strived to hold back his own impending end, and the groans coming out of you felt like they belonged to a different person. The tears in your eyes were still free falling, the taste of dried blood still covering your tongue as you continued audibly panting, and the tension in your muscles resembled a taut bowstring about to snap from the pressure.

Of course you didn’t answer, but you didn’t have to when your body spoke for you.

His pace was bruising, his hands kneading your flesh as he angled you just enough to get even deeper inside you. Yet not deep enough.

“I love you so goddamn much,“ one of his palms left your rear so he could grab one of your shoulders, forcing you to arch back just as he demanded. “Let me show you just how much, baby.”

By that point you were so tired, so drained from holding back, that you allowed him to manhandle you until your back was pressed flush against his stomach. His palm snaked their way from your shoulders to your chest, quickly pushing what little of your unhooked bra still clung to your frame so he could fully expose your breasts to his zealous treatment.

Your nipples were hard already, you really were loving this, weren’t you?

In this new position, it somehow felt like he was pushing against places you had never felt anyone reach before. Like, in a way, he was bruising your cervix with every one of his overeager thrusts, testing himself in order to go as far as your body would allow him. So fucking greedy for you.

Tamaki kept massaging your breasts while he fucked you, sensitive nipples being lightly toyed with while he buried his face in your neck from behind for an instant. Because unable to stay still as he was, soon enough his lips had started to kiss a slobbering path of adoration upwards into the shell of one of your ears.

“I know you… fuck, know you don’t love me like that yet,” he sounded feverish while he continued to thrust into you, voice faltering to the weight of his own lust, “but it’s okay. Right now…” He pulled out almost entirely again, only to dive in with all the more resolve before you had the chance to buck into him a second time, “I can love you enough for the both of us.”

And just like that, with the man you had previously considered your best friend whispering delirious nonsense behind you, his breath tickling your nape with each aggravating declaration, was when the overwhelming wave of your new orgasm hit you, shaking your entire body.

So fucking tight and needy for him. With your body clamoring for him like it did, who could blame him for foolishly thinking you felt the same way? Even if you tried refuting it afterwards, the way your walls clenched around him so delectably was all the honesty he needed.

Your body went limp in his hands a second time, for him to hold up and embrace as he saw fit, and you sensed the cadence of his motions grow even frenzier before finally slowing down into a sporadic rythm, his sex twitching inside you in a most telling way.

He was calling out your name in a litany of prayers, biting down on the skin he had gently been nursing before, teeth piercing you and joining the rest of the sensations overwhelming your spoiled body. And that was really all the warning you got before his release was spilled deep inside you, painting your walls in thick ropes of white while the remnants of your powerful orgasm proceeded to milk his cock for all it’s worth.

Through the mess of pleasure and shame clouding your vision, your sobbing became even louder.

“See, Y/N,” Tamaki whispered a few instants later, back to his nervous ways despite grinning timidly while his arms circled around you, “even if you tell me you care about someone else now, I’ll know you’ll never share with them what you shared with me.”

And it was such a ridiculous thing to say, preposterous words to proclaim as he refused to pull out and let any drop of his cum leak out of your bruised hole, as the heated hands on your skin replicated the same old patterns you had taught him inadvertently, the same motions supposed to bring comfort and which in reality only made you feel fouler.

“If you’d like, we can be an even more special type of best friends now,” he added after barely a beat, almost self-conscious when confronted with your somber silence, yet still bashfully content about the whole ordeal.

Best friends, you repeated inwardly while his hands kept stroking you without pause, perhaps truly trying to console you, or perhaps just wanting an excuse not to leave you alone. But you were so tired, so devastated, that it wasn’t like you had the strength to refute him verbally.

In Tamaki’s delusional mind, however, that was as good as agreeing. You two were really meant to be. Even if you refused to be the special kind of best friends he had in mind, he could always become your boyfriend instead.

Not like you were ever going to see your previous one, anyways.

…

Probably the longest piece of writing I’ve posted so far… and the filthiest. If people like it, I might start extending the lenght of my fics! Otherwise I’ll try to keep it on the shorter side for my next portrait/fic convo (a yan!aizawa one hehe).

And special thanks to my dearest pals @reinawritesbnha, @drxwsyni, @snappysnapo, @thermaflute and @coyambition. They helped me proof read, gave me precious feedback on both my writings and my art and were just overall sweethearts hyping me up!! love y’all fr fr 🖤

🥀 Requests/Suggestions OPEN btw 🥀

#bnha fanart #tamaki amakiji #yandere bnha #tamaki x reader #bnha x reader #yandere tamaki #bnha imagines #bnha art #tamaki fanart #tamaki smut #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #anime fanart #mha fanart #yandere bnha x reader #artists on tumblr #just art tingz

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silkling · 3 years ago

Text

So, @pastelpaperplanes, I did it again. Apparently a) I have no self control, and b) my brain wouldn’t stop screaming at me till I wrote this. The song for this drabble is at the end of the post, but be warned there’s a very minor twist after the “keep reading”, so try not to spoil yourself by getting to it early. I hope you all enjoy this! (Maybe now my little gremlin brain will let me go back to my Dojo Ghost Prowl AU)

Yoketron watched Lockdown with a critical eye, stepping in when the youngling’s stance was too wide to nudge his feet closer. His student looked at him, eyes curios and demanding an explanation. The ninja smiled, fond. This was why Lockdown was one of his favorite students. The young mech always wanted to learn and understand. He didn’t mindlessly listen and obey, but rather questioned so he could better know why things were done instead of just how they were done. It was refreshing.

He blinked, both he and Lockdown freezing in place when there was a knock at the door. That was...unusual. He’d always made it very clear that he wasn’t to be disturbed when he was in a lesson, unless it was a true emergency. He glanced at his student, pondering his next actions for only a moment before nodding. “Lockdown, you may take a break. I will see if this is not something I can solve without halting your lesson.” When the youngling nodded and folded himself down to begin a series of easy stretches, Yoketron turned and walked to the door. He blinked, resignation settling in his chest as he was greeted with who was on the other side.

It was his son, Prowl, held in the arms of his most recent caretaker. His very frazzled looking caretaker. The femme made a sound of manic hysteria, shoving the infant into his Sire’s chest as soon as she saw him. He brought his arms up on reflex, hands curling around the small frame as he allowed his son’s back to settle into the curve of his arm. “I can’t do this anymore!” the wild looking caretaker wailed. “That is not a normal sparkling! I quit!” With that, she whirled around and sped off as if the Unmaker himself were at her heels.

Yoketron stared after her for a moment, then with one hand he slid the door shut and turned an unimpressed look onto his son. “Again, little one? That is the third caretaker in a month. You cannot keep doing this.” he scolded. Though, it clearly had no effect, because the little bot only looked pleased at the attention being directed to him. Prowl gave a soft whuff of a breath, one hand lifting and pressing the knuckle of his thumb to his mouth as he stared up at his Sire.

The Dojo Master heaved a sigh, briefly turning his gaze heavenwards as if praying to Primus for some form of a sign. His son wasn’t a poorly behaved sparkling, not really. He never screamed, or cried, or broke things. He never made a mess, and was he really was very quiet and peaceable. If he had done any of those things, then Yoketron knew that caretakers would be able to handle him. But no. His son acted out in more...discreet ways. He refused to listen to anything that was asked of him. He stared his caretakers into a terrified silence whenever they tried to talk to him. He somehow appeared suddenly in front of them in places they hadn’t left him. He got into extremely dangerous situations that his panicked caretakers would take ages to figure out how to fix and wander off to disappear while they were doing the fixing. He deliberately hid from them, doing it so well that none of them could ever find him and they had to get his Sire to find and retrieve him. He even hid their belongings. Rather than be loud and destructive, Prowl had mastered the art of infant physiological warfare. So far, he had driven 18 separate caretakers into a stress induced breakdown. Well, now 19, he supposed.

“You are, I think, far too attached to me for anyone’s good.” Yoketron informed his son succinctly. Prowl just tiled his head curiously as his Sire looked down at him, then wrinkled his nose and sneezed. He looked very irritated at his body’s action once he’d done so. Yoketron sighed, shaking his head before he turned back to his student. Unfortunately, there was no one else in the Dojo who could take care of Prowl right now. That meant that for today, at least, he had to keep his son with him.

Lockdown had finished his stretches, and by now was staring curiously. “Who’s that?” The youngling asked, head tilted as he padded over slowly. Yoketron hummed, lowering his arms so his student could get a better look at his child.

“My son and heir.” he remarked dryly. “He is very fond of me and absolutely no one else. I’ve yet to find a caretaker who can handle him for more than a week. The longest lasted a month, I believe.” he sighed.

Lockdown just blinked, staring at the sparkling. His plating was thin and dull, his colors not yet fully settled and intense as they’d be on an older mech. It made his coloring look softer, which combined with rounded, squishy features made the small bot look very unthreatening. “This pipsqueak is that much of a terror?” he asked incredulously. “What does he even do that’s so bad? Throw a few too many tantrums?”

Yoketron only sighed. “I only wish that were the case, my student.” he stated, turning his head to give his son a look. “No, this little menace has somehow mastered his own unique form of psychological warfare.”

Lockdown stared at the sparkling, who had turned his head to pin him with a startlingly intense look. After a moment, the infant’s eyes narrowed, as if deciding he didn’t like this smaller-than-an-adult newcomer. “...he what.” he deadpanned. “How does a baby even use psychological warfare?” he asked.

His master only sighed. “That, I do not know. He is far to smart for his own good.” he grumbled, then straightened and tucked his son more firmly into his chest with one arm, his other lifting to place a hand on his student’s shoulder. “I apologize, Lockdown, but I will have to keep him with me for the remainder of your lesson.” he said.

The youngling only shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. Not like there’s much time left to it today anyway.” At Yoketron’s gesture, the youngling returned to the center of the mat. The older ninja paced around the younger, eyes narrowed and focused.

“Metallikato, Forms 34 and 56.” he instructed. Lockdown nodded, then obediently shifted through them. Yoketron watched his student with a critical eye, calling out corrections where they were necessary, but otherwise remaining silent. A glance at his son showed that the sparkling was starring unerringly at Lockdown, his gaze sharper and more intense than most youngling’s his age would be. Yoketron knew his son was observing, and learning as much as he could at his current level of mental and physical ability.

Prowl was a clever sparkling, with more cunning than even some adults Yoketron knew. He didn’t have complete mobility yet, and his limbs were still soft with infancy, but already he could see his son’s frame beginning to develop its own hidden strengths. He knew the sparkling would grow into a powerful ninja one day. Perhaps, one even more so than himself.

He returned his attention to his student, continuing to give out forms for the youngling to practice, until their lesson came to an end. Lockdown turned, bowing his his mentor before leaving the room. Alone with his son, Yoketron turned his attention to Prowl, who only looked deeply pleased that Lockdown was gone. Yes, the infant was far to attached to his Sire.

Yoketron only gave a huff of laughter, shaking his head and carrying his son to his room. Prowl’s crib was in the corner, but the ninja simply ignored it in favor of grabbing his favorite scroll from the shelf and settling on his bed to read. He had long mastered the ability to read his scrolls one handed, so one arm remained curled under his son as he settled against his pillows and opened the scroll. He read for a while, stopping only when the clock on his nightstand informed him it was time to eat.

He went to the kitchen, grabbing dinner for both himself and Prowl, before returning to his room. After he ate, he prepared Prowl’s bottle of sparkling energon and fed it to him, watching fondly as the little bitlet gripped at the nozzle of the bottle with small hands and suckled almost lazily. When the sparkling finished, Yoketron quickly returned the dishes to the kitchen before he returned to his room. There, he made his way back to the bed, settling in comfortably. He ignored the scroll for a moment, curling both arms under his son and lowering his head to look the infant in the eye.

Prowl stared at him, burbling softly and reaching out with a little hand to grab his father’s nose. He gave a tiny, pleased coo at his success. Yoketron’s gaze became infinitely softer as a delighted smile pulled the sparkling’s lips, humming gently as his son babbled something at him. He pulled his nose free, then lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Prowl’s forehead, in the middle of the tiny chevron. “You may be trouble, my little one, but I am so very pleased to call you mine.” he murmured fondly.

He settled the infant against his chest again, directly over his heart since he knew Prowl liked to listen to his heartbeat. He freed one arm, then reached for the scroll again. This was perhaps his favorite story. Prowl was too young for it yet, but Yoketron had read it countless times. The scroll told the tale of an old man who was beloved by his family. He had only one child, but he considered all in his house to be family, though of course his most beloved family member was his son. One day, a terrible calamity swept the land. A drought so bad and so hot the ground burned the feet of those who walked it. The old man, who remembered the old tales that most of the town had forgotten, knew what he had to do.

He went to the old temple in the forest, and prayed to the gods to save his home and his family. The gods had answered, but they had demanded a price. The old man would be forgotten by the town, as if he had never existed at all. He was distraught, but when he remembered his weakening son he agreed. It rained the very next day, and all in the town forgot who the old man had ever been. All of then, that is, except for his son, for he too knew the old stories and had always carried a protective talisman with him. When he realized that no one remembered his beloved father, and that the rain had come so suddenly, he knew it was the work of the gods. He went to the temple himself, and demanded the return of his father. The gods, who had spirited the old man away so he could be truly forgotten, were surprised. They had not expected anyone to remember, had not expected anyone to stand against their magic. The gods refused, however, for a deal had been struck and the son had played no part in it. Then they retreated to their own realm, leaving the son alone.

The son, overwhelmed by grief, abandoned his home and struck out to find the gods. He would have his father returned, even if he would die doing it. And so the son travelled for years and years, always trying to chase down the gods who had stolen his father from him. Along the way, he found on old falcon who became attached to him, and stayed by his side for his journey. What he didn’t know was that the falcon was his father, who the gods had given a new shape to ensure his old life would be forgotten by all who might know him. The son and the falcon travelled long and far, and there were many records of their adventures in the many towns which they took rest in. No one knew what became of the son, but some say that in the dark of the night, if you go to the last place he had been seen alive, you can see two pale, misted falcons, flying into the moonlight above.

It was a story of love and fatherhood and loss, and though there was no happy ending, or even any true ending at all, Yoketron had always enjoyed the deeper meanings of the story. By the time he finished the scroll, night had fallen and the rest of the Dojo was quiet and peaceful with sleep. The ninja stood, returning the scroll to its place and stepping towards the crib. Immediately, Prowl made a noise of discontent, and Yoketron heaved a sigh. He didn’t want to deal with his son’s stubbornness tonight. So, he simply turned to his bed, placing Prowl down on it so he could get them both dressed in sleeping clothes. Then he picked his son up, tucking them both under the covers and pulling Prowl to his chest. He knew Prowl would not fall asleep easily, but he had one trick that always worked.

Yoketron lifted his son closer to himself, humming deep in his chest. Immediately, the little one’s attention snapped to him, rapt. He smiled, warm and fond, and lowered his head to press his forehead to his son’s. Prowl’s eyes closed at the soothing hum he heard from his Sire, though he obviously wasn’t falling asleep. Yoketron’s lips twitched into a bigger smile, and as he stared at his son he opened his mouth to croon an old lullaby.

“Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes...”

Prowl woke with the echoes of an ancient lullaby in his ears. A song he’d thought he’d forgotten years ago. He stared at his ceiling, his room deep and dark enough to tell him that it was still night out, and wondered why he was awake. There was a breeze from the cracked open window, and his cheeks felt cool. He startled, sitting up slowly and lifting his fingers to touch his cheek. They came away damp, and his sleep-heavy mind struggled to understand why.

Something dropped to the blanket pooled on his lap. He looked down, noting a small wet spot, as if a drop of water had soaked into the fabric. He stared down, uncomprehending, and another joined it. That’s when it clicked. He was crying. His cheeks were wet with tears. Tears he was still shedding. But why...?

Then he remembered his dream. His Sire. It hadn’t been a dream, it had been a memory. An old one. He didn’t know how he was able to remember that. He’d been so young. He shuddered, still able to hear the peaceful rumble of Yoketron’s voice as he crooned that old lullaby. Without realizing it, he found himself grabbing the old ribbon from under his pillow, the only scrap of his Sire he had left. He clutched it in a fist, bringing his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes as he choked on a sob. He had forgotten that his Sire used to sing him that lullaby. It had always soothed him, even when he’d been big enough to think he didn’t need soothing.

Another ugly sob tore from his throat, and his shoulders shook as he fought to silence himself. He missed the Dojo. He missed the gardens. He missed the training hall. He missed the smell of old paper and ancient, well treated wood. He missed the sounds of training. He missed the peace. He missed Jazz him. He missed his Sire. He missed that lullaby. He missed home.

Prowl forced himself to lie down, curling his hands into his chest and rolling onto his side. He shuddered and heaved as he cried silently, his pillow soaking in the tears that fell. He screwed his eyes shut, knowing it wouldn’t help, but wanting only to fall back asleep and forget this breakdown ever happened.

He did drift off, eventually. As another breeze swept into his room through his open window and dried his tears, his mind, half-asleep and unfocused, could almost hear the echoes of a song on the wind that caressed his cheeks.

“Someday we'll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on

They never die

That's how you and I will be....”

✧

Also, probably fairly obvious, but the song for this drabble is Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel) by Billy Joel. Listen and W E E P.

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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‘Tis The Damn Season | Hamish Duke

Warnings; includes angst, implications of smut (not too detailed), breakup, heart ache, sacrifice, pain, and angst again

Based of ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift

If I wanted to know who you were hanging with

Whilst I was gone, I would’ve asked you

Belgrave, home. For a while, you had thought that Hamish had served as that shelter, but the brick road broke, splitting the pair of you apart. It was as though the pair of you were ice, thawing over the time that the independent plan had been brewing.

This place, it was to be missed. It was a great step of a risk that you were to be taking, and so was the weighing of your heart. It felt as though it would be difficult to carry, it would remain with you, surely even after you crossed and exited the borders of the town.

Leaving overall, let alone him was to be exceedingly difficult, any attachment had to be released, like a bird from a cage. But birds in cages had routines, they’d be fed, and get affection, but this one wouldn’t. He’d just be abandoned, left to fend for himself.

The man that had been the only dream that had rendered your brain at night placed the guitar into the back of your car. He knew that it, what you had, was ending.

This was the end, and alternately not the one that Hamish had been expecting. If you were leaving university behind you, in the reflection of your rear view mirror, he would be left standing, alone and broken hearted.

It’s the kind of cold, fogs up the windshield glass

But I felt it when I passed you

“Goodbye Hamish.” It felt like a cruel lyric that would be used in a song, a line you’d harmonise on stage.

Getting into the drivers seat, you allowed yourself a first and last glance through the chilled glass, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill.

He was a good man, there were great things ahead of Hamish Duke. But none of that included you, this was his journey now, you had already made the choice of yours.

And this was the price of it, the freezing of your heart; the truest and purest love that you had ever felt. No matter, you had already paid it, and caused pain for both Hamish and yourself.

There’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me

But if it’s all the same to you

It’s the same to me

Turning the ignition on, you proceeded to drive past everything that you had ever known, all that you had love for.

The smallest distance seared a wrenching ache within your chest. It felt like a punishment for putting yourself first for once, it made you concerned, surely it shouldn’t have.

The car’s slow pace had Hamish biting his lip, containing any of his avid disagreements to this. He understood your priority, respected it even, but none of that made watching you leave any easier.

If anything, it gave him an urge to turn and head to a bar or something of the sort. But he remained, his heart sinking lower as you got further from his line of sight.

It shouldn’t have heart him as much as it did. It was common knowledge that first loves weren’t eternal. Time would only help him accept that cruel fact, or so he thought.

So we could call it even

You could call me “babe” for the weekend

Hamish’s body was under bliss, he had found his solace once more. He fit perfectly upon your nude form, it felt like his soul was rebuilding itself.

But he had to remember that you were only here for the weekend, you’d soon be gone again. And he would fall apart all over, just like the first time.

“Babe.” The blonde moaned, his hands intertwining with yours, he had missed more than just pleasure from your entanglements. He had beyond missed the entirety of your being.

The name that you were keen to lap from the tip of his theoretical tongue was a misplaced comfort. It shouldn’t however have the effect of such comfort, not when the pair of you were claiming to have been trying your hardest to move past what you had once been.

It was an old and tiring routine, that you were prone to returning to. The sinful actions were bad for each of your mental health, but it felt right to argue against it.

The wisest decision would be to forget Hamish, and every notion he inclined you to feel, but it was too difficult, especially when he had you seeing orgasmic stars.

‘Tis the damn season, write this down

I’m staying at my parents’ house

“Aren’t you seeing any old friends from university this Christmas?” The question was poised by your mother, she was far too concerned by the fact that since your arrival you had hardly left the house.

It was even blurred by snow outside, not too much to the point where you’d have to be shovelling it from the porch, but it was enough. It was beautiful, perfect for this time in the season.

