#i think this counts as a suicide attempt. that was my intention yesterday. now i just wanna sleep. not suicidal atm

[forgotten-daydreamer]

tw for op's dangerously irresponsible drinking habits!! i'm a bad example!! i drink the pain away!! don't do this!!

...

so. i just came to after THE most disastrous night. i was hurting. told my friends i needed a drink. purposefully drank way too much, talked about my ex and sex-related traumas to some unifriends, came out as trans to my bff, made it home in one piece god knows how, napped for like an hour with coat and shoes still on and keys still in my hand, then got horribly sick, forced myself to make toast and drink water, got sick again, forced myself to make more toast and drink more water, peed like fifteen times, and woke up like half an hour ago at five something in the morning with toast on the bed? i thought i'd eaten it all? but there is a slice of plain toast on the mattress. phone's battery at 6%, heart coming out of my ass, stomach all fucked up. and my head is fucking killing me. like i don't think i've ever drank this much before. i got home at like 9 pm which means i haven't touched alcohol since 8 and that was over 9 hrs ago. i don't think that my head's still supposed to spin, not after i had water and toast multiple times. i can't even take shit for it because i'm not going to fucking die mixing alcohol and meds. although i think i threw up most of it? anyway. this is like- my new low. unsurprisingly, i'm hurting even more now.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

It Happened Quiet

Pairings: Yandere!Nick Jackson x Reader

Word Count: 1571 words

Warnings: +18, explicit descriptions of murder, violence, emotional trauma, blood and suicide. Read it at your own risk

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Thank you to my beloved @theworldofotps for being a beta.

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @letsgivethisonemoreshot @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart, @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @cuzimacomedian , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234

Eyes blue and hollow

As it rains against their will

Feathers falling out of the pillow

As if time is standing still

“Nick, what the fuck did you do?!” Kenny yelled as his hands covered the large wound across her abdomen “Hold on, okay? The ambulance is on its way” Kenny whispered as he looked into her eyes, that were getting more distant as time went by.

“Oh my God, Nick. Why did you do this?!” Matt gripped Nick's shoulders and tried to push him away from her limp body “Get the hell away from her!” He screamed at his younger brother, using all of his strength to shove him far away from her.

“Don’t” The sharp blade, covered in blood was pressed against Matt’s neck “Do NOT try to take her away from me!” Nick snarled lowly, sharp blue eyes staring intently at his brother as if daring him to do something.

“Matt, I think she’s going into shock” Kenny mumbled once he stared at her lackluster eyes and blue lips “Sweetheart, it’s Kenny. Please talk to me”

I can’t remember much more

But I know it happened quiet

So quiet

Life was slowly fading away from her with each labored breath. Time seemed to stop and everything happened in slow motion, so painfully slow that Matt felt himself taking two steps away from the horrifying scene in front of him. Kenny yelled something that sounded incoherent to Matt’s ears as Nick just stared into nothingness. His fingers played with her hair, twirling the soft strands around his finger. Matt had watched this very same scene so many times before in the past, except now a huge crimson shade stained her bright white tank top as well as his younger brother’s skin.

Words falling out through the window

All that remains is a silent call

Is the earth coloured red?

As I land like a flower on the meadow

Love is wild

Everything around her was dreamlike. The voices were familiar to her ears but they sounded so far away that it was impossible for her to identify who they belonged to. Inside her mind, memories were painted like polaroids - screenshots of the moments worth living again.

Their wedding, their first house, their first pet, the pregnancy plans, the countless trips across the country…sleepless nights where he stood beside her, talking about everything yet nothing at all in a futile attempt to keep her grounded. The stupid jokes and dances, the terrible Muppets impersonations. Everything seemed to flash before her eyes like an old movie until the pictures were consumed by flames.

You fell apart

Like a stone can be broken into sand

A thousand pieces

Spread across a crying land

Nick didn’t know how they got to this point, only that this is what desperation looks like. This was the only thing one who seemed to have lost everything could do. Life is strange, everything is so sudden and unstable. Yesterday there was sun, today there was rain… It’s funny how despair can make you do things you’ve never thought of doing before, and it’s even funnier to see how much despair a person can instill in you just by poisoning you with their love. Now you see, that was the problem. She poisoned him with her love, her smile, her kisses. She offered him everything he could never have: peace of mind, a light heart, constant smiles for no reason, overwhelming feelings of happiness just for having her love and then suddenly she wanted to rip that away from him, leaving him back in the darkness of his previous life. How was he supposed to live like that? Without her? Without her light? How can one survive when each breath they take feels like a burden? How does one manage to live without the only light that brightens their path? The answer is they can’t. So their only salvation is dragging their light into the darkness.

And you can’t remember that day

But you know it happened quiet

So quiet

The interior of the house was a chaotic mess. Blood, along with pieces of broken glass and porcelain covered the hardwood floor, the lighter pieces of furniture were thrown to the ground, the drawer which contained the kitchen knives was trashed and the blades now laid tossed on the kitchen floor.

The contents of her handbag were spread across the living room rug, the suitcase containing all of her clothes was broken and several amounts of cut fabric were strewn from the living room to the backyard where it all took place.

Kenny stared at everything in shock, the feeling of helplessness numbed his emotions as he stared at her deceased body in Nick’s arms. The once so joyful eyes were distant and lacking their usual sparkle as she now stared at the land with semi hooded lifeless eyes. Her blood stained Kenny’s hands, the reminder of his failed attempt of holding the life within her. As haunting as it was to see her in such a state, a part of Kenny felt relieved for her, because at least now she would have some peace. Up to a certain point that’s what her features presented themselves as: ultimate peace. The freedom she yearned for was finally here.

Words falling out through the window

All that remains is a silent call

Is the earth coloured red?

As I land like a flower on the meadow

Love is wild

Matt was nauseous. If it was because of the strong metallic scent of blood, her limp spiritless body or his brother’s brutal action, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was a mixture of everything. He thought about her parents and the effect this would have upon them, the worst fear of any parent would become true. Matt thought about his own parents and how they would react knowing their son had committed the ultimate sin of reaping a life. But more than anything, Matt thought about her and what must’ve gone through her mind as the final seconds of life slowly faded away. What was more disturbing to Matt though was the sense of tranquility that surrounded her and Nick.

Nick was calm in a way Matt had never seen before, it was bothersome to witness someone who just murdered their loved be so apparently unfazed by the current events and its fatal result. But the more Matt stared at him, the more it confused him. Was their tranquility rooted in a twisted form of despair for finally not having to be around each other or was it because they knew the aftermath of not having each other would be devastating to their souls?

Ooh ooh

The sirens of both the police and ambulance resonated faintly in the background. To Nick’s ears they sounded like coyotes in the desert.

Coyotes that were closer and closer to taking away the only thing that truly mattered in his life…her. They would steal her from him and he would never get to have her in his arms ever again. So Nick did the only thing he could do, he held her tighter and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his last attempt of forever imprinting on his mind her scent and the feeling of her soft skin underneath his fingertips. This was their last moment together until the coyotes came to rip her away forever.

Are your dreams as dead as they seem?

Are your dreams as dead as they seem?

All of their pictures distributed across the living room in white portraits were either broken or stained with blood. All were the silent reminder of the once beautiful dream that had resulted into the most horrific nightmare - nothing but a chronicle of a tragedy foretold.

Don’t you speak over my voice

I will return from the shadows

And I’ll bleed in your bed

Turn it red

Like the ground outside your window

The memories of the many laughs they shared in that land seemed to mock them now. Happy moments taunted his loss, reminding Nick of what he could never have again - at least for as long as he lived on this earth.

He never meant to get this far, but despair pushed him down the hill. And now, only one thing could end the pain Nick knew would devastate him once he was no longer able to have her in his arms.

Love is wild

Kenny’s mind processed it all in slow motion. He watched Nick grabbing the knife from the dirt before sliding the blade across his neck.

Matt’s eyes widened and a loud, painful cry left his lips as he ran towards his brother. “No, no, no, no. Nick!”

Matt’s hands covered his brother’s neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but from where he stood he could see the cut was too deep “No, Nick. NO!”