In fact, you loved the snow. But the memories that bombarded your mind from the wonderful weather had your mind rolling back to Hamish, specifically how blue his eyes appeared amongst the frosted surroundings.

The thought had you sniffling, holding in a post breakup breakdown from your mother’s eyes. She thought you were sick, demanding that you get something for ‘that runny nose of yours, it could be contagious’.

And the road looks real good now

And it always leads to you and my hometown

The exact second that you entered your car, your hands sternly hit the steering world. Were you not allowed to follow your career through the workings of the world without punishment?

Because it sure felt that way, as though you were being a rebel in a war, however the battlefield was that of your heart. It was tearing slowly, and had been over the entirety of your hopeful escapade.

It cried regularly to be united back with Hamish, to its rightful home. It was suffering from separation anxiety from him, clouding the gaps in your brain and making them think about the tall, handsome man alone.

And the road taken looks real good now

And it always leads to you and my hometown

Every time that you were in your car, it felt like you were leaving home all over again, and Hamish would be standing by, with his upset aura, trying his hardest to keep himself together.

It was the worst feeling, knowing that exiting town was essentially the same as stabbing him in the heart. There was no feeling worse than knowing that you had hurt Hamish, you still felt more than something for him.

Whenever you’d come by of a weekend, which was every couple of months, occasionally each few, you’d take the pill of seeing him. But not too long ago, you’d realised how cruel the self invitation really was.

He had been growing used to life without you, and then you’d reappear, lounging in his bed, only to rip away from him and cause a terrible ache in his heart when you’d return to your performing duties. It was unfair, so you refused this month to allow him to know that you were back, otherwise the painful pattern would only continue, and there’d never be an end to it.

I parked my car between the Methodist

And the school used to be ours

Belgrave university was right beside the pharmacy, it only made you feel actually sick. The memories from the school were returning, there were so many of them, it was as though they were trying to anchor you in the snow as you stepped out of your car.

Almost all of them included Hamish, he was the main attraction of the university anyways. But perhaps you had stood there reminiscing longer than you should have, because it seemed that you had drawn some unwanted attention.

Hamish. He was walking from the entrance, a sombre expression had been held upon his face until he saw you. And then his face was rivalled with hope and confusion, you hadn’t informed him that you were back yet.

He’d already expected you to be returning for the holidays, mostly for your family, however, you hadn’t told him, and from the wideness of your eyes, the realisation kicked into his instinct. You had had no intention to.

But he continued to walk towards you anyways, trying his best not to smile and coo at the adorableness of your red nose.

The holidays linger like bad perfume

You can run, but only so far

The thought of making a leg for it, sprinting as far away as possible, or getting back into your car and steering away certainly crossed your mind.

This interaction was certainly not a miracle of the season, it felt like a curse, ascending from hell itself. You hadn’t wanted to see him, but the universe had interfered and made a collaboration.

I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave

But if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me

However every time you came and left, this building confrontation had been avoided, with you packing your suitcase for the umpteenth time, zipping each of your mouths shut and hearing nothing but the sound of the wheels rolling across the concrete of your family’s driveway.

Now, to contradict it all, the pair of you were stood upon even ground, it wasn’t outside of either of your homes, it was strangely the perfect place for this. And you found your dread slightly dissipating, aware that this was always going to happen, the road had just ended.

We could call it even

You could call me “babe” for the weekend

He was confused as to what to say or do. This was the first instance that he had seen you again in a place other than in his sheets, it was overwhelming.

“You haven’t been answering my messages.” His tone was calm, but in it, pain was presented, his sad blue eyes also justified that aspect of his aura. “Here for another weekend?”

It came across as less pleasant than he had anticipated, he was stressed to say the least. Something happened to him, it was out of the ordinary, he had wanted to speak to someone, and the first person that had came to his mind was you.

‘Tis the damn season, write this down

I’m staying at my parents’ house

Wringing your hands at the sound of his voice, it was visible that his presence made you nervous. That wasn’t what he wanted at all, he already scared himself after that sheathing of wolf fur wrapped itself around him and chose him as its vessel. His intent wasn’t to make you mirror his discomfort.

And so he uncrossed his arms, putting them into his trouser pockets and tried to look as relaxed as his exterior could fathom.

“I’m staying with my parents, it’s the holidays and all. Had to come home somewhen.”

And the road not taken looks real good now

Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires

But you knew, that it was all to return to him. That was the universe’s plan for you, if you ever tried to get away, it’d only force you to reconnect once again. There was no escape, and a part of you was not complaining about that.

The other however was outrageous, nothing could ever be easy, it all drifted down shore from the plan, the ultimate dream. Using your voice to sing was the goal, however here you were instead, mentally cursing and dragging the name of the planet through the darkness inhabited in your neurons.

Now I’m missing your smile, hear me out

And the road not taken looks real good now

Right now, all you wished was to stay. His smile was inviting you to do, and so you stepped cautiously towards Hamish, hands going to his face and pressing the pads of your fingers to his cold cheeks.

Snow began to fall, but you could care less. It already felt like there was a blizzard forcing to search for shelter, and here it was, in the body of this one man. He was different from the rest, he was your road, the one you wanted to continue on, rather than drive away from.

And it always leads to you and my hometown

Sleep in half the day just for old times’ sake

His eyes shut at the contact, it was far more passionate than the times you had seen him during your occasional visits. Don’t get it mistaken, the sex was great, however it was a coping mechanism, rather than a true example of love.

There had been something missing, at first you assumed that it was the lack of labels between the two of you, however you proved yourself wrong after realising that it was the proximity that the pair of you had once had.

The loyalty, the trust, the knowledge that the two of you had traded. It had always been mutual, and so was this heartache, it wasn’t fair for the pair of you to be apart, yet still suffering from more than the distance.

I won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay

So I’ll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends

There was one singular thing that Hamish desired to ask. However it’d be a two way street of cruelness if he allowed it to slip. But if he gave it permission to leave his mouth, then perhaps it would be a different story.

Everything could go back to normal, the way things had been. Except from him of course, he was forever changed, he was the house to a creature so unbelievable, yet proven real, that he could not just dispose of it. That would end in his death if he were to split from this monster within him.

But he would also die if he had to be distanced mentally from you any longer. He took one long stride of his leg, cupping the edges of your face, and clashed the two of your lips against his own. The contact was hungry, needing to swallow any last breaths that could possibly be breathed in each other’s presence.

If he had it his way, he wouldn’t break the unison against you, however he had to, otherwise he would surely have to catch your tired body, not that that would be the worst thing in the world.

“Stay, don’t go again.” It fell, permitting a moment of silence in the air. This required thought, but the answer could be sudden, if it were, then that would be the true response that he was seeking. It would be an instinct to remain here, with him, at your home.

Who’ll write books about me if I ever make it

And wonder about the only soul

It made a sigh tumble from the hollow of your throat, as though you were shocked by his defiance and desire. However you were not, the grand query was to come to pass sometime, it had been eventual, until now.

He had finally ripped the band aid from the soreness upon his beating chest, and done so to your own. He had opened the wound, allowing it to breathe in the surrounding air, making your own hitch as you thought of an appropriate reply.

It wasn’t professional to be so swayed by his proposition, however, what about all that you wanted to accomplish? The career you were pursuing, the town of Belgrave wouldn’t be so kind to permit you the reputation you were seeking.

“I don’t know what to say.” The truth left your lips, the mind that was being stalled by all the possibilities, the two paths that were duelling for your footsteps, was suffering from total confliction. There was no easy answer, either way, you were to be giving something you loved up.

Who can tell which smiles I’m fakin’

And the heart I know I’m breakin’ is my own

“How about yes?” He was desperate to hear it, the confirmation that you would remain with him through the tough time that he was painfully living through. Your absence, albeit how it was completely your choice, did not help the situation.

Hamish needed someone that not only he could rely on and trust, but would help him. Somebody whom could keep him in touch with his human side, and away from the likening to alcohol that he had picked up upon now that he was legal to purchase it himself.

“Okay. I’ll stay for a little, but no promises to it being permanent.” You had been swayed by not only his engorging blue eyes, but also the pain, the pleading that echoed behind them. He was desperate for you to remain with him, and you feared for his mental health if you didn’t compromise.

To leave the warmest bed I’ve ever know

We could call it even

Even though I’m leaving

The pin had dropped, the choice had been made. The sacrifice bled out from your heart, the same red as the sheets that were currently around you. Hamish stared up at the ceiling, his hand softly stroking the skin of your shoulder.

“It’s funny, every time that we spend the weekend together like this, I tell my mum that I’m seeing an old friend from school.” The sound of your voice pursed a smile to Hamish’s face, he huffed a small, almost wolfish laugh.

“That’s kind of the truth, if you think about it.” He pulled you closer, placing a slow yet short kiss upon your lips, to which you reciprocated. This had been the best choice that you could have made, for not only the man nestled in the bed beside you, but also yourself.

And I’ll be yours for the weekend

‘Tis the damn season

We could call it even

It was both a selfish and selfless call that you had taken. One that perhaps one day, you would kick yourself for making, but right now, you held no regret to it. Hamish had been your first love, and fate had it so that he would also be your last.

“My mum would be over the moon to know that I was with you rather than one of the girls that I took bio with.” She had forever been fond of Hamish, even before the two of you had became an item. Even your father had a likening to the young man. The pair would pleased that the two of you were still in communications.

“What are we now?” He asked seriously, he had reeled enough answers from you for one day, however it was another thing that he would have liked to know. He didn’t merely want you to be his only over the weekend, he wanted it to return to the way it all was, before your first departure, he’d ensure that you had already taken your last ticket out of town.

You could call me “babe” for the weekend

‘Tis the damn season, write this down

“Us, I suppose. The equals to one another, as we always were.” His dimples showed at the clarity that you provided. Until he felt a pain in his back, it cracked up through his spine as he felt it begin again.

The dreaded transition, the curse was sparking to life in the worst possible moment. He needed you to be away from him, if he harmed you, then that would surely kill him. He couldn’t have a mark from his own hand upon you, it would be against his will, but the blood would have still been drawn by himself.

I’m staying at my parents’ house

And the road not taken looks real good now

Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires

Hamish’s sudden seating in bed had you frowning, your hand caressed his his shoulder, however he snarled at your touch, harshly shrugging you off from him. To say you were worried was an understatement, in the light of the afterglow, he had always been quiet and calm, but this was something you had never witnessed.

If you believed in anything beyond this world, perhaps you’d have suspected he was possessed by something greatly evil and controlling. But they were all tales, fiction and fairy tales that were drawn into illusions and dreams.

“Are you okay?” He wasn’t, and if he didn’t get space from you, then you too would be suffering. And so he spat the only thing that he could think of to get you to spook, to run far away from him.

Now I’m missing your smile, hear me out

We could just ride around

And the road not taken looks real good now

“I’ve changed my mind. Leave!” It was as though he roared the words at you, and he had you in a haste to scramble for your clothes and leave his room. This wasn’t supposed to happen, none of it. But he knew that he had been too greedy, he couldn’t be alive with this horrible circumstance that was inside of him and have you.

It may not have been fair, but it was the safest route. In the end, he had figured it out, you couldn’t help him with this. He didn’t want to tell you, he didn’t want you to know that he was a monster.

You never believed in the supernatural anyways, and that was now for the best. It would make you safer, and more importantly, have faith that he was just a jerk, not some killer that hunted under the full moon.

And it always leads to you and my hometown

It always leads to you and my hometown

You had escaped from your hometown. But Hamish would always draw you back, one way or another...

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bandaged-writer · 4 years ago

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swan song || dazai

➤ Pairing: PM! Dazai x Contemporary Dancer! Reader

➤ Genre: fluff, romance, angst

➤ Warnings: mention of minor character death, mentions of suicide, alcohol consumption, innuendos, murder in the form of a nightmare, violence, language, blood, mental breakdown

➤ Summary: Not even Dazai could predict that a certain calico cat would lead him to his serendipity made of bruised knees and angelic smiles.

➤ Word count: 10k

➤ Note: This fic is very important to me since it’s partially based on events I went through as a dancer myself; therefore, I’d be really happy to hear what you think of it. Have fun reading. <3

It was rare for Yokohama's streets to be completely empty, especially when the moon illuminated even the darkest alleys and offered to lead the way home for many lost souls. Ever since November arrived and the trees' leaves had already fallen, the temperatures had dropped considerably. Snow began to fall and wrapped the port city in a gentle blanket of white; even in the dark of the night, branches shimmered in the moon's light, streets became as clear as day as the artificial light of street lamps was reflected from the snow's surface.

For once, it was a tranquil night in which blood didn't stain the innocence of Yokohama.

Dull footsteps filled the silence as Dazai followed the calico cat - Sensei - out of the bar Lupin. The cat had been pawing at the brunette's pants, meowing at him to finally leave the empty bar and catch some fresh air. Truth be told, Dazai didn't know why he listened to a cat of all creatures which graced the surface of this planet. Maybe it was the tiny voice in his head which wanted him to go home, rest his sore limbs and hopefully find some peace and quiet in the form of sleep.

"Where are you leading me to, Sensei?" Dazai's tongue still tickled with the taste of whiskey, but his head was very much sober. Chocolate orbs watched how the cat left tiny prints of his paws in the snow and merely meowed at him in response as if telling the mafioso to trust him. Who was Dazai to deny the request of a lucky charm on four legs? "Yeah, yeah, got it." Odd, how the mafia executive found comfort in talking to a cat.

Dazai's breath came out in white puffs of air which dissolved into nothing, the cold nipped at his cheeks and would hug him like the familiar arms of death if it weren't for the black coat wrapped around his slim form. As much as Dazai craved to die, freezing to death wasn't his favorite way to leave this world; he had standards, after all.

Streets had long since blurred into one another when Sensei suddenly meowed out loud and pawed at the spinning door made of glass which was rimmed by a golden color. Raising his gaze, Dazai recognized the building immediately. It was an expensive theater which was often rented by the mafia to celebrate the success of bigger missions. Famous actors, singers and even dancers held their performances in the vast venue, but it was nothing but another building at night.

"Are you sure, buddy?" A small smile decorated Dazai's usually unreadable face, a curious shimmer flashed in his eyes as he heard the soft bass of music being played from within. Another proof that Sensei certainly wasn't an average cat. Intrigued by what - or rather who - was awaiting him, Dazai entered and let a sigh of relief slip his chapped lips, Sensei always right by his side.

Warmth greeted the mafioso, the red carpet below his feet silenced any sound his shoes could cause and possibly startle whoever was at the very heart of the theater. Cash registers were unoccupied, snack bars were filled with various treats, but they seemed to be untouched as well as the alcohol on display. Everything that was of value was still in place, unscathed.

Every step Dazai took was in sync with the rhythm which faintly caressed his ears and he found himself enjoying the calm beat. Before the brunette knew it, he stood in the middle of rows upon rows of chairs, the cushions cold and unused as his eyes were focused on the dancer, clad in black, on the wooden stage. Dazai only registered how Sensei leapt on one of the chairs, everything else was unimportant.

Bare feet floated across the floor from left to right, arms moved gracefully like the stretching wings of a swan. Eyes were closed in concentration as your heels turned to the right and your arms rested across your torso. Your left hand went around your head once, traced the line of your right arm and ended up intertwined with your other hand. Stretching your leg out in front of you, you swiftly kicked the limb to your side and let your torso follow the movement by dipping it low and coming to a standing position.

The song Dazai didn't know came to an end, your heavy breathing filled the room along with the soft sound of your feet padding along the stage.

"You know that staring at a woman is rude, don't you?" Your voice was rough around the edges as your lungs grasped for some much needed air. A thin layer of sweat made your face shine in the dim light and a smile settled down on your lips. Ripped out of his mesmerized state, Dazai chuckled at your reaction - he had expected you to yell at him, scream, threaten him, but instead, you called him out. "True beauty even makes a gentleman stare," he said.

A rosy blush bloomed on your cheeks as you suddenly laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls which were decorated with rich designs and several paintings you couldn't name. "You sure know how to flatter a woman. I'll give you that," you sat down on the edge of the stage, right in front of Dazai and reached for your half empty water bottle. Honestly, you couldn't quite believe the stranger's words; who found a sweating person beautiful? Either way, you didn't bother to ask and simply let him have his fun. The mafioso sat down on one of the many chairs, took off his coat and let Sensei cuddle himself into the fabric.

"Can you do that again?"

"Huh?"

"Dancing. Can you dance once more?" It was an innocent request from Dazai's point of view. He wanted to understand what you danced to, what made your body move and how you moved it. He wanted to understand the story behind it. With a soft gaze, you leaned forward, chin resting on your palm. "In exchange for your name, I will consider dancing, again," the smile on your face was pure, there were no hidden intentions behind your persona, just the innocence of curiosity. You were far from being a threat. "My name is Dazai. Dazai Osamu."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dazai. I'm [Name] and not someone to deny the audience a wish," grabbing the hem of your black button down shirt, you wiped some sweat off your forehead and made your way to the bluetooth speakers which stood somewhere in the shadows.

Dazai found himself drawn to the mere way you walked. Yes, he had seen many confident women, especially in the mafia - Kouyou was the best example for that, but no one carried themselves like you. There was an air of elegant confidence surrounding your being like a halo, every step was memorized by your legs, every turn you took was sharp. Dazai had never interacted with a dancer before, but he could tell you were one. An experienced dancer, too.

His train of thought was interrupted by the soft sound of a plucking instrument being played and he saw the way you fell into a completely different persona. The air around you seemed to change into a melancholic one, your face reflecting emotions he saw daily: fear, anguish, melancholy. Gone was the friendly you. It was replaced by someone who looked like you.

Naked feet glided across the stage with ease as you seemed to become the beat yourself. Muscles smoothly tensed up to hit a sharp beat and immediately slid into a more relaxed state like it was the only thing you knew how to do, like it was breathing.

The closer Dazai looked, the more he noticed the calloused parts of your feet and for a moment, he wondered how much it had to hurt, but your face showed no signs of discomfort - if anything, you were at peace, in the middle of your very essence.

Much like paintings, Dazai didn't quite understand the story behind it, couldn't put together the pieces you showed him. He only finished the edge of the puzzle you performed which gave the mafioso a slight idea of the bigger picture you were trying to show him and maybe if Dazai asked, you would tell him the story behind the dance. For some reason, he sensed that it was an intimate question to which the answer was the moves you generously provided.

A slow jazz beat filled the empty bar named Lupin at nearly 00:00 o'clock, the faint smell of alcohol and cigarettes lingered pleasantly in the air. Only two seats were occupied at such a late hour; one by Dazai and the other seat was taken by Odasaku, the brunette's best friend.

"You've been looking at the clock quite a few times now. You still got plans?" Odasaku took a sip of his glass of whiskey with a large ice cube in it. The liquor pleasantly burned his throat and warmed the older man up from within - very welcoming considering the minus temperatures waiting outside of the bar. A single finger traced the edge of Dazai's own glass, his mind occupied with something - no, someone - else. "I can't hide anything from you, can I, Odasaku?" A tranquil smile found home on Dazai's slightly chapped lips. Something about Oda figuring him out like any other person made Dazai feel normal instead of an oh-so-called demonic prodigy with an unmatched intellect.

The mafia executive rested his cheek on his palm as he recalled the recent events. Sensei leading him to the theater, the soft thumping of a bass caressing his ears and his eyes landing on someone who bloomed on stage like a flower which was about to wither. "I was wondering if she was still up." At that, Odasaku's interest was piqued. It wasn't unusual for his suicidal friend to woo a woman, but it was unusual for him to wonder what his latest encounter was up to. "She?" The man was fairly curious, given that he usually witnessed how Dazai took a pretty lady home, but this time, Oda couldn't recall someone catching his friend's interest.

"Last night, Sensei lead me to the theater which the boss often rents for celebrations. I thought that maybe Sensei just needed a place to sleep at, but when I got there, I met [Name]." Slowly, Dazai twirled his glass and watched the liquid moving around while Oda was attentively listening. It certainly wasn't a common story to meet someone. "She's a dancer. Ah, what was that style called?" The brunette looked up at the ceiling in thought, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "Temporary? No, contemporary! She's a contemporary dancer."

"Let me guess. You want to see her, again." Oda spoke, finished his glass and looked at his dear friend in wonder. He didn't know who you were, probably never even saw your face, but the fact that you somehow managed to charm Dazai was quite a feat. After all, Dazai rarely thought of anything or anyone interesting enough unless it challenged his mind. "I do. But I don't know why." Dazai admitted, his lips pulled into a soft frown as he stared at his still full glass. For some reason, he had lost interest in getting pleasantly buzzed with Odasaku. "There's nothing special about her nor am I interested in dance and yet.." Dazai trailed off for a second and sighed. You confused him, although you were so easy to read and figure out. The blush on your cheeks gave away that you liked having Dazai's attention, you were easy to please. "She's pretty. I guess I enjoy being near her."