Love is wild

Matt’s face appeared blurry in front of Nick’s eyes. He could see the tears sliding down his older brother’s cheeks as a pure sense of peace flooded his emotions. Nick closed his fist around the fabric of her shirt and a small smile covered his lips once he saw her offering her hand to him, silently inviting him to follow her along. And that’s what he did without hesitation, he took her hand and followed her along.

The darkness had found it’s light again.

Love is wild

[writingblock101]

Are You Fucking Kidding Me? (Jason Todd x Reader)

What is a short Jason Todd fic? I don’t know her, so I broke this into two parts, again. Also, you can pry italics from my cold, dead hands. I had so much fun writing this, I really enjoy this debate. After this, I have a Harley Quinn!daughter request to write, so keep an eye out for that one. 

Summary: As an ER nurse, you deal with a lot of shit, but Red Hood is not one of those things. 

Warnings: Injuries are mentioned? It’s not very gory, this is very dialog heavy 

Word Count: 4,000

You’ve seen a lot of shit working as a nurse in the emergency room. Last week, an eight-year-old who still wore pulls ups came in, despite being physically and mentally capable of learning how to use a toilet at an earlier age. Three nights ago, you watched a mother hug her teenage son and sob with relief after the doctor stitched his wrists up after a suicide attempt.  Yesterday, you performed CPR on a three-week-old only for the infant to die. Some nights were better than others. 

Then the Red Hood shows up in Gotham. 

He’s fighting crime, you guess, but geez, is killing people really necessary? You might understand if it was someone like Joker or a serial killer or something, but this guy isn’t even going after the masked psychopaths that run around Gotham. He’s going after drug dealers. And not just throwing them in prison, no, he’s murdering them. 

Seriously? Gotham is practically a superheroes’ playground, but this guy, this Red Hood is running around murdering drug dealers? Yeah, you understand what they’re doing is illegal, but come on, rape is also illegal and you don’t see rapists showing up dead on the news. Instead, you see some dude who was selling crack on the corner, dead. 

And yeah, you might be slightly biased against using death to solve problems as someone who entered a field dedicated to saving lives, but this Red Hood dude? He’s kind of an idiot. 

. . . 

After a twelve-hour shift ending at 6 AM, you head to your apartment, hoping to relax, but that plan is promptly thrown out the door when you open your apartment door to see no one other than the Red Hood sitting on your couch, pointing a gun at you, and holding his side. 

Are you fucking kidding me? 

“Shut the door,” He orders quietly, his voice sounding just as gravely and deep as you figured it would. 

You sigh, flick the lights on, and shut the door. 

“Pretty convenient for you to break into a nurse’s apartment when you’re bleeding out,” You state boredly, setting your things on the counter. “I have a feeling that wasn’t luck.” 

“You’re going to help me,” He threatens, cocking the gun. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me and bleed out on my couch? Stellar plan.” 

He slowly lowers his gun, probably hoping for more fear to be struck in your heart as opposed to sass. 

“Will you please help me?” He asks quietly. 

You huff to yourself and shake your head. Unbelievable. But, you go to your bedroom and dig out the trauma kit gifted to you by your sister’s military medic husband. Stupid murdering criminal or not, he’s trying to do some good in the city, you guess, so you’re not going to let this dumbass bleed out on your couch.

“Scoot over,” You command as you walk back into the living room then sit down next to Red Hood and snap on a pair of gloves. 

He shifts and removes his hand, letting you look at the deep stab wound which is oozing yellowish discharge and has scabbing gathered around the edges. It seems to be an old wound that got infected then reopened. A ripped Kevlar vest is discarded on the couch. How the fuck? 

“I wasn’t going to shoot you,” He mutters. 

“Really?” You retort sarcastically, digging for disinfectant in your bag. “You know, I was always taught that you only point a gun at someone you have the intention of shooting,” You glare at him, but he looks away sheepishly. 

“It was supposed to be extra motivation. It’s hard to tell who hates me and I’m kind of desperate.” 

“I wonder why," You mutter sarcastically.

You grab a pair of scissors from your bag and cut a bigger hole in his shirt to expose more of the wound then begin cleaning out the infection.  

“I’m guessing you’re not my biggest fan.” 

“Wow, you’d really give Batman a run for his money with that whole “world’s greatest detective” status,” You remark dryly. 