If anyone else had told Oda about Dazai's encounter with a dancer, he probably would've thought of it as a joke, but hearing such words from Dazai himself changed the situation. He could tell the younger man meant what he said and wasn't only trying to woo you for as long as you'd please the executive.

"Well? Is there any more to the story?"

"I only watched her dance, Odasaku."

"That's it?"

"That's it." Dazai confirmed with a tender nod of his head, brown locks going with the motion.

Odasaku looked at the clock - 00:30. For once, he felt like Dazai might see something more in a person than mere profit for one of his plans and he was looking forward to the day that epiphany would reach his friend. Hopefully sooner than later. If someone like Dazai was interested in someone simple like you then you could positively influence the man who had experienced nothing but violence, death and bloodshed for a majority of his life. "You should go, then. It's painfully obvious you want to see her."

"Are you sure?" Dazai asked, eyebrows pulled up in slight surprise. It didn't happen too often that he got to talk to Odasaku so freely without any prying eyes and judgment whispered behind their backs. In this bar, they were only Dazai and Odasaku. Not an executive of the mafia and a mafia member with the possibly lowest rank in the organization. "Why wouldn't I be sure? I can handle going home alone just fine."

There was no point in trying to argue with Odasaku. The man was awfully perceptive and aware of those around him and would probably drag Dazai out of the bar if it was in Oda's nature to do such things. Besides, Odasaku was always correct, right?

"Then I guess I'll see you around, Odasaku." Dazai wrapped his pitch black coat around his slender form and left with a gentle wave of his bandaged hand. Oda merely made a noise of acknowledgement.

He knew that one positive influence couldn't fix the trauma that Dazai had gone through, but love made man better, right? Deep down, Odasaku hoped that you would leave some kind of impact on his misguided friend, hoped that at least you could show him a bit of the light Dazai was so severely lacking.

He hoped that life would be kind to Dazai for once.

This time, Dazai was greeted by orchestral instruments put over a simple, consistent beat. No vocals accompanied the song, only the repeated words "save me, save me" echoing throughout the very lonely and cold hall. Yet, your mere presence seemed to fill the theater just fine.

He noticed you wore shoes unlike last night. Your dancing style was also slightly different. It lacked the element of ballet, yet he found himself watching you all the same.

How you kicked your leg out to the side, wiped your lips and for a moment, it seemed like you were getting ready to run only to pretend to slip. Skillfully, your hands caught your body before you rested on your back, hand reaching up in the air as if begging someone to save you from misery. The notes gently faded into nothing and found their end.

"And here I thought this was a one time meeting, Dazai." You teased from your position on the ground, rolled your body up into a sitting position and gave the man a teasing yet welcoming smile. A few strands of hair stuck to your face, some stood in weird directions, yet Dazai would still describe you as lovely. Sitting down on the chair he occupied the last time, Dazai returned the friendly teasing. "I like to make sure I see pretty things several times."

Damn smooth talker. Oh, how you'd love to wipe that cocky smirk off Dazai's stupidly handsome face. Damn him for making you blush so easily when his words weren't even that special. "Whatever you say." You dusted off your pants, let a few joints crack and tilted your head to the side as you took in Dazai's form.

The cold had bitten his cheeks red, a trail of goosebumps between the bandages around his neck and his jawline revealed itself to your eyes, he was shivering ever so slightly despite the coat clinging to his body. You couldn't blame Dazai - it was probably -10 degrees Celsius outside, some snow had frozen and the theater wasn't known to get heated up at night. Truth be told, you had also been shivering when you came in, but then..

Suddenly, your eyes widened in curiosity. "You're cold aren't you?" Dazai nodded his head slightly, not quite knowing where you were going with this. Of course, he was cold. What kind of question was that? Going to the very edge of the stage, you offered Dazai your hand and grinned from ear to ear with that silly blush still on your cheeks. "May I ask for this dance, dear sir?"

Warily, Dazai's gaze flickered from your palm to your face, his reaction hesitant. "Oh, belladonna, you do know that I'm not the dancer here, do you?" He just wasn't the type to dance, wasn't interested in the art either. Dazai only knew a few basic steps that Kouyou taught him years ago, but he barely ever had to use his non-existent dancing skills. "Aw, come on~" A cute pout adorned your lips as you tried persuading the mafia executive with puppy eyes and hopefully arguments that would convince him. "I'll teach you something really easy. I promise it'll be fun!"

Dramatically, Dazai threw his head back and covered his eyes with his palm, his loud voice easily filling the vast space. "How did you know that your mere beauty was my weakness? Truly, my only weak spot is standing right in front of me! How could I say no to a beautiful lady such as yourself?" At his antics, you couldn't help but roll your eyes, grab Dazai's hands and pull him on the stage with you. You noticed how calloused his hands were and wondered what his profession was since the rest of him seemed nearly dreamy. The more you thought about it, the more you could feel a headache approaching, though.

"First, off with that coat. You're gonna get warm real quick." Contrary to what your words implied, you took the coat off for Dazai and tossed the article of clothing in a corner where it wouldn't get in the way. Another thing Dazai learned about you was that you were touchy - not that he mined. He loved touchy, pretty ladies. But you..you nearly made his heart skip a beat with how eager you were to dance with him. "I didn't know you were so keen on getting me out of my clothes, belladonna."

Maybe the day you'd smack Dazai's face would come sooner than you thought. "Pfft, you wish, don't you?" Laughing, you shook your head a few times and picked your phone up from the ground to choose a song. What song would suit the situation or even Dazai's persona? He sure liked to joke around, yet his attire told you that he worked in a serious field. "I wouldn't mind~" Dazai spoke in a sing-song voice, hell bent on teasing your for whatever reason. However, it was part of his charm, you concluded for yourself.

In the end, you settled for a song played by only a piano. The mood was neither too sad nor too upbeat - it was a perfect mix of a tinge of sadness and the beauty of emotional clarity.

Dazai let you hold one of his hands while the other rested on your back, your free hand placed on his shoulder as you gave him instructions. "Take one step forward. Then I'll follow by taking a step backwards." His foot was quick to be placed between yours, chocolate eyes finding the two pairs of feet rather interesting. Dazai simply didn't want to step on your feet. Yet. "Good. Now one step to the right and a step backwards."

Dazai did as he was told and came back to center with you in his arms, leading him around the stage. Moving like this with the peaceful music in the background and your laughter right in his ear, some sort of warmth started spreading from Dazai's core and filled every fiber of his being with each step he took. Or maybe it was just the happiness swimming in your eyes. "See? It's not that hard. Do it again, but a bit faster." You encouraged the inexperienced brunette, grasping his hand tightly in yours. Dazai, on the other hand, felt oddly vulnerable as you lead him, taught him something he usually never used. It was a skill Dazai didn't possess, yet he found comfort in the fact that it was you taking the lead, dancing him through the steps his body had long since forgotten.

As time passed, Dazai gained security and picked up the speed until you told him that this was the perfect pace. At some point, your palm slid down his chest, the man's own palm coming to rest in the dip of your waist. Neither of you seemed to notice nor to care. Possibly, Dazai even dared to pull you closer, although he knew he shouldn't. Getting attached was a dangerous game, especially in his case. If Mori was to find out who Dazai found himself gravitating toward, he'd lose you. If the enemy was to know of your existence, he'd lose you.

Everything he'd never want to lose, would eventually slip through his fingers like water.

But there you were, in the blood-stained hands of a mafia executive, a content smile on your face and your heart beating in sync with Dazai's. The act of dancing with you was pure, probably the most common and innocent thing he had ever done, yet Dazai felt like it was wrong.

You were an angel, giving herself to the demon himself.

Yet, why did it feel so right?

"See? You're much warmer now." You beamed up at Dazai, eyes closed and he knew that this view would haunt him in his sleep. He should've stayed at the bar with Odasaku, drank a bit and then call it a night, but no, Dazai had to be selfish, greedy even, to come see you again when you were nothing but a stranger. Why the hell did you make him feel welcomed like he belonged right here with you? Dazai wasn't part of your blissfully mundane life and if you knew how many crimes he had committed, you'd let go of him like you had just burned yourself. And maybe, you actually would end up scorching yourself if you kept touching him, being near him.

"Yeah. It's your hard work though." Despite the emotional conflict raging on in Dazai's heart, he returned the smile you gave him, but it never quite reached his eyes. If you noticed, you didn't bother asking which the brunette was thankful for. How was he supposed to explain something he didn't quite understand himself just yet? "I argue we both worked hard." You gave his hand a squeeze. A gentle reminder that you were indeed there and not anywhere else.

Eventually, hours blurred into one another and Dazai was back in his seat with you sitting next to him, talking about the one time you thought your toaster was broken, but you only forgot to plug the device into the socket. You were silly and clumsy, too, Dazai learned.

"Oh, time flies, huh.." You looked at the watch wrapped around your wrist and sighed, the hint of a frown settling down on your face. The time read 4:53 am, the sky was still pitch black - definitely a downside to winter. A groan of annoyance rumbled deep within your chest, your head leaned back and eyes closed shut as you voiced out your frustration. "Why can't time go by a bit slower? I was really enjoying myself, too. Being here with you is better than going home."

"Oh? How so?" Dazai didn't expect you to be so open about your way of living, considering that he had met you not too long ago. But he did hear about some people who overshare personal feelings and issues, so were you a part of those people? Or did your trust already run so deep? "You see, I live on my own and it just gets..very lonely. It's almost depressing when there's no one to greet you, nothing to take care of. Agh, I said too much didn't I?" Maybe this was why your friends sometimes told you to shut up at a certain point. You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly, chuckling. "It's okay, don't worry."

But maybe that piece of information was what caused Dazai to offer to walk you home even though you only lived a 8-minute-walk away from the theater.

Or maybe it was the fact that the sun wouldn't rise until 8 am.

Whatever reason it was, you felt less lonely when you stepped foot into your home.

The meetings continued.

Dazai would occasionally pop up during your practice in the dead of night, after a drink with Odasaku or because he was simply straying throughout Yokohama's streets like a lost dog. You had quickly learned of Dazai's suicidal tendencies, even scolded him whenever the brunette enthusiastically told you about a new suicide technique he had read about. Usually, those around Dazai didn't care about that, because it was normal and he would always show up the next day in one piece, overdramatically devastated that he was still very much alive.

"Why are you so worried about a stranger's life?" Dazai had asked with a teasing tone lingering on the edge of his voice. He didn't expect a serious answer, didn't expect a response which he couldn't decode right off the bat. "Then who would I be dancing for?" A tinge of blue had colored your words; the color of the ocean. Beautiful to look at, but so unbelievably deep that one could drown in them if they weren't careful. It had left Dazai a tad bit confused; apparently, you had danced just fine without him as well, so why were you so worried about something as trivial as an audience now? Nevertheless, he had smiled - it was a gentle one.

"I'm sure you would find another audience."

"But none of them are you."

He had felt special and maybe it was delusional of him, but the more time Dazai spent with you, the more he wanted you for himself. No one else should hear your laugh for they might ruin the sound. No one else should be on the receiving end of your teasing for they might corrupt you. No one else should see you dance for Dazai liked to pretend that you only moved for him and his selfish eyes.

But that was wishful thinking. Just like writers needed readers, just like musicians needed listeners, a dancer needed an audience to gain energy from, an audience to perform for. Dazai knew he couldn't remain your only crowd forever.

The worst of it all that Dazai did get attached to you. Attached to your clumsiness when you tripped on stage and lied that it was part of the choreography. Attached to the way you'd grin from ear to ear once your eyes spotted him sitting in his usual seat. But most of all, he got attached to your kindness. You always offered him something to drink or some of your snacks, offered to distract him from whatever was bothering Dazai some nights.

You offered him some peace and quiet, physically, mentally and emotionally.

However, the more time Dazai spent with you, the more his premonition proved to be true.

You ended up haunting his dreams like a ghost and twisted them into nightmares that he often had, but it was even worse now that you had stepped into his life. It was your fault for ruining his already morbid nightmares by popping up in them out of the blue. Each time Dazai dreamed about shooting someone, your hand would hold his wrist to stop him. Each time he dreamed about a new suicide technique, you'd cry out his name in the ugliest way with tears streaming down your cheeks and a painful strain tearing your vocal chords.

But this night was so much worse.

"Dazai, we need your help in our current interrogation. The prisoner won't spill, no matter what." A buff man in a suit and shades resting on his nose deadpanned. With a sigh, Dazai put both of his hands on his desk and got up from the comfortable chair, silently wondering if his men were capable of fulfilling a simple mission, at all. He didn't know the details, busy with his own case and trying to come up with a new way to finally get rid of this life he never wanted.

Empty footsteps echoed right through the cold hallways of the mafia, no word was spoken, no breath could be heard. It was a heartless place which had witnessed the deaths of so many souls that it could be the equivalent of a graveyard. The amount of bloodshed was gross, but necessary in order for the mafia to survive.

As the heavy door made of pure metal opened, Dazai's eyes widened. He would recognize the person anywhere, no matter how big the crowd was. Cautiously, he approached your shaking form and kneeled down in front of your broken body. Deep bruises in various shades ruined your skin, no doubt you were suffering from a couple of broken bones as well. Upon a closer look, Dazai could see that you definitely lost weight as well.

Dead eyes met his own, the withering shimmer of recognition floated in your orbs before it rotted away. "Please, kill me, Dazai." Your voice was weak, hoarse from the lack of hydration and screams you let out as the men in black tried to get information out of you. "What the hell are you talking about?" Grabbing your shoulders, Dazai put you into a sitting position and let your chin rest on his shoulders. You were broken beyond repair and it was his fault that you got caught in this mess, in his mess.

"Everything hurts. I'm in nothing but pain, anymore. Please, I'm begging you to take my life." Tears streamed down your cheeks at the mere thought of leaving this world behind. Death terrified you, you didn't know if anything was waiting for you on the other side or if your existence would simply vanish like someone had pressed the delete button. "Don't be stupid, I can get you out of here, I can-" Dazai was rambling and it was the first time you saw him lose his composure. "It would be an honor to die by your hands, Osamu."

Somewhere deep down, Dazai knew he couldn't get you out of this alive. The mafia would kill you. You'd seen their faces, knew where these creatures of the night operated from. Too high was the possibility of you running to the government and spilling all that valuable information.

Too high was the possibility of his men letting you die a painful death when Dazai could give you a fast, painless way out.

"I'm sorry." Dazai whispered in your ear, his lips tickled the shell of it and you basked in the gentle feeling for a moment. It was a luxury you wouldn't get to experience, again. A wistful smile settled down on your lips, your eyes closed. You were at peace. "It's okay, Osamu. I'll watch over you from the other side. But for now, this is goodbye."

Dazai's hands shook as he placed the muzzle of his gun right against your chest where your heart was peacefully beating. Why did he have to kill the one person he was attached to? One of the very little good things he ever had in life would slip through his fingers, no matter how desperately he'd reach out for you. Dazai took a deep breath - a futile attempt to keep his composure - and pulled the trigger.

You immediately went limp in his arms, blood staining the white dress you wore and his own clothes too. The executive dropped the gun, held your corpse tightly in his arms and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He was glad no one was there to see him cry and sob into your hair. No one would ever see the way he held you for an hour, the way he grew terrified of how your body temperature dropped.

No one would ever see the pure feelings he had towards you.

"Goodbye, [Name]."

Dazai woke up in a cold sweat, spine as straight as a candle while his mind was slowly realizing that this was nothing but a nightmare. A bad one, too. "Crap.." The executive rubbed the side of his head, his heart still pounding in his rib cage from the vision that had just haunted him. He hated how you tormented his mind and occupied it like it was your own pretty place. You should at least pay some rent.

Checking the time on his phone, the numbers 02:13 am greeted him. At that time, you were normally still practicing, pushing yourself past your limits until you were so worn out that all you could do was lie on the cool ground, panting. Dazai threw the blanket away a little harder than needed, grabbed a pair of pants and a button down shirt. He needed to make sure you were still alive, he seeked your presence.

Maybe you could tend to the foreign panic he felt.

A strong wave of relief and comfort washed over Dazai as he saw you on the stage and the song found its end. His heart no longer beat erratically in his chest, but gradually calmed down. Slumping down in his usual seat, Dazai realized one thing.

He was scared of losing you.

And judging by the way you stopped everything and ran off the stage to sit down right next to him, you were worried about him, too. Ah, how nice it was to feel your hand cup his cold cheek, the pad of your caressing the skin right underneath Dazai's eyes. He had grown used to your touchy-ness and right now, it was very welcomed. A confirmation that you were very much real and alive unlike in the nightmare you'd unknowingly put him through.

"Everything okay?" Carefully, you asked as Dazai didn't mumble a single word and let himself being touched without much of a comment that served the mere purpose to make you blush. The suicidal brunette you grew fond of snapped out of whatever thought he was stuck in, his head whipping towards you. Worry was laced in your eyes and while Dazai definitely expected the devastating look you gave him, it pierced right through a sensitive spot of his. It was weird.

"Do you think there's a difference between good and evil?" It was an unusually deep question which Dazai had never asked you before. Normally, he asked you for silly favors like choking him to death or using your high kick to break his neck. You blinked once, twice.

Then you realized that this was Dazai being in a vulnerable state.

A heavy moment of silence filled the air around you and weighed heavily on your slim shoulders, words got stuck in your throat. School, family and society would say yes to that question, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized that maybe it was a matter of circumstances, interpretation and one's own morals.

With a huff escaping your lips, you sat back in your seat and stared at the empty stage. The one you wanted to perform on with the hall being sold out, one day. "Maybe there isn't that much of a difference, depending on how you look at it," you started and caught Dazai's attention. He had long since figured that you were capable of thinking and feeling for your own, but he wasn't sure if he expected such a response from a citizen. "If two nations are at war and a man kills someone from the opposing country to protect someone close to him and the same happens vice versa, then who is good and who is evil?" Eyes fluttering shut, you tapped your temple with your index and middle finger, Dazai's own eyes always set on you.

"Then there's also Yin and Yang. A bad seed lies in every good thing, a good seed lies in every bad thing," your gaze flew to the wall high above you, the dim lighting of the theater emphasized the tender structure of your jaw, the light in your eyes and the delicate curve of your neck. "So maybe good and bad are a curious mix of one another and aren't that different from one another."

Gradually, the light returned to Dazai's eyes and dipped them into the rich, chocolate brown color you liked so much. The curve on his lips was tender, the ghost of a smile but it was genuine and came from somewhere deep within his heart. You didn't know where this sudden, fond look came from, but you knew you never wanted it to disappear. "Do you have a camera with you?" Thrown off by his sudden question, you could only nod. "Uh yeah, why?"

"I want to take a picture of us." Because he feared he might lose you for real.

Without prodding any more, you dug around in your bag for the black device and came back with the camera in your hands, a smile on your face. "Well then, let's take a fancy picture." You positioned the camera on one of the empty seats. Dazai casually leaned his weight against the stage while you sat on the edge, feet dangling in the air and your arms wrapped around his shoulders to pull the man closer. A tranquil expression was on Dazai's face as you did so and said "cheese!".

The picture ended up in the pocket of his trench coat, reminding him that he had a bit of light in his life.

Lady luck certainly wasn't on your side this snowy day since she thought it was really funny to let your tyre drive over some sharp shards of glass. Swerving ever so slightly, you pulled up at a parking lot at an unfamiliar restaurant which was close to the frozen pier. "At least I didn't strand in the middle of nowhere." You huffed and tightly wrapped a scarf around your neck until the warm fabric covered about half of your face. It was a short walk from your car to the restaurant, but there was no way in hell you'd let the cold sink deeper into your bones than necessary.

Once the engine died down, you got out of your car and entered the small restaurant which was visited by only one man. Red hair, blue eyes and a pleasant voice as he chatted away with who you assumed was the cook and boss of this place. Tugging off your gloves, the scarf soon followed and was placed on the empty stool next to you; at least it was comfortable.

"Excuse me?" You politely interrupted the conversation between the two men and caught their attention. "My car died and I wondered if I could use someone's phone to get it towed away." The chubby cook was quick to respond as he handed you his old Nokia which was safely stored in the back pocket of his jeans. You thanked the man, glad that someone was willing to help and called the nearest auto repair shop. Ultimately, you didn't have any tyres in your trunk since you rarely drove. Oh, what a stupid decision that was.

After a small phone call and receiving the information that it would certainly take some time to get to your car, you decided to at least order some food and a glass of water. It was the least you could do after the owner was kind enough to lend you his phone for approximately five minutes.

While you were obviously enjoying your food, Odasaku couldn't help but wonder how high the probability of meeting you was.