“Well, do I even get to hear your gripes against me?” 

You sit up and stare at him. 

“Why bother asking? I know you don’t give a shit,” You continue cleaning the wound, your teeth grinding against each other. 

He shrugs. 

“Yeah, not really,” Red Hood admits. “But you’re keeping me from dying so I could at least listen.” 

“How the hell did you do this?” You demand, ignoring his last question. “It looks like you got stabbed, but you were wearing Kevlar. Who gets stabbed in a gunfight?” 

“Someone that isn’t expecting the other guy to be carrying a knife sharp enough to cut through Kevlar,” He snaps. 

“It’s almost like people have started picking up on your M.O. and are arming themselves,” You roll your eyes. “Crazy.” 

“Seriously, what is your issue with me?!” 

You pause to put away the disinfectant and pull out a suture kit, but before you thread the needle, you stop to look Red Hood in the eye through his stupid helmet. 

“I’m in a field dedicated to saving lives. What do you think my issue with you is?” 

He scoffs. 

“Great, another person with the morals of Batman. Should I also toss down some pillows before they hit the ground? They’re drug-dealing pimps!” 

“Yeah, they’re pieces of shit, but out of all the shitbags in this city, you’ve decided that drug dealers are the ones worth killing?! I’d understand having them arrested, but murder? It’s overkill,” You grumble, beginning to stitch up his side.  

“You underestimate how much of the crime in Gotham is controlled by the drug trade.” 

You roll your eyes again. 

“Yeah, maybe I do, but who died and gave you the power to be the judge, jury, and executioner?”

“I’m cleaning up Gotham! I’m doing what Batman won’t do!” 

“Have you ever considered that the ideas of good and evil are subjective?” You snap. “It’s not always so black and white. Sometimes people make mistakes or get desperate and they’re scared. They think this is their only out and they’re too wrapped up in their own lives to consider the consequences. They don’t deserve to die! Send them to prison!” 

“You haven’t seen the type of evil that plagues Gotham,” Red Hood responds darkly. 

“Oh bullshit! I see the worst side of humanity every fucking night! Three hours ago, I helped a doctor stitch up a two-year-olds head because her mom’s shitty boyfriend grabbed her by the legs and slammed her into a wall because she was crying. Even I know that this shit isn’t black and white.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, send them to prison, then five months later they’re walking the streets again, doing the same shit! People don’t change.” 

“You don’t give them the chance to change.” 

“They’ve already proven they don’t deserve that chance!” 

“For dealing drugs? Come on, you gotta see that killing them is kind of extreme!” 

“I don’t.” 

You groan, shaking your head. 

“This is why I didn’t even want to bother to have this conversation. I know I’m not going to change your mind.” 

“I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m going after drug dealers right now to get someone else’s attention.” 

“So, what about all these people you’re killing to “get someone’s attention”? What are they? Means to an end?” 

“I don’t see one less drug-dealing pimp on the street being a bad thing.” 

“I don’t see one more drug-dealing pimp in prison being a bad thing. You murdered five people last night--”

Red Hood scoffs. 

“That they know about.” 

You roll your eyes and tie off the last stitch then prepare the bandages to cover the fresh stitches. 

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” You growl, wrapping up his side with gauze and tape. “You murdered five people, all under the age of twenty-two last night.”

“Your point?” 

“My point is they’re stupid kids who don’t deserve to die!” You snap. “They’re young and stupid and unaware! Let them go to prison! They don’t deserve to die!” 

“Like I said, all of this is to take out someone bigger.” 

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow. “And who’s this “bigger” person?” 

“You’ll see soon enough, and you’ll thank me,” He hisses. 

“Right,” You nod, placing the last piece of tape. “I’m sure I will.” 

As you pack up your supplies and gather any bloodied material, you walk Red Hood through the aftercare for his stitches. 

“Keep them covered for forty-eight hours and try not to reopen them. You really don’t want to stretch the skin too much. Don’t shower for twenty-four hours, then you can start washing them with soap and water. Rest and laying down will help with pain and swelling,” You glance over at him, slowly nodding along with what you’re saying. “If it gets infected again… Go to the hospital or something.”