At first, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but there you were, sitting a few stools away to keep a decent distance from the stranger who was Dazai's best and only friend. The description Dazai had given Oda was definitely more than accurate and not an exaggeration on his friend's part: the hair, eyes, height and way of dressing up matched Dazai's words all too well. Ah, what did the brunette say about you once? Right, it was like you demanded everyone's attention as soon as you stepped in the room, but in a very positive way. It was simply the aura you gave off.

Odasaku had seen the picture, too. You were definitely the woman who had hugged Dazai in the picture, beaming into the lens like no one else was watching.

"It's pretty cold, isn't it?" To Oda's surprise, it was you who actually struck up a conversation out of the blue. You wiped the small heap of snowflakes from your head, some of the melted snow had already dampened your hair and clothes. "You know Dazai, don't you?" Odasaku changed the topic, curious about what you thought of his dear friend, what your feelings were and if you had any concealed intentions. Admittedly, it was impudent of him to question your aim when Odasaku only knew you from words.

Eyes wide, you blinked in slight confusion before it clicked. "Yes, I do. Are you..by any chance Odasaku?" You had heard about Dazai's friends from some of his stories that either included a bar named Lupin or his job which the brunette still hadn't revealed. Well, it wasn't like it was any of your business, anyway. "I see he has already talked about me, huh? Only good things, I hope." Oda pretty much deadpanned and you couldn't help the laugh bubbling in the back of your throat at how serious he sounded - just like Dazai said. "Of course I heard only good things about you! Don't worry about it."

In-between a quick introduction and a few bites of the pasta you had ordered, you heard the question:"What do you think about Dazai?" Warmth was quick to dip the apple of your cheeks in a reddish color as your brain thought of an appropriate answer and how far you could go. Sure, this man was Dazai's best friend, but in the end, Odasaku was still a stranger to you. "What I think of him?" You repeated more to yourself than to Oda and suddenly got..shy. Odasaku nodded wordlessly.

"Dazai is an interesting person. It's hard to tell what he's thinking or feeling, yet being with him is fairly easy. Strikes me as someone who's definitely popular with the ladies and knows it, but he seems like a good guy, regardless. Pretty funny, too." For a moment your pursed your lips, fork poking around in your beloved pasta as you possibly shared too much, yet again. "I really like him, I guess.." Oda found no lie in your body language, in the way you talked or reacted when he asked you about the suicidal brunette. However, maybe you liked the mafia executive more than you realized or wanted to admit, Oda silently thought to himself.

"I might be sticking my nose into things where it's not wanted, but you definitely caught Dazai's interest." Oda paid for his own food, the cook mumbling something about him not having to do it, but accepting the money, nevertheless. "Huh?" Did your ears betray you or did Dazai's best friend, the infamous Odasaku who the younger man looked up to so much, tell you that Dazai was indeed intrigued? Maybe, you should get your ears checked, soon. Just to be sure.

"If you weren't interesting, Dazai wouldn't visit you. He's not much of a dancer and even less interested in it. But you seem to have caught him in a way."

With those words being said, Odasaku bid his farewell to the cook and you who was still processing his words and contemplating how much weight to give that revelation. Sure, Dazai had told you several days ago that he wasn't a dancer, but you couldn't really figure out why he insisted on still visiting you.

For the rest of the day, your heart beat a little bit faster than it was supposed to and this time, you were aware of the reason why.

Your encounter with Oda should've kept your spirits high, but that wasn't the case unfortunately. This night was void of any stars, thick, dark clouds even hid the moon that was usually watching you akin to a certain brunette.

But just like the moon, he didn't show up.

As always, just like every night, you stretched and practiced in the empty theater. The more time progressed, the more you seemed to mess up and feed into your own disappointment which quickly turned into impatience mixed with frustration. It seemed like your legs had a mind of their own and refused to listen to you while your muscles were getting sore from the strenuous training you forced them through.

You kept tripping over your own feet, painfully fell to your knees and sometimes managed to cushion the fall by dropping on your arms rather than your ribs. The soles of your feet ached, screaming at you to rest while a stifling soreness stretched itself throughout your muscles. But no, you couldn't stop. Not yet. Not when you were so close to perfecting the choreography, not when you were so close to feeling satisfied with the outcome. All you needed was more practice.

Sweat drenched your shirt and made your feet stick to the wooden floor in a disgusting way. But it would be worth it. The pain would pain off. You hoped.

Stretching your arm out, you felt the pain in your shoulder, but you gave it your all nevertheless. As soon as you stood on one leg, the limb gave out below you and ruthlessly let another bruise bloom on your kneecaps. Red, blue, purple, green and yellow stained your knees. A pained groan strained your throat as you picked yourself back up again, palms red from the amount of times you had done so. It was a painful process, but you needed it. Feeling that pain was so much better than feeling the distress of the impending death as a dancer, again.

Why couldn't you get that one move right? It was supposed to be easy and yet, you always failed over and over again. "Fuck.." You cussed underneath your heavy breath and wiped a few tears away. This was no time to cry over trivial things. The only reason why you picked up dancing again was to feel something. You had already died once and gosh was that painful. Oh, how you vowed to never die, again.

Once more. Taking a deep breath to keep your composure under control, you kept your arms straight by your side and put your weight on your dominant leg. You were in the middle of pivoting with your chest nearly touching your upper thighs when you lost your balance and fell to your knees and elbows. This time, tears flowed, the music kept going without you.

"To hell with it!" You yelled, threw your shoes against the wall in anger, frustration even and slid down the length of the wall. Heavy sobs rocked your body and you forgot that the vast space left an ugly echo of the disappointment you let out freely. At least, you were alone with no one to see you in such a weak moment. No one would see your tears and attempt to wipe them away. No one would tell you to cheer up and whisper sweet encouragements into your ear.

All you needed was to let it out.

It took you a while to calm down and find the bathroom of the theater. As you looked into the mirror, you were met with bloodshot eyes, messy hair and sticky clothes. Gazing downwards, you saw just how red your palms were and spotted a few cuts from mean splinters. Worn out, you rolled up the sleeves of your shirt and cringed at your bloody elbows, the red liquid was nearly dry and crusted around more severe bits. Just what you needed, really.

A sigh slipped your dry lips as cold water hit your hands, the temperature somewhat soothed the ache and calmed you down until you saw how the water turned red. "No, no, no, no!" You called out, eyes brimming with new tears you didn't know you still possessed as you scrubbed your hands, forearms and elbows furiously. The minor wounds reopened, causing fresh blood to leak from the broken skin and stain the sink in an hideous crimson.

That night, you scrubbed until it hurt.

No song resonated with you.

A few nights had passed when Dazai stepped foot into the theater once again and was welcomed by the sophisticated shadow your silhouette painted on the vast wall like the finest of paintings. Compared to the shadow, you were so bright and oh-so-short. He liked the contrast.

Silently to not disturb the flow you seemed to be in, Dazai took his seat as always and let his eyes drink in of the passionate smooth image that was you. The executive wondered just how much strength you had to possess in order to quickly switch from sleek moves to sharp ones that made your legs and chest pop. He wondered how many restless nights you had spent dancing in your room, on your own with no one to watch. He wondered why you still danced, although it seemed to be such an exhausting process.

All these questions were answered as Dazai merely watched you. The way you got lost in the lovely melody of the piano which was akin to a day in spring and spun on stage with your hands resting right above your heart, a happy grin on your face - that was the answer. Dance was something you were good at and found joy in.

Dazai was drawn to the way your shoes squeaked against the wooden floor, how your ripped jeans hugged your legs and the adorably oversized sweater. Everything was so you that Dazai found familiarity in your presence, peace and a bit of warmth which every human so selfishly craved for.

"It's good to see you, again." You squatted on the stage, arms hugging your shins closer to your body and as the holes in your jeans stretched, Dazai immediately noticed the nasty bruises on your knees. Seeing these stains for the first time, he wondered how hard how hard you had pushed yourself to look like you had fallen into a bucket of paint. How often had you fallen and still continued although it hurt? No doubt that the bruises still hurt at this moment, but when Dazai's eyes fell on your face, he saw nothing of the hell you had put yourself through. The smile on your reddish lips was tender, your eyes twinkled in the dim lighting and you welcomed him like he was your dear friend.

You never complained about the bruises on your knees.

"This sounds like you missed me, [Name]." In all honesty, a small, soft part within the brunette hoped you had missed him just like you had occupied his thoughts during his own work. For once, Dazai wanted to be missed by you, even though he had been gone for less five days. Your legs dangled off the edge of the stage, palms behind your back and supporting your weight as you nodded your head slightly. "Honestly? I did. It's not the same when you're absent, Dazai."

The mafia executive came to stand between your legs, bandaged hands resting on your hips and your doe eyes looking up at him in anticipation. His heart was so easily swayed by you and lord punish him if he would ever do anything to hurt you. "You meant what you said, didn't you? About not being able to find another audience." Ah, how were you supposed to respond? This was the first time Dazai got so close to you, touched you and it felt oddly intimate how he spoke, how he looked at you. Your heart pounded in your ribcage. "I always mean what I say, Osamu. None of them would be you."

Dazai was nearly cautious when he tucked a few strands of your hair behind your ear as if you were to break if he was too rough with you. He so badly wanted to deny himself of you, of your presence and the mere thought of you, but humans were sinful beings who always wanted the one thing they could break, taint and corrupt. When had you made Dazai so weak for you? A foreign emotion which Dazai experienced for the possibly very first time in his lonely life and he didn't want to let go of it. Rather, he wanted to protect and treasure it in fear it'd break. But what if Dazai himself was the one to shatter whatever was going on between you and him?

Unconsciously, Dazai cupped your cheek in his hand and caressed the skin underneath your eye - much like you had done when the man had searched for you after the nightmare he surely wouldn't forget so easily. Maybe, Dazai wanted to caress all your bruises and wounds away. "Really? I reckon you'd find an audience of much greater size." His voice was barely above a whisper while you leaned into his touch, blushing. Slender fingers tugged on Dazai's tie until the tip of your nose poked his own, your warm breath fanning over his cheeks. "If I could choose between a crowd and you, I'd always choose you, Osamu."

Dazai's lips hesitantly brushed over yours, it was like the touch of a ghost to see how you'd react and you never shied away. Instead, you took matters into your own hands and pressed your lips to Dazai's, gently at first.

After getting over his initial shock, the executive let his eyes flutter shut while his hand now cupped the nape of your neck, thumb still on your cheek as Dazai let his lips melt into yours. It was a sweet kiss shared between two people who weren't familiar with the concept of loving someone else, but the act felt so awfully right; like one had finally found a long lost piece of a puzzle and could finally finish the picture.

You smiled once the kiss was broken, but Dazai was quick to chase your lips and engage you in another lip lock. This time, it was firm and you let your lips melt into Dazai's with your palms on his chest to feel his heartbeat. Ah, it was just starting to calm down, you noted and smiled into the innocent kiss.

You felt warm all over.

"Let me watch you dance one more time."

Your response came in the form of a simple nod.

And so, Dazai sat on down on the stage and watched you spin or fall into a half-split to your heart's content. He had no interest in dance, but he was interested in you.

Hopefully, he would get the chance to see you during the day, as well.

But that wish wouldn't be granted until four years later, because Odasaku died.

Spring rolled around and cherry blossoms bloomed throughout the lively streets of Yokohama. Children's laughter filled the playgrounds with some much needed life, the sun smiled down at the city while the salty breeze of the shore cooled everyone down once in a while.

But the most important thing: The agency was as energetic as ever with Kunikida scolding Dazai for having tried to woo the waitress at Uzumaki's in an inappropriate manner. Something about needing her hands around his neck or something like that. Atsushi watched his superiors in shock and mild confusion as the scene continued. "Ah, right, I can't waste any more time on you. A client is on the way." The blonde detective brushed his palms off on his pants as though Dazai had dirtied them just by breathing.

"Whaaat? But that means more work and even more reports!" Dazai complained and dramatically palmed his face, head leaned back to the ceiling as he dreaded the new amount of work a new client brought. Despite the brunette's constant complaints, Dazai still finished whatever was expected of him; it was Odasaku's wish he was currently living. "Quit complaining and make yourself look acceptable. You look like you just got choked." Kunikida scolded after having choked Dazai himself.

The opening of a door went unheard as the two detectives kept arguing back and forth and was only interrupted by Atsushi greeting the client as politely as he could. He was told not to ruin the Agency's name and Atsushi was sure that Kunikida would drag him through hell and back himself if he was to mess up. "Welcome! You must be Ms. [Name], right?" Atsushi hoped you'd ignore the mess happening in the background.

"Exactly. There's an issue and.." Gradually, you trailed off as you raised your gaze, let yourself take in the office until they landed on him. The man you thought had died due to his suicidal tendencies stood right in front of you among his colleagues. The man you had grown so deeply attached to was very much alive and still looked the same, though he had grown and matured a bit. Overall, his entire energy seemed to be a tad bit brighter.

Your muscles froze, hands shaking as your eyes widened and silent tears rolled down your cheeks. Dazai seemed just as shocked; his gaze was deeply locked with your teary one as he too recognized you. How couldn't he recognize you? You were the first person to soothe the pain he felt even if it was only for a couple of hours. Dazai still carried the picture around.

"U-uhm.." Atsushi was about to ask what was going on, but Kunikida stopped the rookie by putting a hand on his shoulder and leading him away from the scene. Kunikida didn't know the deal between Dazai and you, but he did know that you two obviously needed to talk about it without anyone interrupting. "Don't. You can ask him later."

"It's you Osamu, isn't it?" Hastily, you wiped your tears away once the shock wore off. How often did you wait for Dazai to come through the doors of the theater with an unreadable expression on his face? How often had you simply sat in the vast hall with Sensei in your lap instead of dancing? How often had you cried thinking that Dazai succeeded in taking his own life? "It's been a while, hasn't it, [Name]?" Dazai's expression softened upon seeing you again, although he was also scared. He never thought anyone from his past would see him ever again, and yet there you were.

"Would you let me explain?"

You should be angry at Dazai for leaving you behind just like that, but a bigger part of you was so relieved to see the brunette still breathing, standing in front of you with that same damn look lingering in the depths of his eyes. "You'd better." Dazai offered you his hand to take, hoping to take some of your anxiety and maybe some of his own fears, too.

Luckily, Dazai found out you were still dancing.

That night, he watched you once again and never stopped watching you.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd x reader #fic: swan song

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snowdice · 5 years ago

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Gaps in His Files (Part 7) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

After Logan finished eating, Patton showed him his office. First, he was given his personal and work files which were familiar in organizational structure even if they had years’ worth of new information in them and his work files had a new subfolder for teaching instead of being purely for schoolwork. Yet, the thing that most interested Logan was the new file designation which Patton retrieved for him by finding a key in a hidden desk drawer compartment and using it to open a secret compartment in the wall. The files there were red and completely new to Logan. Thankfully, they still had quite a bit of structure that he was able to pick up quickly and there were easy to read tables of contents with understandable subsection titles.

He flipped curiously through the first few. They reflected the story Patton had told him earlier in content as well as form. The beginning files were either blue for work or plain white since his foray into superherodom had started from an academic source.

Though he had not known Logan at the time by his own admission, Patton’s knowledge of his early days of being a superhero were perfectly accurate based on the files. That combined with his knowledge about where the files were in the first place, stroked Logan’s curiosity regarding the man even more. Logan was not a trusting person, at least he had not been at 18, and he imagined not much had changed in the last 10 years. So, he had to wonder what it was about Patton that had made him willing to share so much about his life and clearly heavily protected aspects of his life at that. He did not imagine he would share his exploits as a hero with just anyone.

And, if it were just his exploits as a hero, perhaps he would have even understood that. It was good to have an ally, especially one with useful skills such as a doctor. Yet, Patton’s knowledge went deeper than even that to things more personal, ones not in these files or any of his others. He knew things about Logan: his favorite color, why he prefers some fabrics over others, and stories that had never left his lips in his current memories.

Why? He had to wonder. What made this person so different than everyone else?

Certainly, he could see the appeal of him as a romantic partner in the theoretical sense.

He was a doctor which was useful considering Logan’s superhero status likely led to physical injuries sometimes. In addition, that was a well-paying, respectable job, though it did have an unpredictable work schedule. Achievement in that field spoke of enough intellect to be on par with Logan even if they were in different areas.

He was also clearly adequately skilled in other things. He had managed to find Logan and get him back to his apartment and seemed to have enough emotional control to do what was necessary in the situation.

This was someone he imagined his parents would have likely expected for him as a romantic partner (if they expected anything at all). Though, Logan did have to worry that if they were both not particularly emotionally expressive then there may not be a good balance in the relationship.

Logan watched as he flipped through one of his personal files to get a picture from his college graduation to show him with practiced ease. He was comfortable around Logan’s organizational system, he noted. That was something no one had ever bothered to be before. Most people either tolerated or scorned the way he kept his files, but Patton knew his way around it almost as well as Logan himself, better in fact when it came to the new red files, fingers always flipping to the correct pages in seconds when Logan asked questions.

It was nice to have someone care enough to learn it.

It felt as though something shifted marginally inside his chest at the thought of someone being patient enough to learn how Logan organized his life. To do so was to basically learn how Logan’s mind worked. He… hadn’t known that was something he might want.

Oh.

That, he suddenly knew with clarity, that was why. Or at least part of why. It had to be.

“So,” Patton broached suddenly, likely catching him staring and wonder why, “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Logan blinked at him. “You already know me. Better than I do myself at the moment.”

“Sure, but I’ve only known versions of you that I’ve known.”

“Yes. That is typically how reality works.”

“Well not today,” he pointed out and… fair point. “Plus, maybe you’ll start to remember more if you start talking about yourself. Like when you’re trying to remember the title of a song so you sing the lyrics you know until you get to the point where they use the title in the song.”

Logan considered that. “That sounds like a rational strategy to try. What should I talk about?”

“Well, I know a lot about the events that happened in your life, but not really what you thought about them at the time. What are things you like and dislike in your life right now. You know,” he paused, “what are things you find annoying? Stuff like that.”

“I like coffee,” Logan said after a moment of consideration, “and school. Libraries. I like order and schedules and it makes me uncomfortable when things don’t go to plan. I don’t like impromptu things or eating outside. I don’t really like when people are overly emotional or when they cry mostly because I never know how to respond. I don’t like my English teacher because she once had a mental breakdown crying about a dream she had for 30 minutes when a student asked her if she’d graded our papers. Also, she was homophobic. I like math and science and my parents. Though, I dislike when they insist, I try to go out and “have fun.” I especially disliked when they set me up with a date for the homecoming. When I said I didn’t want to go especially with a girl they set me up with a boy for the next dance which was… nice as they attempted to listen to me, but they entirely missed the point. I dislike messes. I like jam. I want to major in math and physics and get my PhD in at least one… that seemed to work out. My calculus teacher was my favorite even though everyone else seemed to resent her, but we also mostly all passed the advanced placement test, so I think it was worth it. Also, she was kind.”

“You had a homophobic English teacher?” Patton asked.

“Ah, yes, did I never mention?” Logan asked. “She made her views known to a boy in the year below me and got fired a month ago.”

“You never told me about that.”

“Perhaps I decided she was no longer worth dwelling on. The man who took her place seems adequate, though I am not in his class. I also like my current English teacher. She says she got her teaching degree later in life and before that used to be a cultural anthropologist. She tells us stories about different places she’s been.”

Patton smiled. “She sounds interesting,” he said.

“Yes, and it is quite an interesting course. It is an extra one beyond what I must take to graduate. We write a research paper over the course of the entire semester.” Logan paused for a long moment. “This does not seem to be doing anything.”

Patton nodded. “Okay,” he said. “That’s fine. We’ll try something else. Maybe we should have lunch first though.”

Logan was starting to feel a bit hungry. “That is a good idea.”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 8

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #tsss #superhero au #memory loss #past child abuse #past child neglect #emotional suppression #self deprecation #gaps in his files #labeled universe #relabeled; refiled #adriana writes

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isa-ly · 4 years ago

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THE TRUTH UNTOLD

TW: mental illness, eating disorders, depression, anxiety

I know the title might be a fun little hint to a certain k-pop song (which is a reference about three people will understand) but despite that little quirky pun, this post I’m about to write and that you’re about to read, is not gonna be easy. Or witty, or funny like some of the previous posts were. It’s most definitely going to be the longest one, though.

Because, in all honesty, this is the one post I have been absolutely dreading to make. However, it’s also the post that I kind of started this blog for because, unlike my depression, anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia and quarter-life crisis, this is something only my closer circle and those who happened to ask, really know about.

And, once again in all honesty, this is the actual reason I started therapy almost a year ago. Because in every way possible, shit had hit the fan so hard that there had been nothing left but to step on the emergency breaks. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself here. So, let’s try and start from the beginning.

I’ve talked about my more or less mental breakdown and burn out during my last year of university a few times now. Didn’t spare any details either. However, there is one thing that I’ve been mindfully avoiding that actually took up a pretty big part of that time of my life. The reason I avoided it, was because in my head, I kept running in circles on how I would phrase it and explain it in a way that would a) not sound too shocking and b) not make me look like a complete stranger to people who, until now, had no idea of what I’m about to say.

Eventually, though, I realized that I was doing the exact same thing I’ve always been doing. Which was searching for excuses to not talk about the biggest struggle in my life and make myself vulnerable. And I don’t want to make these excuses anymore because, really, all they ever did was harm me. So, here goes nothing.

Hello. My name is Isa. And for over a year now, I have been suffering from an eating disorder called anorexia nervosa.

The sheer act of just having typed this sentence out on virtual paper, threw me so hard that I spent a good 15 minutes simply staring at my laptop screen just now. I told you, this wasn’t going to be easy.

Since the only place I’m really “promoting” this blog on is Instagram, I’m just going to try and somehow use that as a segue to this post. Over the last year, I’ve received quite a few messages from friends, family and sometimes also random acquaintances, whenever I posted a picture of myself on my story or feed. Some of them were jokey, some of them interested and a very select few were concerned, too. All of them were about my apparent change of appearance, however. Of course, I didn’t only receive those messages online. The people who know and see me in real life, the above mentioned inner circle, have known for a while and some of them, as much as I wish they hadn’t had to, saw all of it happen in real life.

I know I included it in the trigger warnings already, but I want to point it out one more time here because I know how incredibly triggering these things can be – especially to people who have struggled or are struggling with similar issues. So, if reading about body image, dieting, weight loss and eating disorders makes you uncomfortable or could trigger bad memories and behaviour, this post might not be the one for you. I don’t want to be patronizing, you know what’s best for you, just wanted to make sure to highlight it before I continued.

I also want to preface this by saying that I can and only will talk about my own experience here. I am in no way, shape or form an expert on mental health and eating disorders and what I’m going to say and talk about, is purely a narration of what happened in my own life. Eating disorders, just like any other mental illness, are very individual and I do not want to come off as blurting out generalizations about them. Just so that we’re clear here.

Therapy taught me that the psychological, biological and/or societal origin of eating disorders is still almost completely scientifically unknown. It is for that exact reason, that the various EDs are some of the most stereotyped and stigmatized mental illnesses there are – which is also why it took me so long to actually pluck up the courage and energy to talk about it. I imagined people reading about my anorexia and thinking: “Oh, I bet it’s because she was bullied for her weight when she was a kid”, or: “Well, just another one of those girls who wanted to be skinnier”. Possibly also: “I never would have thought that someone like her would end up with an eating disorder. She always seemed so confident!”

So, to combat the fear of coming off like a cliché or sob story, I knew simply had to tell my whole and honest story. Because even if I’m worried about being put in a box or labelled as something I’m not, it still happened. And it’s still my story. And to move on from it, or better, with it, I have to tell it. And I have to tell it right.

So, here it goes.

Ever since I can remember, I have disliked my body. Growing up as a Human Person™ in this society, I realize that’s not really something that makes me stand out (which, if you think about it, is actually incredibly fucking sad). Apart from my own self, however, no one ever really shamed for the way that I looked and I was also never bullied or teased by others because of it. So, that’s a no for the “Oh, I bet it’s because she was bullied for her weight when she was a kid”-stereotype. It makes me want to gauge the patriarchal beauty standard’s eyes out, to think that never actively having been shamed for my body or weight, is something that I can consider a “privilege” in this world. I’m aware that a lot of kids and adults don’t have that twisted privilege, which, again, just makes me want to set the world of body ideals on fire, but I don’t want to diverge too much from the point of this post.

Remember that society I was talking about? Yeah, with that around, having someone point out or shame you for how your body looks different from what’s considered the ideal, isn’t really something that’s necessary in order for you to still notice it and develop massive insecurities. So, even though I was “lucky” and “privileged” enough to have avoided being bullied for my body by real-life people, I still grew up not liking the way I looked, always noticing that my stomach, my thighs, my arms, my boobs, my butt, were different to those of the girls everyone called pretty. Which inevitably led to me harbouring a contained, yet undeniably significant amount of self-hatred for the way my body looked over time.

Now, I might have been one of many body-conscious teenagers, but, in quite stark contrast to that, I was also a seemingly self-confident one. Or at least I really, really wanted to be. It’s what everyone always told me I came across as. The loud, opinionated and self-assured girl, who didn’t care what people thought of her. Maybe that was to compensate for my own insecurities, maybe it was for protection, or maybe it was also because I just knew, or hoped, it was the right way to go. I believed and preached that how I looked, what I weighed and what I ate didn’t matter, both to myself and to all of my friends and family. I knew I was absolutely fine the way that I was, as long as I was physically and mentally healthy. I’ve always known that, and I fully believe in it too. And yet, here I am. About to tell you what both you and me are already suspecting: The story of how that knowledge didn’t end up protecting me as well as I thought it would.

Despite me always having believed in not giving a shit about beauty standards, ideal body types and the obsession with whatever the fuck “skinny”, “slim thick” and “lean” are supposed to be, it undeniably had an effect on me. Just like it has an effect on literally every other person, regardless of gender or age. It’s pretty much passed onto us the minute we’re born, like a part of our literal DNA. It makes me sick to my very core, but I always knew that this insecurity, no matter how much I knew it shouldn’t have ever been one and no matter how much I fought to stand above it, was woven into the very fabric of my being. The very minute we learn to interact with others and the world around us, the clear, limited and completely unrealistic image of how we’re supposed to look in order to meet societal expectations, is indoctrinated into our innocent brains – consciously, subconsciously and in literally every other way possible.

I don’t want to give a lecture on how society, media, and peers make us believe it’s necessary and right to chase bodies that, realistically, no one can ever outrun, but I felt like saying at least this much about it to set the base for what’s about to come. Certainly, this almost innate, underlying dislike for my body – or most parts of it – wasn’t the sole reason for developing an eating disorder in my early twenties. But it was most definitely a cruel predisposition that played a big part in how my anorexia unfolded and the leverage it had and still has on me.

I mentioned in the beginning how, despite it being one of the most common mental health disorders, there’s barely any scientific explanations as to how eating disorders really come to be. Which is why assuming that being unhappy with my body and the way it looked was the only reason I slipped into disordered eating, would simply be false. After all, I lived twenty-one years of my life being more or less fine with it. It was an insecurity, yes, but it didn’t dictate my every day life, it didn’t influence how I lived it. So, the “Well, just another one of those girls who wanted to be skinnier”-stereotype, doesn’t really prove to be fully true either.

Which leaves the last assumption: “I never would have thought that someone like her would end up with an eating disorder. She always seemed so confident!”

To which I can only say: Yeah, uh ... same? I mean, do you really think there’s anyone who found themselves developing an eating disorder only to think: “Oh, yeah, that makes sense, I always knew I’d end up like that!” Sorry, that was a bit dark. I know that this assumption is something that mostly I myself am worried about and that there’s no reason for me to actually get defensive. However, while most reactions to me talking about my eating disorder have been very comforting and caring, I’ve also had a few quite unpleasant experiences and well, those tend to have the harsher impact. So, please forgive my mildly cynical reasoning here.

Right, then. If I didn’t ever get bullied for my body or weight, didn’t just want to “be skinny” and really am that confident – how did this happen?

Well, I’ve already given part of the explanation just now, when I told you about my unfortunate predisposition of never really having fully loved or accepted my body. The other part of the explanation, lies in pretty much every other post I have written so far. Most of all the latest one: Control.

It was a real challenge to have written that last entry without ever mentioning my anorexia with even one word. Because really, for me personally, control is literally all it ever was and will be about. My therapist told me that it’s quite common in other eating disordered people too. But again, I’m not here to talk about anyone else, I’m here to talk about my own experience. And it starts just like I said in my last post: With losing control. And in many ways, the combination of always having disliked my body and suddenly having slithered into a massive life-crisis where I felt like I had lost all power and control over everything, was the very dangerous mixture that started it all.

I don’t want to make it about that too much, but it’s still worth mentioning that after my semester abroad, which had ended in January of 2018, I had gained some weight. Weight that, having changed up my diet a few years prior, I had actually lost and that all of a sudden, was now back on again. It had just been a very wonderful yet also stressful time abroad and well, heaps of uni work, very little sleep and the general student lifestyle, just caused me to pile on a few kilos. The part of me that genuinely never gave a fuck about body standards, once again did genuinely not give a fuck about that. And yeah, when I came back, there were the occasional family remarks of “Look at you, gained quite a bit of weight there, didn’t you?” (which I know are made with no malicious intent, by the way, but, forgive me if I say this: just shut up) and I had also obviously started noticing that none of my old clothes fit anymore and I did indeed look a lot larger than in any of my older pictures. Was that a blow to my self-built confidence because we live in a society that rewards weight loss and punishes weight gain? Sure. Was that when I developed anorexia? Nope.

Because, if you’ve been following the timeline of my mental health issues that I have oh so passionately been crafting in the last few posts, it wasn’t until autumn of 2018 that I first started struggling with my back then still undiscovered control issues, which lead to my anxiety, depression, insomnia and – now that I’m telling my whole story – my eating disorder. Or, to be fully correct, disordered eating, back then. Because just like the rest of my mental health issues, this too, crept up on me slowly at first.

I remember the first time I had this very simple thought. At least, it felt simple. Simple, but so deeply wrong and dangerous. And yet once I had had it, it wouldn’t leave anymore. It should have rang all the alarm bells in my head. It really should have. But I understand now, that the reason I had this very simple, deeply wrong and dangerous thought, was because I was desperate to control something, anything at all. Regain power over just one part of my life, whatever that might be.

So, that thought kept coming back. Over and over again:

What if I just stopped eating?

I would snap out of it and tell myself: “What the fuck, Isa? That’s ridiculous. Also, what does that even mean, are you crazy? You love food, you love eating it and you need it to survive.” And I’d ignore it again. But it would come back. Every now and then, usually in the moments where I felt worst about myself, it would echo stronger in my own head and ignoring it would become harder and harder. It was a thought so insane and so ridiculous, I told nobody about it. My rational mind knew that it was totally stupid to even consider something like that, and so I felt stupid for doing it. Which is why talking about it was off the table for me, back then. It was my dirty, little, silly secret and I was going to keep it that way.

I was smarter than that, I knew better than that.

It didn’t change the fact that I felt so lost in university though, and even more lost in life, and so that shitty thought just wouldn’t leave me alone. Until eventually, I budged. And that’s the part where it really stops being witty and smart-assy.

Because that’s the part where I made the decision to only eat once a day. And it was a decision that I fought for with an iron will. A decision that gave me control. Over all the wrong things.

I said I would tell my whole and honest story, but in case you were wondering: No, I’m not gonna give any numbers, not when it comes to weight and not when it comes to calories. Mainly because the only thing they do is create competition and shock value. Even to people who don’t struggle with eating disorders. And apart from that, they’re also triggering to me, even if it’s my own story. So, all I’ll say is that I limited myself to one meal a day. For an entire year. It didn’t always work, thank God for that in hindsight. But I tried to do it every day nonetheless, and even though it wasn’t a by-the-books eating disorder yet (which is a whole other rant I have but that’s not for now), it completely ruined my relationship with food, my body image and my own self-worth.

Every time I ate, I would feel guilty, it made me feel like a failure. I had never experienced this kind of shame before, the idea of feeling accomplished whenever I managed to go without eating for almost an entire day. It was this sick sense of pride and, you guessed it: Control. And yet it wasn’t enough, because my body would obviously fight back, demanding food with every bit of power and rage it had over me. I felt awful. On top of university stress, panic attacks, anxiety, depression and insomnia, I was now also hungry almost all the time. And when I had my one meal a day, I wouldn’t enjoy it. I would simply gorge on it because I was so depleted and ravenous. And then I would feel guilty and hate myself for it.

This went on for many months. I hid it as best as I could and in most social situations, I would make exceptions so that people wouldn’t notice. Exceptions I would hate myself for, but they had to be made to keep this habit my aforementioned dirty, little secret. It was like an entire new personality was starting to form inside my own. A dark and hateful one that chipped away at all that confidence and rational I had built over the years. A few close friends suspected eventually that something was off, and some of them asked about it but I would immediately play it off as just not feeling well because of all my other mental struggles, the ones they already knew about. It was an excuse that made sense, so no one really dug any deeper. And I couldn’t really have given another explanation back then anyway. Because again, I didn’t know yet why any of this was happening. I didn’t know that not eating was a twisted and horrible coping mechanism, that I had developed to gain back some sense of control in my life.

At that point, I had started weighing myself too. Something that had given me a big, bad shock when I first saw the number on the scale. In my mind, it was big and bad too. I knew how much I had weighed pre-semester-abroad. And so I knew how much I must have gained and by now also lost again. And yet that number was still way too big. It crushed me. And sadly, only spurred me on more. I would try not to eat. I would “fail”. I would hate myself. Rinse and repeat.

And no one knew what was going on. Least of all me.

It got a little bit better over the summer of 2019, just like the rest of my mental health did. That was around the time I had finally made the decision to take a gap year and figure out all my issues. And that included the very bad eating habits I had developed over the last year. In a way, that decision was also a way of me gaining back control, which was presumably why all my other bad coping strategies, including the not eating, faded away a little. No more nightly panic attacks. No more insomnia. And a lot more breakfast, lunch and dinner. I still didn’t like my body, I was still scared of the number on the scale. But I was ready to turn my life around again, get therapy and fight that nasty, dangerous habit I had let myself fall into.

Unfortunately, as I already mentioned in previous posts, the therapy I was so clearly in desperate need of, didn’t work out as quickly as I had wished (again, thanks for that, health care system). I had gone to my first ever assessment where they had diagnosed me with anxiety and depression disorder. And, actually, the psychiatrist that I had had my first ever session with, had also decided to diagnose me with anorexia nervosa because according to her, while I hadn’t ticked all of the eating disorder boxes yet, I definitely did show signs of eating disordered and anorexic behaviour. To me, that had sounded quite ridiculous and harsh at the time. Anorexia? Pft, no way, I didn’t look like the girls from the shocking posters and depressing documentaries, it was no where as serious as that. (Tip of the hat to those stigmas and stereotypes I was talking about earlier)

But of course, she was right. However, they didn’t have a free spot for one on one therapy and group sessions weren’t really what I was looking for either. So, I went on a waiting list and never heard back from them again.

The cold season crept back in and the wonderful, warm and sunny-safe bubble I had lived in all summer, burst as quickly as it had been blown into existence. Everyone went back to work, back to uni, back to life. And I ... well, I went back to being lost. To not knowing what to do. To having to write my thesis I still couldn’t write for some reason. To having panic attacks. To having insomnia.

To not eating.

Only that after a year of being so miserable whenever I ate food and still feeling so awful in my own body, I decided I would have to change the way I was going about it. In my extremely mentally fragile mind, I thought I had to step it up if I really wanted results. And, as I like to say it, that’s when shit really hit the fan. In a way, it felt like I had spent an entire year sitting on a roller coaster ride that was slowly climbing up the incline, getting closer and closer to the inevitable drop. And just like on any actual roller coaster, when that drop came, it came fast.

It was no longer about just eating one and any meal a day. In the matter of a week or two, it became about numbers, calories, measurements, grams, milliliters. All of a sudden, I found myself meticulously writing down every single thing I ate and when I had eaten it. The food groups kept shrinking and so did my portions and the amount of calories I would consume in a day. I would set a new limit on Monday and decrease it again by Wednesday, pushing myself harder, restricting more and more with every week. All I could think about was food. And all I could do was not eat it. In what felt like a matter of seconds, a worry, a fear, a habit had turned into a full-fledged obsession. An addiction. And that’s when anorexia entered my life.

I’ve re-written this part over and over again because I’m desperately trying not to make it sound like a pseudo-romantic and tastelessly dramatic young adult novel. But I realize that’s just my fear of sounding like a cliché again. So, I’ll stop scratching and writing everything anew now, and just keep going.

In the first few days and weeks of crashing into this new, horrible world, I remember yet again thinking another very simple, yet dangerous and devastating thought. The one beside “What if I just stopped eating?”. And this thought, to me personally, was even scarier than the last one.

It was the thought of: “What if I can never eat again?”

Because that’s exactly what anorexia felt like to me.

Many people describe it as a whole other person in their head. Almost like a foreign entity, taking over your life. And while I very strongly relate to these descriptions, I have learned that it’s best for me to not always manifest my eating disorder into a separate identity to my own, because in certain times, that gives it too much power and makes it seem undefeatable. Which it isn’t. So, I’m going to try and describe it in another way. The way I first described it to my therapist. With a metaphor, of course.

It felt like up until this point, I had been sitting in the car that was my own life, driving down the road of my present and future, looking in the rear view mirror at my past. I was the one with the foot on the gas and the breaks, I was the one that decided what turn or exit to take. Autumn of 2018 had felt like breaking down in that car, having to pull over and being lost in the middle of nowhere, without any signs to guide the way. My bad eating habits felt like someone stopping and pretending to help me, jump staring my car and having it tucker slowly again while following me at walking speed, with me still not really knowing where I was going. And finally, anorexia felt like that someone kicking me out of my car, buckling me into the passenger seat, taping my mouth shut and taking over the stirring wheel.

All of a sudden, it felt like I had no say in where I was heading, how fast I was driving or what road I was going down. For over a year, I had used this dangerous and awful habit of coping by not eating, to wield control and have power over something. And now, it had taken that power away again, like a pact with the god damn devil, and had started to use it over me instead. Which is exactly what eating disorders do, and what my anorexia did too. They give you a false sense of control because control is all you want, and yet all you can’t have. All you need to do is replace control with food. Because food is all you want, and yet all you can’t have. Anorexia gave me my own, fucked up metaphor for my control issues.

I knew that what I was doing was more than just dangerous. It was no longer just trying to eat once a day, not managing to and then hating myself. This was barely eating anything at all, setting the bar lower each day and starving myself. And not in the figurative way. I lost weight so rapidly, I could barely keep track. The scale became my second home, the calories my worst enemy and food, or more trying to avoid it, the entire purpose of my life. Nothing else mattered anymore.

Falling into anorexia has been the scariest and most horrible thing I have ever had to go through. It felt like I had lost myself. I was still there, in my own head, somewhere. Still strapped into the passenger seat. But I had no say in any of my actions. I just silently watched and witnessed, obeying everything my eating disorder told me to do. I know I said I usually avoid completely painting it as a separate person in my own head, but back then, back when I was still severely anorexic, that was just what it felt like. Like a literal parasite, that had latched onto me and was sucking me dry of any and every life force and fight I still had left.

All my days would consist of trying to navigate around food, doing my best to avoid it, lying to everyone, most of all myself. I would look up every single nutritional information of everything, every meal at a restaurant, every drink. I had lists where I wrote it all down, tracking my calorie intake and weight loss. Documents that contained all the calories from every single food and also non-food item imaginable. It would start with things like fruits, vegetables and condiments and end with things like tea, vitamins, chewing gum and toothpaste. I would google how many calories a panic attack burned. I would pace up and down my room at night to get my step count higher. I would walk around the city aimlessly for hours every single day to avoid eating, no matter the weather, no matter the time. I would work out at the gym like a maniac and almost pass out every single time afterwards. At family breakfast, I would hide food in my sleeves and socks to avoid eating it. It was more than just ridiculous. It was insanity. But it was an insanity I couldn’t let go of.

Anorexia was the most twisted and horrendous full-time commitment of my life. I had felt lost and without purpose for so long and in the most fucked up way, my eating disorder had given me a 9-to-5 – no, scratch that, a 24-god-damn-7 job to do. It had given me a new purpose and a painful illusion of the things I had craved for so long. Control, willpower, strength, endurance. Only that it was exactly that – just an illusion. Because at the end of the day, I would go to bed empty, both literally and figuratively, feeling nothing and hating everything. Because that’s what anorexia does. It strips you of everything you have in life. It takes away every joy, every pleasure, every interest, hobby, passion or relationship, and it isolates you. Completely. It worms its way into your life and fills out every single nook and crack until it’s the only thing that seems to be left. And therefore, the only thing you still care about.

It felt like losing my complete identity.

Mentally, I was at the worst state I had ever been in my life. This was around December of 2019. I had barely been keeping all of this up for over a month, but I was eating so little that I had lost an alarmingly large amount of weight very fast, which came at a high cost. I was always cold, I couldn’t sleep, I had awful headaches, I kept forgetting conversations and talks I had had with friends, I felt dizzy and nauseous all the time and worst of all, I was so cripplingly depressed that I didn’t even care about any of that. Because when you deprive your brain of nutrients this much, it just shuts down. And that’s what I did, too. I just went into standby mode, as I kept losing more weight and becoming more miserable with each day that passed.

Both my body and mind were running on nothing but adrenaline and thin air and I lived life in this absolutely isolated and horrible auto-pilot, where I continued on as if nothing was happening, as more of me, both physically and mentally, disappeared and was replaced with complete emptiness. I still struggle to find the right words to describe how I felt back then. The only thing that comes close is just complete nothingness. Like a fucking black hole inside of me that had swallowed everything and created a complete vacuum.

Writing about this makes me want to just close my laptop and stop. In a way, it feels like giving my eating disorder and the hardest time of my life a spot light. Like giving it attention and a stage to perform on, to flaunt its dramatic tragedy. I can feel that the anorexia loves that, relishes every word I’m typing about it, every second of attention I’m giving to it. And hate that, I fucking despise it. Because it doesn’t deserve its own stage. It never did and it never will. So, let’s try and move on to the part where things changed.

Back then, I might have become a master of lying and avoiding most people’s questions about me never seeming to be hungry or wanting to eat. But thankfully, there were a few of my close friends that had started to notice. Not gonna name any names, but you know who you are. And I cannot even begin to say how incredibly thankful and lucky I am to have had you there. Because even when I had given up on myself, you didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine, oh no. I was still in a very, very bad place mentally, and my eating disorder was not planning on leaving any time soon.

But, with the help and intervention of said good friends and a few select, eye-opening experiences (that I won’t talk about because they really weren’t ideal but still ended up helping somehow), I finally realized the very obvious but up until then seemingly impossible thing: I had to start eating again. And I had to start now.

And I did.

Looking back, I cannot even express how glad I am about that. Because it had started to become really critical. And I consider myself to be very lucky that it didn’t have to get even worse. That I was still able to make my own decisions and finally get help. Finding therapy was once again not easy but eventually, I did find an outpatient clinic that offered immediate consultation, as well as an appointment with a psychiatrist for medication and an internist for physical check-ups. And, to maybe bring back a slight sense of cheerfulness: It was also when I finally got to meet my therapist Kerstin.

Again, none of this was as easy and swift as it might sound like with me narrating it in those few sentences, but this post can only go on for so much longer before I get too drained and decide to just delete all of it again, so I will try and come to a close, for now. There’s still so much more to tell when it comes to my journey with my eating disorder and my mental health, because it’s nowhere near finished. And worry not, I will tell it – not so much for the sake of those of you who read it, but more so for my own. But for now, I want to finish by saying this much – mainly to myself again, but also to anyone else who might need to hear it:

I know it might feel like you don’t care.

About yourself, about what happens to you, about the future, about happiness. I know it might feel like you’re faking everything, lying to everyone and just pretending all the time. I know you might feel so horribly and painfully empty that all you want to do is sit still in the void of your own head and let the misery wash over you in dreadful peace. I know you might think that the only sense of comfort you can find, lies in the things that hurt you most. I know your pain seems like an old friend, one that will never leave you and therefore is worth staying close to. I know that continuing to fight on and struggling through life and all the hardships it throws at you, sometimes feels so impossible, that it seems easier to just give in and give up.

The thing about that is, though: It’s fucking bullshit.

It’s nothing but a very mean and disgusting way of all your inner pain, trauma and warped coping mechanisms to try to pull you down to keep you “safe” from things that you can absolutely, completely and totally battle. And, yeah, it sure as shit ain’t easy. God, if I had a dollar for every time I had to pick myself back up after I stepped on a scale, after I ate something that scared me, after I looked in the mirror, after I relapsed, after I went back on track again, after I wished I could just melt into a formless blob and slowly whither away in peace– I would be a rich woman. But neither life nor capitalism work that way, unfortunately. So, why do I still bother?

Well, because after going through hell and back, it’s the only thing I have left. It’s the only option there is.

You might not know who you are. You might not know what you’re doing, where you’re going, if you’re ever going to get better, if you’ll ever feel happy and at home in your own mind, body and life again. But what you can and should know, is that you can always try. Even if it seems pointless, even if it seems like you’re running in circles, wanting to bash your head against the wall because of how senseless it all feels.

You can still try.

And try, and try, and try again. It’s a choice and it is a hard one. Maybe the hardest one you will ever have to make.

But I chose to make it, and I still continue to. Every day. With every morning I wake up, every therapy session I go to, every panic attack I breathe through, every depressive phase I crawl back out of, every meal I eat. I choose to do it, I choose to keep pushing because when it feels like all the bad and dark thoughts are more powerful than me and threaten to swallow me alive, making the choice to fight back as much as I can, is what proves that I am and always will be more powerful than them.

Because this is my life. My body. My head. My brain. My mind. And I’d be a god damn fool to give them up to those inner demons that would never know how to treat them right, how to cherish them and keep them happy, healthy and alive. Because I think we can all agree that, at the end of the day, being happy is a hell of a lot better than being sad and empty. And so, at the end of the day, I realized that nothing and no one, not even my mental health disorders and past traumas, can take away what will always, exclusively and fully belong to me and me only:

My choice, my happiness, my control – the right one, this time.

#mental illness #mental health #therapy #eating disorder #anorexia #depression #anxiety

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leotssukinaga · 5 years ago

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It’s a Great Big World (She’s Just Another Girl)

Oikawa x Fem!Reader

Summary: Support comes in many forms, he knows that, but being told by his friends that he'll move on doesn't help when he's not ready to. Promising someone something they don't want isn't the way to fix things. This isn't even something that can be fixed. Not by them, at least. Song: Just Another Girl- The Killers Word Count: 2479 A/N: Angst is my favourite to write, I’m sorry. Warnings: Alcohol consumption.

Sitting in the locker room, the dam he'd built starts to break again, and he tries his best to keep it in place, to stay stable. He's here to play volleyball. He needs to get you out of his mind. "Oikawa?" That's his name. Isn't it? It doesn't feel right. He doesn't feel a connection to it, not anymore. He doesn't feel a connection to much these days. Not when you're not here. "Oikawa!" "What?!" "The games about to start." Oh, right. He's a volleyball player. Hadn't he just thought about that? How did he forget? You'd always supported his career, he still has pictures of you in his jacket, holding a sign with his name. He wonders if you think about him. If you see a match on TV and wonder how he's doing, if you search his name sometimes to catch up on his progress. If you still care, like you used to when you belonged to him, when you didn't have someone else's ring on your finger. "Are you sure you're okay to play?" "I'll be fine." He doesn't mean it, doesn't believe it, and when he steps on the court his usual persona doesn't come to him. It's like you took Oikawa with you, left him as lonely, broken Tōru. He can barely register the game. When he serves the ball he doesn't feel it hit his hand, the yells of the crowd don't reach his ears. The next thing he processes is that he's staring at the ceiling, and he's not sure why. A face comes into his field of vision, filled with concern, words he can't hear spilling from his mouth. Does his knee hurt? He must have fallen on it. Why doesn't he care? Is he really that broken?

"It's like you weren't even present in the game. What's going on with you?" Iwaizumi's glare burns into the side of his head as he stares upwards. Tōru hadn't even realised he was in the country. Perhaps he'd come to see him play, flown all this way, and he'd disappointed his friend- just like he'd disappointed you. So many times he'd disappointed you. That's why you left, right? "Oikawa." Iwa doesn't sound angry, Oikawa knows his angry voice, but the concern laced into his voice is worse than anger. "I miss her, Iwa." "You miss-...who?" "Y/N." "Still? ""What do you mean still?" "Its been 2 years. This isn't healthy, Tōru." It's been a long time since he heard his given name from his best friends mouth. "It's time to move on." "What, like she did?" "Are you mad at her for that?" "No! No, I'm not I just... All I do is think about her and she's out there planning a wedding that isn't ours." "You'll find someone. Someone you're meant to marry." "Did that really just come out of your mouth?" "I'm trying to help you, dumbass." He doesn't say anything else. Talking about it hurts too much. It's the only thing that does hurt anymore. He never thought he'd miss other types of pain.

Next time he's in Japan, he can't help but drive past your house. It's stupid, he knows it is, but he finds himself on your street before he knows it. Your bicycle isn't in the driveway and neither is his car, and the fact that you're not home brings him no comfort. Maybe you're working, you always loved your job. He can so easily recall the glint in your eyes as you talked about it, the extra hours you dedicated to it until you were so exhausted you ended up crying in his arms, desperate for rest that you wouldn't allow yourself. He wonders if you still do that, if you cover other people's shifts until you've gone 15 days without a day off and you can barely stand, if you still have a whole cabinet in that house dedicated to coffee. He doesn't know how long he's sat here, mind wandering. He desperately wants to know if you're still the girl he knew two years ago. The girl he did nothing but let down; the girl he stood up time after time, who he never told he loved enough, who he was never really there for. He drove you away, he knows that. He's probably better alone, he can't ruin things if it's just him. He wishes he could handle being by himself. He knows he can't. A car horn sounds behind him, and he realises where he is. Maybe he's not in the right mindset to be driving. He makes his way home regardless, somehow without zoning out again.

The house feels empty, as it has for the past 2 years. Sometimes he still expects you to be there, reading on the couch or sleeping hunched over the desk in the study. Things lack colour now, and that isn't a metaphor. Your purple and yellow blanket no longer lives on the armchair in the corner, none of the painted photo frames you'd put on the walls remained. Everything about you had been bright, and without you it was like he'd been plunged into an endless night. How could he move on, knowing he'd never see the sunlight again?

3 weeks after what would've been your 4 year anniversary, Oikawa finds himself at the house of a lady who claims to be a fortune teller. He doesn't know if he believes in it, he thinks he probably doesn't, but- well, desperate measures and all that. After all, who's to say it's not real? He believes in aliens, maybe he can find it in himself to believe in this too. Although, even aliens have lost some of their appeal. Too many memories tied to you for that. He almost wishes he could erase you from his mind, reclaim the things he shared with you as his own, but he doubts that would dull the emptiness in his heart. When she tells him he'll move on, that there's happiness and love in his future, that the pain she senses in him (she says this as if she figured it out, but it's not that much of an epiphany considering he told her about it when he first sat across from her) will ease- well, he really tries to believe her. The truth is, he's not sure he wants to move on. It's not like he can't let you go, he'd just rather have you back. The whole ordeal leaves him a little disoriented, if he's being honest, and suddenly he finds himself at home again with almost no memory of leaving her house.

Time seems to move differently these days, but there's no consistency to that change. Some days he gets in the shower and finds himself at the table 3 days later, food he doesn't even remember cooking sat in front of him. Other days he lies in bed for weeks on end, but when he looks at the clock only 5 minutes have passed. He's not sure what changed- perhaps it was him. Maybe he's losing his grip on reality. Then again, he doesn't know if he ever had one in the first place, and that's probably why he's so lost without you. You were the only stability he ever really had. It's hard to believe that the world moves on, that you moved on. All those trips you planned, the dreams you shared with him, the late night talks and the existential crises and the way you'd sometimes crack an egg on the back of his head while you were baking just to laugh when you watched him go red- those moments weren't his anymore. They were never really his at all, just something you let him be a part of. His access to your life had been cut off so suddenly, and quite frankly he feels he'd rather have lost access to his own.

When he gets an invitation to the wedding of one of his team members, he tries to quell the pang of guilt as he stashes it in a drawer and tries not to cry. He probably won't go. Is it rude to miss the happiest moment of someone's life because he's heartbroken? It's probably ruder to have a mental breakdown at someone elses wedding, and he's not sure he can handle such a painful reminder of something he never got to do with you. He wonders why they're getting married so fast, and then realises that it's not really that fast at all. Time is actually moving for the rest of the world, it's just Tōru who's stuck in the past. Sometimes he wakes up to a cold bed and wonders why you're not there, searching for you until it hits him that you left and he falls apart all over again. But when he looks back on your relationship and finds nothing but his flaws- he can't bring himself to blame you for not sticking around.

Your biggest point of contention could have been so easily fixed. The countless arguments, the nights you spent on the couch, the anger and betrayal in your voice when you would ask him about it- whether he told the truth or not. Your brother was a kid, is a kid, and honestly what kind of 24 year old fights with his girlfriends 16 year old brother? He wants to cry when he thinks about it. He pops up sometimes in your social media posts (and Tōru knows he shouldn't check them but he can't help himself- he needs proof you're still out there, that you didn't leave the world like you left him), in family vacations and wedding planning posts and a particularly tear jerking message to him when he got into the University he wanted, and if Tōru could apologise for the relationship he'd had with him, if he could give him all the love and luck in the world and be the older brother you'd begged him to try and be- well, maybe things wouldn't be so bad right now. Your fiancé- the word brings bile rising to his throat like a sickly tidal wave- seems to get on with him well, and that just drills even more holes in his already hollow heart.

"You know, you could get any girl you wanted." Mattsun offers, not so helpfully, when it's been nearly 3 years and he's still heartbroken. The engagement ring he'd bought you just before the breakup- the one he never gave to you- is stashed in the drawer next to his bed. Theyknow it’s still there. "Yeah, dude, you'll find someone else. There's like a million people in the world-" “Try 7 billion." "Listen- nobody said I was smart," Makki points at him like he's debating something when he says this, and it's fairly obvious that he's more than a little drunk. They've all had their fair share, run up a tab that would make a sailor faint, but Oikawa couldn't feel more sober if he tried. "But I'm trying to help you here. My poi- my point is- well. Why are you so hung up on her? She's just- she's another girl, you know? Plenty of fish and all that. Unless fish aren't your thing." "Why would fish be his thing?" "I don't know man, I'm hammered." "We all are. But you know, he's right! She clearly wasn't the one for you- you just gotta find the one who is." "I don't- have either of you considered that she was the one for me, but I wasn't the one for her? You think after nearly three goddamn years of missing her I haven't tried? I can't move on. She's all there ever was for me and she's- she probably doesn't even think about me." The two men in front of him share a glance before Mattsun stands up. "Come on. You gotta get home, get some rest." With one of their arms hooked around each of his, the two of them help him home.

When they enter his house- for the first time in a long while- they make no effort to hide their shock. "Jesus Christ dude." Makki whispers. "When was the last time you cleaned?" "I don't know." He admits, but he's too numb to be ashamed. It's not like it's dirty, per se. He throws his trash away, and does his dishes and laundry, but he doesn't put books back, his furniture has been rearranged 4 times this week alone and- "Are you sleeping in the living room?" "I- I can't sleep in the bed anymore. It's too cold without her." He thinks the sympathy on their faces makes him feel worse than when they were telling him to get over you. When they finally leave, he sits on his pile of blankets and pillows, their words running through his mind.

If you were just another girl, he'd have moved on by now. He'd be able to sleep for more than an hour at a time, he wouldn't wake up crying after dreaming of you. He wouldn't feel the weight of exhaustion seeping into his bones with every step he took. Nights wouldn't be restless and painful, spent wishing he could turn back time until he got it right.

If you were just another girl the world would look the way it used to. Colours would still be bright, sunsets would bring him joy, he'd still go U.F.O watching at 3am. The moon wouldn't be distorted by his tears when he sat in the yard and stared at it- for hours or for seconds he was never sure. He'd still live in the world, rather than simply observing it's changes like a lost ghost. He's not dead- at least, he's pretty sure he isn't- but nothing he touches seems to move the way it used to, none of his emotions seem like they belong to him anymore.

If you were just another girl, he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be sat in front of the TV, wondering why he can't hear it. If the sound is off, he can't bring himself to care enough to change that. Sometimes real people talk to him and he wonders why they're muted. Sometimes he wakes up halfway through the day- already going about his life but with no memory of anything before that moment. Sometimes it feels like he's watching himself through the TV he wastes so much time in front of. He wonders if he's depressed. He forgets what he was thinking about before he can come to a conclusion.

It's a great big world, and you're just another girl, but to Oikawa Tōru you're the only one in it worth anything. And it seems like you're the only one in it who wants nothing to do with him. He's stopped trying to get used to that.

taglist: @tremendousglitterthing @svtbitch @the-fandom-ness

#my writing #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa toru imagine #oikawa angst #oikawa tooru angst

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 5 years ago

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School sucks, but you don’t (Slaxl Highschool AU)

A/N: Since I made my Slaxl highschool au moodboard ( photo above), I wanted to write a little highschool au for them, and it’s finally here ! It will be divided into 2 parts. Also a big thanks to @duffshairdye who edited this for me (ya know, ‘cause English is not my first language)

Slash just wanted to have his mental breakdown.

He just wanted to cry, let it all out and then buy some alcohol with his fake ID. He certainly didn’t expect to find another person in the bathroom. He chose this one specifically because it was broken and nobody would come here.

Well... He was wrong!

“What the hell are you doing here?” A boy asked, and Slash recognized him as Axl Rose, the school’s resident troublemaker and sex dream. Now, Slash knew more about his reputation than about Axl himself, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have quite a crush on him.

“I was about to cry my eyes out but apparently you’re already doing it.” He said, trying to hide his embarrassment. He never thought that a guy as tough as the redhead would break down in a shitty high school bathroom.

“W-what happened to you?” Axl asked, genuinely concerned. Wait, Axl was concerned about him?

“My teacher is an asshole and I don’t have anyone to go to prom with. Well, let’s say that nobody wants to go to prom with me.” The curly-haired boy replied, a bit sad. “So what happened to you?

“I think I’m going to fail this year. And… well, my stepfather won’t be happy about it!” he mumbled, like he was scared to be laughed at or insulted.

Slash immediately felt a wave of guilt crashing over him. Fuck, his problems seemed so small compared to the older boy’s.

“Oh shit, man! I’m so sorry, I must seem like a whiny bitch for complaining about such a small thing.”

“It’s okay, dude. That’s what this bathroom is for!” Axl said, a dry laughing escaping his mouth.

Saul looked at him and decided that he wanted to help this poor boy. Maybe it was his hidden scared expression, or his beautiful eyes or his silky hair, but Slash was already head over heels for him. Shit.

“Maybe I could help you. I’m not the brightest student, but I have decent grades.” The dark-haired boy proposed with a smile.

Axl looked at him, a bit confused, like he wasn’t used to human help, then a little smile crept on his face.

“You’d really do that? For me? Thanks, man!” Axl said, and then added, “How can I repay you?”

“There’s no need to.”

“Maybe I could go to prom with you! Like as a way to repay you.” The redhead suggested, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Yeah, I’d totally love to go to prom with you, beautiful angel! Slash thought.

“I-I mean, you d-don’t have to! But I’d really enjoy going with you.” Slash said, trying to sound as chill as possible. Axl’s smile was very visible now, and it was hard to believe that he was the most badass son of a bitch in the school.

“ Still, thanks dude! Uh... See you tomorrow at your place, then. If it’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. See you tomorrow!”

The older boy gave him a pat on the shoulder, then he exited the bathroom.

Yep Slash, you’re totally fucked now!

The next morning the curly-haired boy had his head in the clouds, totally ignoring what his teacher or anyone else was saying. All his thoughts were diverging towards a certain redheaded boy that he was going to meet later in the day.

“You’re totally out of it today, aren’t you? What’s going on?” Slash’s best friend Duff asked, after trying to catch the other boy’s attention for the third time during the lesson.

“If I tell you that I’m just too interested in learning to not care about you, would you believe me?”

“Yeah, totally!” The tall boy replied sarcastically.

“Well… Axl Rose is coming to my house to study later,” he whispered, his tone a bit scared.

“Okay, but I don’t understand what this has to do with you being… OH SHIT! You totally have a crush on him!”

“Would you lower your voice, damn! I don’t want the whole school to hear.”

“Aww, little Slash is in love and embarrassed!” The blond taunted him.

“Fuck you, Duff!”

“So, how exactly did that happen? It’s not like you and the school’s resident criminal talk every day.”

“Um… Promise me you won’t tell this to anybody, okay? Swear it on your bass guitar!” Slash stated seriously.

“Okay, man, but you better hope that nothing happens to my baby or I’ll cut all your guitar’s strings!”

Slash simply told him everything, trying to not leave out any details, hoping that his friend would be able to tell if Axl was into him or not.

“I don’t know, man. It was an encounter that was too short to let you know anything. Try to drop some hints when you two are together. After all, he’s your date to prom so you have to get to know each other a bit.” Duff declared, and then the bell rang.

“I have gym now, see you later Giraffe!” The curly-haired man said playfully.

“Slash… Just be careful, Axl Rose can be a heartbreaker!” His best friend said, giving him a pat.

Oh believe me Duff, he has already broken mine and we still have to start.

----

The afternoon came way too soon, in Saul’s opinion, and now he was freaking out. Why was he freaking out? Wasn’t he the chilliest dude on Earth? Apparently his shy side take on. Or he was just hopelessly in love with Axl?

The bell suddenly rang and as he opened the door, he was faced with his favorite redhead: fuck, he looked so hot with his leather pants, band shirt, and his badass attitude. He gave the younger boy a charming smile as he entered his living room.

“So where are we going to study?” Axl asked, trying to seem interested. Slash was well aware that studying wasn’t his favorite activity.

“In my bedroom.” The curly-haired boy replied, chill.

“Well, usually bedrooms are for other activities! But since you’re my tutor, I guess I have to follow you,” Axl smirked.

Wait, was Axl trying to say something to him?

Slash tried to regain his composure and to not fucking blush right in front of him. He simply turned around and gestured for the other boy to follow him, leading him to his room.

“Wow dude, is that a Queen poster? I fucking love them!” Axl said, enthusiastic.

“I get that from your T-shirt, but I’m glad to have someone to talk about rock!” Saul said back, a little smile forming on his mouth. Axl seemed a bit taken off, but he smiled back.

“I think it’s time that we start to study, this is what I’ve come here for, right?” Axl stated, trying to not sound nervous. Axl Rose was nervous?

The younger man just nodded and had him sit on his bed.

Slash actually found out that Axl wasn’t “dumb” or that bad at studying. He just needed time and someone who helped him and explained things he didn’t know.

“Did I get the correct answer?” The redhead asked for the hundredth time.

“No man, I’m sorry. It was B.” Slash said, feeling a bit sad for the poor guy.

“Ugh, dude, can we be done for the day? I can come back tomorrow, if that’s okay with you. I don’t think I can fit any more information in my brain!” Axl’s voice sounded really tired.

“Yeah totally, I’ll grab something to drink, you can lay on the bed, if you want to.” Saul said, trying to sound as chill as possible.

Luckily his parents were still outside, so he could steal two beers from the fridge and a couple of his mother’s cigarettes. A part of him was so happy that Axl was going to come over again tomorrow; he couldn’t wait to spend more time with him, but he also wondered if Axl did that on purpose.

Did Axl Rose really want to spend more time with him? Or was he just trying to use him? Slash offered his help, so that couldn’t be!

Lost in his thoughts, the younger boy almost didn’t notice his guest taking an interest in his guitar.

“Do you like it?” He asked calmly, and Axl almost jumped.

“Oh shit man, I didn’t mean to be nosy. It’s just that I didn’t know you had an electric guitar!” Axl justified himself, sounding a bit nervous.

“Yeah, I play, I’m hoping to be in a band someday. Wanna hear something?” The redhead just nodded and Slash started to tune his guitar.

“Do you have any requests?” Slash asked. Axl simply shook his head.

Saul decided to play something that he wrote a while ago; he tried to let his heart lead him, forcing himself to not look at the beautiful boy standing next to him.

After a couple of minutes, he heard a voice sing in such a wonderful way that he stopped playing for a second. He lifted his gaze and found Axl staring at him, still singing.

“I didn’t know that you could sing! Honestly, I didn’t expect that from you.” Slash stated, and Axl blushed a tiny bit.

“You also didn’t tell me that you could play this good! And, well, I’m in the church choir.” He almost whispered the last part, like he was ashamed of it. Slash didn’t comment on that, not wanting to upset him.

“It’s just something that I wrote. What song was that, anyway?” Saul said, trying to avoid focusing the attention on himself.

“I wrote it.” Axl replied, then grabbed his beer and took a sip.

Slash put a random record on, then he gestured to Axl to sit on his bed. They stayed like that for a while, the curly-haired boy trying to get closer and closer to the other without being noticed. Axl had his eyes closed, enjoying the music, and Slash thought that he was the most wonderful boy on Earth.

When the song was over, the redhead looked at the clock. His eyes were wide and he gulped down what was left of his beer in a single sip.

“Fuck… Shit… Man it’s really late, I have to go now. Is it okay for me to come on Thursday?” He sounded really scared, like something bad was about to happen.

Slash simply nodded and led him to the front door. Before leaving, he hugged him awkwardly; he could smell cigarettes, alcohol, and his cologne. He wanted it to last forever, he didn’t want Axl to leave this fast—He wanted Axl to like him back.

As soon as he shut the door, he let himself fall on the couch. He was so confused… Why did Axl have to rush away like that? Why did he seem so sweet but also distant? Would he keep his promise to go to prom with him?

“Axl Rose can be a heartbreaker!” Slash heard Duff’s voice in his head.

He just hoped that wasn’t the case.

Taglist : @slashscowboyboots @duffshairdye @cosmicrealmofkissteria @ozzy-dumbass-of-darkness @smokeandmirrorz @thespacecowboyyy

#axl rose #slash #slaxl #guns n roses #highschool au #au #fanfic #80srock #80s rock band

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imma-fucking-nerd · 5 years ago

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Now It’s She Who Calls the Sea

Part 2 to Into the Arms of the Sea

((I got this amazing idea thanks to the LOVELY BRILLIANT brain of @the-ineffable-prince-of-hells ))

Trigger Warning: Violent Imagery, Mentions of Blood, Suicide

((didn’t think I’d need a trigger warning but then I wrote it-))

It had been a few weeks since you heard the beautiful sound of his voice from the safety of your home. A few weeks since the siren had lured you from the land and into the cold embrace if the sea. A few weeks since Beetlejuice had kissed your lips and damned your soul forever. A few weeks since you woke up to the sight of him, as he fed on your lifeless corpse. A few weeks, that felt like an eternity.

At first, you didn't understand what had happened. One moment you were being held close in a tender embrace under the frigid water. The next, you had opened your eyes to see that the owner of the voice you had grown to fall in love with, was dragging your body further under the water. To then, start ripping your flesh apart. Your own blood spreading and flowing around you. You didn't understand what was happening. Was this a dream? It had to be a dream. You were still underwater but you didn't need to breath. 'It was just a dream', you told yourself. But after a few hours the sun rose, and the horrible truth set it. This was no dream. You were dead. Buried in the ocean floor, and the stomach of the siren.

In the past weeks you had gone through the five stages of grief, well all except two. Anger and acceptance. Usually anger was one of the earliest stages, but you skipped right over it. You weren't much of an angry person, until now that is. Anger was what fueled you, and what kept you trapped beneath the water's surface. It was the only thing keeping you from moving on. At least, that’s what you thought.

In the early days after your unfortunate death, you had done nothing but lay on the sandy ocean floor and stare up at the waters surface. Your skin had a blue tint to it now, and your hair was forever flowing elegantly through the water. One night, you had heard a familiar and once beautiful voice that now haunted you. That was what triggered your rage. You weren't just mad that he had killed you, you were also mad that his voice still held control over your heart. As you heard his voice, you sang along and followed the sound.

When Beetlejuice first heard the echo of your voice, he thought he had imagined it. The dead couldn't sing. But again he tried to sing his song, only to hear your voice. It was hauntingly beautiful and eerie. Again, he just thought it was his imagination. Maybe it was his guilt? He had to admit that when you came to him so willingly it had taken him aback slightly. Usually it took more persuasion for him to get them into the water. But you, you just....jumped in. No hesitation. In fact, you were eager. Why would you do that? Did his song touch you that deeply? Were you that lonely? He shook his head. He was probably just stronger than he thought he was. Yeah, that had to be it.

Now he was no longer in the mood to go hunting anymore so he made is way back to his cave. You watched him and followed a couple of feet behind. You knew you were a ghost, but you weren’t sure if he could see the dead or not so you kept your distance to be safe. Although, it wasn’t necessarily like he could kill you again. You furrowed your eyebrows, your anger starting to take over, and you started closing the distance. You wanted to make him pay. You wanted to make him suffer. You wanted to hurt him like he had hurt you. You wanted to make him feel loved, and found, before ripping it all away. You were never this malicious when you you alive, you couldn’t even stand up for yourself. But you weren’t alive anymore.

Beetlejuice had reached his cave, which was littered with many trinkets and other things that must have fallen from the land. Or the things he looted from his victims. He perched himself of his rock and stretched, sprawling across the rock. Just as he was starting to get comfortable, he heard it. Your voice. It was soft, and faint. He froze for a second before shaking his head, cursing himself for almost giving into his delusions. He curled up onto his rock and tried to go to sleep, but heard it again. This time it was closer, it mimicked his signature song and sounded like it had when he was luring her. He shot up and looked around, of course he couldn’t see anything. He swallowed hard as he failed to convince himself that it was just his imagination, his hair becoming streaked with yellow. The next time he heard it he nearly jumped out of his skin and all the color drained from his face. It came from inside of his cave.

“Uhh, hello....?” he spoke out, a little more timidly than he would’ve liked.

He knew that ghosts existed. Of course they did, after all if a creature like him existed then surely other supernatural entities existed too. This was in part why he tried to kill his prey with them feeling the least fear possible. He really didn’t like the idea of being haunted. Also, he wasn’t into the taste of fear. He thought that you were happy when you died. No, he didn’t think you were happy, he knew it. You were smiling and leaning into his kiss and everything. So why were you here? You should have been on your way to the other side, or wherever ghosts went. Maybe....maybe he went overboard and you were too attached to him to move on? The thought of that made him feel a certain way. He was snapped out of his thoughts when your voice echoed right beside him. He jumped and nearly fell off his rock.

You watched him as he desperately tried to find the source of your voice. You walked circles around him, taking in his appearance. The fact that he was handsome made you feel a mixture of anger and sadness. It made your stupid, stupid heart feel things that you didn’t want to feel. He didn’t care about you. He lured you in and killed you for nothing but a meal. That’s all you were. You hated the fact that you felt like you could have meant something, anything. Softly, you sang his song and his head snapped towards your direction, but he saw right through you.

Beetlejuice didn’t know what to do. The more he heard her voice the more the guilt built up. His hair was streaked with yellow and purple. He had never felt like this after killing someone. It was just part of his nature to do. But this time was different, you were different. Not only because you were the first victim to be haunting him, but the fact that you were the first to be so willing to join him in the waters made him feel bad. He knew the only reason that was the case was because you must have been overwhelmingly alone. He knew all too well how that felt.

It had been weeks since you first came to him. You never left his side, and whenever he would sing, you would echo his call. Beetlejuice tried so, so hard to ignore you. To ignore the guilt of killing a poor girl who was as lonely as he was. It didn’t help that your voice was enchanting, as if you were a siren yourself. He had given up on trying to hunt for human flesh. He just couldn’t bear to hear your voice as he tried to lure in his prey anymore. Once it had gotten to that point, you starting singing without him. Like you did when you first followed him to his home. Now, he couldn’t even sleep without hearing your voice echoing through is cave. No matter how hard he tried to block out the sound, it was useless.

One day, he finally had enough. Enough of hearing your damn voice. Enough of being reminded of how much of a monster he was. Enough of living. If you could even call his state of being ‘living’ anyways. The words of his mother echoed in his mind. ‘You’re pathetic.’ ‘You’re an embarrassment to sirens everywhere.’ ‘I wish you were never born.’ She was right, he really was a pathetic waste of space, wasn’t he? His hands went up to his black and dark blue hair and pulled on it as tears formed in his eyes. A low growl came from his throat and he picked up the nearest object, throwing it across the cave with all his might. Whatever it was, it shattered on impact with the stone. He continued to destroy everything in his path. Then suddenly, he heard the sound of metal hitting the ground of the cave. He froze and looked over, there lying on the ground was a dagger he had stolen from some prince.

You watched as he had his mental breakdown. A pang of guilt hit you, but you weren’t going to back down now. ‘He deserves this.’ you told yourself. You knew you were driving him insane, and you were ready for the final push. You managed to pull together enough energy to knock down the dagger. It was the only real deadly thing you saw among the mess that was the cave. At least, the least dramatic of weapons. All he had to do was take the sign.

Beetlejuice slowly approached the dagger and picked it up. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he turned over the blade on his hands. You were standing right in front of him. You saw the pain in his eyes and it reminded you of yourself. Of all the nights that you spent crying yourself to sleep. Of all the times you felt like you wanted to end it all. You swallowed thickly and your hands balled up into fists. You were having second thoughts, but it was far too late to back out of the plan now. The damage had already been done, and you didn’t think you had enough energy to snatch the dagger away. All you could do was watch and think, ‘Is this really what I want?’ ‘This doesn’t make me feel better.’ ‘Oh god. what have I done?’ ‘I’m so sorry.’ All the anger that had once controlled your actions was gone, being replaced by guilt. At least he had a reason for killing you. But what did you gain from this? It was a petty revenge scheme that drove you to make someone feel the way you swore you’d never want anyone else to feel.

Beetlejuice moved to sit on his rock, and you sat next to him. This was your fault, so you had to see it through. No matter how much you wish you could stop it. He twisted the dagger in his hands and stared at it intently, a tear falling onto the blade. He inhaled sharply and held up the dagger, aiming it right towards his heart. His hands, no, his whole body was trembling. You reached up and put a hand on his shoulder, even if you knew he couldn’t feel it. He dropped his arms and stared sobbing loudly, his grip on the dagger tightening. Then, you did the only thing you could think of, you sang. Your voice was soft and slow, like a lullaby. Beetlejuice froze when he heard it, he didn’t move for a long while before he took a deep breath. He lifted up the dagger to his heart once more and in one swift motion, with all the strength he had left, he plunged the dagger into his heart. You winced at the strangled gasp he made as the blade went deep, but you forced yourself to watch with tears rolling down your cheeks. In a matter of seconds his body slumped over and fell to the ground, his blood pooled around his body. ‘At least it was quick.’ You thought to yourself.

You don’t know how long you sat there, watching over his corpse. You didn’t know how long it took the soul to leave the body. Did sirens even have souls? Did they even become ghost when killed? You didn’t know which answer would be worse. It felt like ages, but finally you heard a soft gasp. You looked up and saw him standing above his own corpse.

“It’s you....” He spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

You stood up and looked him with glossy guilt filled eyes, and he looked at you with the same.

“I’m sorry,” you both said in unison.

Although you both had more than enough reason to hate each other, you didn’t. You understood why he had killed you, and he understood why you wanted revenge. Instead of spending all of eternity despising each other, you both decided to cure each other’s loneliness. That being said, it would still take a lot of time and effort to completely forgive each other. But the two of you had all the time in the world now.

——————————————————————

Tag List: @meangirlsx @im-eating-rn @lord-satan-3244 @causeifeelblue @beebleboosebaby

#siren!beetlejuice #siren!beej #siren!beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice #beetlejuice x self insert #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice broadway #my writing

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lynnthevirgo · 5 years ago

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When You’re Cheated on - Namjoon

WC: 2k

Summary: Namjoon helps talk you through a day of mental breakdowns after a breakup.

Warnings: mentions of self harm, mental breakdowns, mentions of bodily harm

A/N: I’m still taking my break, just wanted to post and go because writing is the only thing keeping me going at this point. Yes, this is personal to me. Please don’t ask. Unedited!

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

I was lying on my bed, scrolling through my Tumblr feed with Namjoon just a few seats away from me. He was here as emotional support, having messaged him about the current state I was in. His laptop was open, headphones on and his head bobbing to the beat of a song I’m sure he’ll show me weeks from now when he’s out listened it. But should another episode or attack spring on, he’d be right there ready to talk me down.

It’s not like I was unstable….okay, maybe I was. But I was really good at containing it inside myself, but certain memories will crawl back to the surface and snap my hold on reality. It was so exhausting to go through this cycle. I’ve been spending most of my days in bed, not really doing much because doing too much required energy and effort I couldn’t muster.

He knew I had been with her for a long time. How much she meant to me and the parts of me I let her see, that weren’t always pretty, but I felt comfortable sharing. She shared so much of herself with me as well and that’s why I thought, this is it. She’s it. She’s the one that I’ve been waiting for. My twin flame.

Only for me to be hit with the news that she cheated. We had found ourselves in a predicament where I made her feel alone, unknowingly at the time, her mental demons playing with her over my silence. Then I couldn’t give her the things she needed when she was needy. The two made her reach out to someone who helped her, was there for her when I wasn’t. He gave her comfort and fulfilled the needs she wanted.

She felt bad afterwards and wanted to try to fix things. But I pushed her away. Only afterwards, when I thought we should try to fix things did I find out she had already fallen for him. So she no longer needed me, I was just a piece in her game of life. One that she wanted, because I helped complete the game for her, but didn’t necessarily need.

“Namujoon, please..” I croak, my voice already broken. The pit in my stomach swelling in size, the need for air heightening and the tears falling so fast they double. They’ve already left streaks on my face by the time he looks at me. Instantly he’s at his feet and setting the headphones and laptop to the side, before taking his place beside me.

“What happened? Where are you?” He asks, his fingers through my hair and the other hand rubbing small circles on the center of my back.

“Y/N, it‘s okay. You‘re okay. We‘re okay. Everything will be okay.” He says like a mantra beside me. He’s been using this as a way for me accept things, keep me grounded in reality.

“I hate this. I hate her. I hate him. I fucking hate e-everything.” I bite. My anger lashing out now, I swat the empty space between us on the bed. Only to curl into myself further, fetal position being the only thing to provide me comfort anymore.

“Shh, I know. It‘s okay to hate everything. You‘re allowed to hate this.” He offers as comfort. His big hand sliding down my spine slowly from top to bottom. The other hand out of my hair and holding the hands clutching my chest.

“I don‘t hate her. I don‘t even hate him. I just want things to be like they were. I want her, I want this back and to forget anything happened. Why can‘t I have that back? Why can‘t I have her back?” I ask, more to myself than Namjoon. My emotions peaking, my voice breaking and all the thoughts spilling out.

“I know you don‘t. But you also know why you can‘t have her back, why you can‘t have it back. She made her choice, it‘s time for you to heal.” He replies softly, fingers brushing against my own as he tries to find my eyes.

“You need to help fix this heart of yours. It won‘t work right if you don‘t. She chose her journey, now it‘s time for you to find your own again.” He offers, trying to give me a new perspective to consider.

“I‘d love to! But all I keep seeing is him and her and I‘d rather die than keep reliving it! I‘d rather gouge out my eyes than have to remember that she wanted him to do those things to her! Fucking slit my wrists again than know that every time she‘s not talking to me, it‘s because she‘s talking to him!!” I scream, the sobs ebbing through and the last of my dignity leaving with it as I whine into his chest.

“You don‘t mean that. I know you don‘t. It‘s okay. Just let it out, let everything go.” He whispers in my hair. He holds me so tight that I can’t feel the hurt anymore. It slowly numbs inside myself as the mess on my face wipes onto his shirt. His mantra from earlier being repeated and the sound of his voice lulling me into a sleep.

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

“Look who‘s awake.” He says, putting a tray of food in front of me. I scrunch my face at it, the want and need for food nonexistent.

“If you don‘t eat, I‘ll be forced to feed you myself and you know how much you hate that.” I look to the soup stains from this afternoon on my comforter and sigh. Unhappily, I eat small spoonfuls of the porridge he made.

“How are you?” He asks, sitting at the end of my bed. His full attention on me as one of the BTS soundtracks plays in the background.

“That was a pretty bad one earlier.” He defends for his worry. I just stare at him, wanting to find the perfect words to give him but not having the voice or reason to.

“I know this was the last thing you wanted. Especially after all the promises she made and you told her you‘d believe.” He starts, my eyes already brimming with tears.

��But you keep saying you‘re happy so long as she is. So why don‘t you try?” He offers. His hand resting on my ankle, gently massaging up my calf.

“It‘s so hard, Namujoon.” I manage to croak out. After I place the tray to the side of me, I curl my legs into my chest again.

“I am really glad that she found someone who takes care of her needs like she wanted. A part of me knew going into this that it wasn‘t going to last forever. But-” I can’t even finish, another scream trying to come out in it’s place. I’d been doing so much of that the past few days. I’m sure Namjoon is sick of me.

“Hey, let it out. Stop holding in your emotions. You‘re mad, so scream and yell. You‘re upset, so cry, sob and wail all night if you need to. This is how you heal, y/n. So start allowing yourself the chance to.” He advises, his hand in the center of my back just like earlier. He’s found that I calm down faster when he leaves it there. The other hand of his is still enclosed around my ankle, holding me in place.

“You‘re allowed to have feelings and to express them. It‘s just us here. So let it all out. Your health is the most important thing to me right now.” The bed shifts and I feel his body heat behind me. His arm slides under the pillow and my head, while the other wraps around my stomach and pulls me close to him.

My emotions calm, but my voice is still shaky and broken when I speak.

“This is just so hard. How do I go from asking her everyday if she took her meds, if she‘s eaten to not talking at all some days? She was my best friend, my only friend some days and I love her. I‘m still in love with her.” I finally get out, my sobs breaking again. He squeezes me tighter, I can feel his heartbeat against my shoulder blade. His face buries into my neck, keeping me so close that I can’t tell where I start and he ends.

“Everything works out like it‘s supposed to. You needed her to see that it is possible for someone to love you, all of you, as a whole. Someone to love you as deeply as you love them.” He says low with emotion in my neck.

“You needed to see that. Now that you‘ve seen it, you don‘t need her anymore. She left as quick as she entered and now it‘s up to you to pick up your pieces. To look for the person who isn‘t going to go running to another‘s arms when things get rough.” He explains, his voice just above a whisper now. A low hint of emotion showing with the way his jaw clenches.

“You deserve to be happy and to be cared for fully, without fear. Someone to give you their all for once, instead of you always giving yours.” He adds, my hair sticking to my neck in wet patches from his tears.

“You can beat whatever this is. You‘ve been through hell and back, this one bad heartbreak isn‘t going to ruin the rest of your life. Please believe me. You have to.” He finishes, the breath he exhales coming out shaky.

I wipe my tears, fight the urge to cry again and turn myself to face him. His eyes closed, but his cheeks full of the streaks he didn’t want me to see. As I exhale shakily, I wipe his face with the palms of my hands. His hands coming up to grab my wrists and bring them between our chests. I watch his eyes open and see the pain inside them mirroring my own.

“I‘m okay. You‘re okay. We‘re okay. I will be okay.” I say back to him. Reminding him of the mantra he’s implemented in my head.

“Just don‘t leave me alone. I can do this, so long as you don‘t leave me too.” I say with tears already starting to form and my voice faltering.

He pulls me close, his scent overtaking whatever negative thoughts I was having. The fingers he tightens in my hair, a reminder that he’s there.

“Even if you left me, I‘d never ever leave you. I‘ll still be waiting for you to find your way back home. You‘re family to me and always will be.” He says, leaving a kiss on my temple.

Namjoon was right. I had told myself that so long as she was happy, so was I. So that’s what I would have to start doing. I’ll still let myself grieve over what I lost, who I lost. But at the end of the day, someone else was making her happy. I should be happy for her. Not angry because I don’t have her. She’s happy and because I love her, I want her to stay happy. Even if it means it’s not with me.

I deserve someone who doesn’t break their promises that they won’t leave. Who won’t break their promises that they’ll be there for me too, knowing I’ve been used so many times in the past. Someone who’s willing to still fight for what we had, instead of throwing it away for something that seems exciting right now but might not be in the long run. I deserve better.

Namujoon might just be a friend. But so far he hasn’t broken those, in fact, he’s done everything he can to assure me that he’s always going to be here. Which is what I never got from her. So maybe he’s right. I should fix up this broken heart and work on my journey, because I think I know where I need to go.

#tw self harm #tw bodily harm #tw mental breakdowns #namjoon imagines #namjoon drabbles #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst

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natasha-lightwood · 5 years ago

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(i hate this so much BUT here's 1.7k of carolmaria fluff, english isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes, happy new year)

Maria was stressed. It was just a matter of time until she was gonna give birth to her daughter and the room wasn't ready yet.

The furniture should've been there two weeks before, but apparently the supplier had a problem and she was stuck with an empty room and a mental breakdown over fucking furniture.

Maybe she could convince Carol to go live in a cave. No one expected you to have furniture in a cave. Just something to make a fire. And a pillow.

If she didn't get her double leaf closet soon she might actually start to consider it.

"I can hear you thinking. I'm trying to watch TV" Carol said with a monotone voice.

Maria stopped pacing around the room to glare at her. She raised an eyebrow from her spot on the couch.

Stupid eloquent eyebrows

"This is a total tragedy," she declared

"You know this isn't healthy, right?"

"No, this is terrible, an absolute disgrace," she stressed "and you don't understand"

"I think you're overreacting" Carol shrugged.

Maria gave her a more vicious glare. If looks could kill. "I'm not overreacting," she hissed "it's you who can't see the problem, but sure blame it on the pregnancy hormones"

"It's just furniture!"

"It's not just the furniture!" she suddenly yelled. "It's the fact that I couldn't even give her a proper room. She isn't born yet and I'm already disappointing her" there were tears forming in the crinkle of her eyes, her voice a bit unsteady. She pressed her palms on her eyes and took two deep breaths. There was no more anger in her, at least not for Carol or the damn furniture supplier. She was just so tired.

All her fears, all the terrors she pushed down during the nine months were coming back and she couldn't breath, couldn't think about anything other than the fact that she was gonna give her daughter a lifetime of things not ready and not good enough (she was not enough) and that everyone - her mean colleagues, the other future moms at the prenatal course, her parents - were right all along and she was just blinded by her own egotistical desire of being a mother-

When she looked up, Carol had lost every trace of frustration and sarcasm and she was giving her that kind, concerned look destined just for vulnerable moments like that. Maria softened a bit too and she felt her heartbeat go slower. The effects those brown eyes had on her. It never ceased to amaze her.

"Come here," Carol whispered, patting the spot next to her lightly.

Maria managed to drag herself to the other part of the room and sit, slowly, carefully, next to her girlfriend. She was pretty agile even though it was her ninth month of pregnancy, but sitting and getting up still took effort.

Carol took her hand and kissed the back lightly, before starting to massage her shoulder blades. She knew exactly where Maria kept all the stress. Of course she knew.

Maria left out a pleased sigh while the other girl's thumbs moved in circles. She was so good at this, it was insane.

"There, relax, sweetheart" she pressed a soft kiss on Maria's temple.

"Now, want to tell me what is going on through your head?" she asked gently, not stopping her soothing movements.

"It's just- Carol I don't think I can be a good mother" she said

"Bullshit" she interrupted.

Maria shot her a warning glance and Carol offered an apologetic smile. She gestured for Maria to go on.

"This kid deserves someone who can give her anything she wants. She deserves not to wait. She deserves stability and safeness and a someone who isn't going to leave her in the middle of the night because of a life threatening mission. She deserves someone who can give her a good life, a normal life" the lump in her throat felt unbearable.

"Hey" Carol moved a lock of hair behind her ear "You're going to be a great mother. I know it, Maria. This kid," she laid her finger on Maria's belly lightly "Is going to grow up surrounded by love. We are going to give her so much love. And that's all she'll need to be happy"

Maria scoffed. "There's about 20 people I know that would disagree completely"

"Then I'll punch them all in the face" she stated. Just like that. As if it was the logical conclusion to someone making her feel unhappy. And she meant it. Maria couldn't help but think, this is the woman I wanna grow old with.

She was truly gone.

"Even my parents?" she asked weakly, with a sort of bitter humour. It was meant to be a joke. It didn't sound like it.

"Especially those fuckers" Carol said, with false innocence. She smacked her shoulder and shot her a disapproving glance, but the smile spreading on her face didn't make it look believable at all.

Her relationship with her parents had started to go downhill when Maria introduced Carol to them a second time, this time as her girlfriend and the woman she was gonna raise her daughter with. Her mother had cried. Her father had left the room without a word. Losing their approval and support had been an heavy blow, but they made their choice and she eventually came to peace with that. They loved her, but they didn't love all of her and there was no place for someone who couldn't accept the best thing that had ever happened to her in her life.

Carol had taken her on the top of a cliff that night and told her to scream in the void and wait for the echo.

"Say it. Come on. Scream it" she had asked, her eyes sparkling.

"I'm Maria Rambeau and every part of me is beautiful" she had said.

"Louder!" Carol had laughed.

"I'm Maria Rambeau and every part or me is beautiful!" this time, her fists had been clenched and her voice had not trembled.

When she looked up she noticed Carol had her brows furrowed and then her jaw set in that stubborn look of hers that meant whatever crazy, insane thing she was thinking of, she had already decided she was going to do that.

"Carol…?" she started

Carol suddenly got up with her shining eyes set on an undefined distant point. She looked at Maria.

"Wait here" she told her.

"Wait- what- where are you going?" Maria asked in disbelief.

"Just wait!" Carol yelled from the door before taking her coat and hurrying out of their shared house.

Maria continued to stare at the closed door.

***

Carol came back about an hour later, her cheeks rosy for the cold weather and her hands behind her back.

"Where the hell were you?" Maria asked, too confused by her girlfriend's behavior to be annoyed.

Carol's eyes were full of excitement while she revealed what she was hiding.

She squinted. "A bucket of paint?" this really didn't answer any of the thousand questions in her mind. She was getting less and less sure of Carol's mental stability. Maybe she had the flu and was being delirious. Her cheeks were rosy after all.

"I-- I thought that maybe you'd like to paint her room. To feel useful. So it wouldn't feel so empty. We can do it. Together"

Maria gaped at her for a solid minute and Carol's expression started falling. "O-or not. If you don't want to" her smile twitched nervously "I should have asked you first, I know, but you know how impulsive I am, I just thought maybe- actually, scratch that, it was a stupid idea I don't-"

Maria crossed the room in a heartbeat and threw her hands around Carol's neck, almost spilling some paint. In all honesty, she couldn't care less if she stained the fucking parquet in that moment.

"Thank you," she whispered "Thank you so much" her voice was breaking and she was trying to communicate the utter adoration she felt with her hug as if the proximity of their heart made it possible for her emotions to go directly into Carol's, but it wasn't enough, nothing would never be enough to make her understand how much Maria loved her.

"So" she wiped the tears at the corner of her eyes "let's get to work"

***

Two hours later she stood proudly in front of the blue-painted wall and she was so lost admiring her work that she missed Carol's mischievous grin.

Fatal mistake.

She gaped at the blue stain on her shirt and then raised her head, a devilish smirk replacing the former surprised expression.

"Oh, you want war?" she picked up the paint brush from where she left it in the bucket "then war it is!" she threw some paint straight on Carol's face who gasped in mock-outrage, bringing a hand to her chest to add to her dramatic act.

They went like this for a while, until Maria suddenly realized how to get the upper hand.

She let the paintbrush fall on the floor and picked up the whole bucket instead, advancing threateningly, batting her eyelashes in faux innocence at Carol.

"No. No, no, no" she backed up quickly.

"Not so bold now, are we?" she asked when Carol's back touched the wall she held up her hands in a pacifying gesture and Maria poured the whole bucket's content on her, painting her blue from head to toe.

Everything was quiet for a moment until Carol opened her eyes. She still had that smirk on your face.

"Hug me, Maria" she made grabby hands at her and tried to catch her while Maria ran away giggling.

"Hug meeeee!" she sing-songed until she managed to reach her and hold her tight.

A moment later they were both on the floor, and indecent amount of blue paint covering their bodies and they were laughing like they haven't done in a really long time, getting the floor all messy, a mess they would have to clean up later.

Maria thought that, if someone asked her where she wanted to be, the only answer she'd be able to give would be: right here, right now, with her.

#i can't believe i'm doing this #carolmaria #carolmaria fic #marvel #mcu #marvel fic #carol danvers #maria rambeau #captain marvel #avengers #avengers endgame

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doginshoe · 6 years ago

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The Thorn of a Rose

hello! This is a Valentine’s Day piece I wrote for a contest in my discord server. It’s a Nalu x Gruvia server so if you’d like to join I'll leave the link here Genre: fluff, lemon mentions, little hurt/comfort with Lucy being slightly sad, modern au

read on ff.net here

Lucy eyes flittered open as she stirred from sleep, her dull stare meeting wilted roses that were placed in a vase on her bedside table. The blonde removed her naked body from the sticky mess under the sheets and let her legs hang off the edge of the bed. The roses her father sent her stared at her in disgust - her bed mate not even stirring as she tore her gaze from them and padded her way across her apartment in the nude.

The shower washed away the slick feeling on her skin as she stepped into the boiling water. She scrubbed at the marks her fling had left and the dried up substance between her thighs that were the only remainder of their short and uneventful night. Well, for Lucy that was all it was. Another disappointing flirt from the bar that managed to sneak into her bed when she had drowned herself in alcohol. They were always the same.

Her eyes were heavy as she dressed herself, her cheeks sunken and void of colour making her look like death. She had tried to apply make up, but everyone in the office already knew what a sorry of an excuse for a woman she was so she stopped trying. It was near impossible to not hear the rumours that the younger receptionists whispered to each other. Lucy sighed, her father was right about one thing and that was that people did know just what type of girl she was - an easy pass after a bit of buttering up and a glass to drink.

When she left her bathroom her one night stand was gone, but Lucy was happy he had. It was almost torture when the white knights tried to stay to have breakfast and then insist that they’d see her again. Which they didn’t. It was even more degrading than being a simple quick fuck that was later forgotten about - like they were teasing her with the romance she could never even come close to having that was filled with second dates and something more than just sex.

It left a sour taste in the woman’s mouth that deepened her frown as she briskly walked to work. Though, that frown was nothing compared to the scowl that set itself in stone on her face as she got her morning coffee. Everything was fine until the cute young guy working the register called out a quick ‘Happy Valentines Day’ as she turned to leave.

It wasn’t necessarily the fact that he had mentioned it to her, but that he had reminded her that this Thursday was the holiday that she loathed. She knew it was coming - the roses from her father being a reminder that it was close as he sent flowers to her for every bloody holiday. To remind her that he was ready to accept her when she cleaned up her act. However, she had been so caught up in trying to disappear from her own life that she’d forgotten everything.

She looked around her and scoffed, the deep red foil balloon hearts mocking her for not noticing them as they lined basically every shop. Her heart coiled in on itself and it was hard to breathe as she realised just how many happy couples were around. It made her sick and she picked up her pace as she nearly jogged to the office - hoping to drown herself with some spiked coffee and then have a snooze at her desk, or a mental breakdown.

When Lucy reached the sanctuary of her desk, she blew a loud sigh of relief only to have her momentary peace interrupted by the sing song voice of her co worker and desk buddy, Juvia Lockser.

“Good morning~” she chirped as she peeked her head out from behind her computer but then gasped immediately when she laid eyes on the blonde that was slumped in front of her, “what happened, Lucy? Juvia thinks you look worse than usual.”

The exhausted woman looked up and blew strands of hair from her face as she shot Juvia an unappreciative stare.

“I’m just peachy thank you very much,” Lucy grumbled sarcastically. She loved Juvia, the woman she had been working with for almost two years, to bits but sometimes she was just too honest for her own good.

Juvia cheeks tinted when she realised how rude she sounded but she pushed past it, a huge smile forming on her face as her blue eyes took on a sparkly look as she nearly yelled, “Oh, and Happy Valentines Day!”

She was also just too damn happy as well.

Lucy wailed, “Please don’t mention it.” Her head hit the desk again, a whine escaping her as she wondered how hard she’d have to do it to be knocked out, or better yet dead.

“Juvia knows you are having a rough time since you’re last break up,” she sighed, “but today is not time to be sulking! We must set forth and sail and see where our hearts take us.” The desk buddy Lucy had cupped her cheeks as she got a dreamy look about her that made the blonde want to roll her eyes. The mention of her ex stung as the dark cloud rolled over her mind as she recalled how he had broken off their engagement just a month before the wedding.

“Well I don’t know where your boat is heading, but I hope mines into a ditch,” she murmured.

Juvia’s scolded her with a shake of her head. “I do hope you at least remembered a gift for the game of secret Valentine today.”

Lucy froze.

“I thought I asked to not be included in that shit,” she hissed as she leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well,” Juvia said simply, “you have the pink card of who you’re meant to be getting something for on your desk.” Her blue eyes looked to the said pink card pinned to her stand up notice board along with many other documents and sticky notes.

Lucy reached for the envelope before ripping it open. Her face paling even more as she read the name of a man in the office scrawled in glittery silver cursive.

“Who the fuck is Max?” She asked bewildered at the woman across from her.

“Oh, he works on the upper floor close to maintenance,” Juvia stated. Her face wincing at Lucy’s foul language so early in the morning.

Lucy pulled at her hair as she groaned, “I don’t have anything!” The woman moped as her head once again slammed onto the wooden desk beneath her where it seemed to be taking up permanent residence. Why did she have to stuck in a stupid work game to buy some loser something. Did maintenance even count as co workers? All they did was keep the place tidy by sweep-

“I’ve got it!” She shouted before she quickly scurried out of her seat, whilst Juvia stared at her retreating form as if she had finally lost it.

Lucy cringed at the broom that was wrapped in newspaper and duct tape when she saw the many other presents that lined the offices pigeon holes where they collected mail or important documents from the bosses. Some had small pink boxes while others were stuffed with large bouquets and chocolates, but they all looked better than her disaster of a present no matter the effort they had put it in.

A sigh left her lips as she taped a large paper sign to the top of the broom that just read ‘MAX’ in capital letters. It wasn’t her fault, the blonde had specifically told the managers assistant Mira that she wanted no part in this stupid game! So with a shrug the blonde turned around to then crash right into someone.

A bag of chocolates fell to the floor and a cuss filled the air as the person tried to readjust their hand on the small bouquet of red and white carnations. Lucy immediately ducked down to help picked up the chocolates, lucky that only a few had spilled from the bag.

“Lucy!” he nearly shouted as she pushed the chocolate into his hand with the flowers, the other holding a hot takeaway cup of coffee that she was glad hadn’t spilt all over her.

“Uh, hi?” she muttered while she eyed him, his pink hair and dark green eyes not sparking anything familiar. She didn’t really know anyone that well in the office so she didn’t know how he had known her name. However, his sudden blush had her wanting to crawl into a hole.

Fuck, have I slept with this guy??

“I didn’t think you’d be at work this early,” he blurted as his eyes looked past her and at the many presents that filled up the pigeon hole.

Lucy’s eyebrows narrowed when she saw he wasn’t looking at her face. It made her angry that he couldn’t even give her enough respect to actually look at her when he spoke to her. Not to mention that the gifts that he held caused a spike of envy to shoot through her body.

“Listen here, buddy” she seethed while she stood up straighter, “I don’t know what we had but could you atleast grow up and treat me with a bit of respect.”

His eyes snapped to her’s in a surprised look. “What are you talking about, Lucy? You’ve really gotten even weirder since I saw you nearly beat up the front door.”

She blinked. Then again.

“Oh, Natsu!” she cried and he gave her a puzzled look. “I’m sorry I’ve had a really shit morning,” she pointed her thumb at the many presents behind her, “I completely forgot this entire thing was on and just, you know.”

“Is that broom wrapped in newspaper your present?”

“Yes.”

Natsu cheeks puffed as he tried to hold in his laughter, but lost it a second after as he bent over and nearly spilled his coffee all over the floor.

Lucy tried to look annoyed but the soft smile that pulled on her lips gave her away. She remembered him now. It had been a week after her fiance had called off the wedding. Lucy had taken time off work, but when she came back she would work overtime to try and distract herself from the cold and lonely apartment that she had to return home to. It was on one of those night where she had stayed back that Natsu ran into her trying to break the glass of the automatic doors because it wouldn’t open. After telling her to put the chair down and showing her the side door for night employees (the sliding doors were shut off after 7pm) they talked while they walked home and even stopped to get ice-cream together at the request of Natsu. Lucy hadn’t seen much of him since, only a grin and wave offered if they passed each other.

Lucy huffed, “I didn’t even ask to be in this! It was actually pretty smart last minute improvisation on my part if I do say so myself.”

Natsu grinned down at her, “No, you’re just a weirdo.”

The blonde’s eye twitched as she crossed her arms, “Well, sorry I’m not planning a highschool confession,” Lucy gestured to the gifts in his arm, “You look damn near ready to propose with all that cheesy stuff!”

“What?” his expression growing worried, “You don’t like this?”

A deep blush coated her cheeks as she turned away. An assortment of hand picked flowers and a bag full of different types of chocolate? No, Lucy didn’t like this. She loved it. Her inner child swooning at his nervous eyes and the pout that rested on his face.

“I mean,” she bit out, “What girl wouldn’t like that?” Her gaze soften, as she let go of the sour clip to her tone. It really wasn’t her place to put him down because of her own issues. “You did a good job.”

Natsu smiled, “Well that’s great because these are for you!” He said while pushing them into her arms.

“Happy Valentines Day!”

Her brown eyes bulged as she took the present.

“Oh, and I also booked us to go paintballing just cause you know… You don’t have to go, but eh yeah.”

She looked up at the sheepish young man as he scratched the back of his neck while looking away from her, digging his face in his scarf. It wasn’t like Lucy hadn’t received a valentine’s day present before, but her eyes watered as she looked back down to the soft petals of the carnations that he had given her. Maybe it was because there wasn’t no incentive that this was all to get her in bed with him, or maybe she had just been so wrapped in telling herself that there was nothing left for her in love that she had driven herself insane. Either way, Lucy couldn’t help the light feeling in her chest as she gave Natsu an ear splitting grin.

“I can’t wait to kick your ass.”

Natsu looked up, eyes wide. “Seriously? Yosh! I’m all fired up.”

Lucy laughed and teased him while they walked out of the break room, both with large smiles on their faces before getting back to their respective desks.

And when she finished work she would go home and dance around her apartment to sappy songs instead of down at the club. She would wash her sheets and hum with delight as she cooked herself dinner. The wilted roses would be in the bin and while she went to sleep the carnations would be in the vase on her bedside table - to be blooming bright the next morning as she opened her eyes and a smile would force its way on her face.

And Lucy would be happy.

I hope you liked it! Thank you UwU

#nalu #fairy tail #Lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #ft fanfiction #Nalu fanfiction #fairytail #fairytail fanfiction #doginshoe #lucy x natsu #my writing

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