Red Hood nods then slowly stands up, carefully puts his jacket on, and heads to your window. He slides the window open and rests a foot on your window sill. 

“Hey!” You protest. “What did I just say about not stretching the skin?!” 

“I don’t think your neighbors would be pleased to see me roaming the hallways,” He remarks dryly. “Besides, I don’t need some drug lord to know I have a loose end in this apartment complex.”

“Whatever,” You groan.

Rip your stitches out, see if I care, dumbass. 

“Thanks for the stitches,” He fully steps out the window then pauses and pops his head back inside. “Oh, and those five dudes you saw on the news? The ones under twenty-two or whatever? Yeah, they were dealing to twelve-year-olds,” Then he disappears with the last word. 

Twelve-year-olds? Even you will admit, that’s pretty despicable, but still. 

“Good riddance,” You mutter to yourself, going back to your bedroom for a shower. 

Red Hood is an asshole. 

. . .

Two weeks passed and as you hoped and expected, you didn’t open your apartment door to a gun being pointed at you. You figured that night was the last night you’d see the Red Hood unless he was on the news, and you were very content with that. While the news of killing the dealers who dealt to kids was surprising and slightly admirable, you had no desire to see him again. 

So, you can imagine your annoyance when you open your apartment door to see a familiar figure sitting on your couch. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” You groan. “What, no gun this time?” 

Red Hood chuckles. 

“Well, I would just because, but I don’t have the means to hold my arms up right now.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed together and you drop your stuff on the counter before walking over to him. 

“What the hell did you do this time?” 

“I uh… Dislocated one shoulder, which I would put back in place myself, but my other elbow and wrist are broken, so I kind of… can’t.” 

“Uh-huh…” You say slowly then eye his leather jacket, hiding his arms and shoulders. “Hopefully we don’t need to cut this off, because I’m not sure I have scissors strong enough to get through leather on hand.” 

“You better not cut my fucking jacket,” He grumbles. 

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before dislocating your shoulder and breaking your elbow and wrist!”

“Right, because I definitely left my apartment thinking you know what would be fun tonight? Getting my ass kicked!” Red Hood retorts sarcastically. 

“Who did you lose to?” 

“Nobody,” He snaps. 

“Really? Because this doesn’t look like a victory to me,” You gesture at his arms. 

“The other guys look worse,” He responds smugly. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m sure they do,” You mutter digging two splints, tape, and gauze out of your expansive first aid kit. “You bleeding anywhere?” You ask, sitting down on the couch next to him. 

“Not this time,” He grumbles. 

“How are your stitches healing?” You ask, unraveling the gauze. 

“Fine.” 

“Alright, let’s try to get your jacket off,” You focus on his right arm first, the one with the dislocated shoulder, and carefully push the jacket off his arm. 

He winces, barely audible, but you manage to get the jacket off his right arm. 

“Now this side will be fun,” You groan, moving over to Red Hood’s left side. 

You easily pull his jacket off his left shoulder, but once you reach the elbow, the jacket gets stuck. Understandably, his elbow has swelled so pushing the jacket down isn’t an option. 

“You really don’t want me to cut this?” You ask, frowning at the leather. 

“If it’s avoidable,” He responds in a pained voice. 

Although he’s been fairly quiet, you know he’s in a lot of pain. 

“Okay,” You sigh, thinking over your options. “Well, we’re not going to be able to push it off. Your elbow is too swollen… But, I could grab the cuff and carefully pull it off. It’s going to hurt really bad though--”

“Do you think you could get it in one yank?” 

“Um… Maybe? But that might mess your elb--”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to sit here for twenty minutes while you try to be gentle. Just yank the damn thing off.” 

“...Okay,” You blink. “Um… let’s see… How much can you straighten your arm?” 

He pulls his arm out at a slightly awkward angle.

“That’s the best I got,” He says through gritted teeth. “And I can’t hold it for long.” 

“Right,” You quickly stand up to get the best leverage, then grab the cuff with both hands. “Okay, ready?” Then you yank as hard as you can and the jacket comes off. 

Red Hood yells then doubles over in pain, his head against your coffee table. He continues cursing, banging on the table before finally sitting up, breathing heavily through his helmet. 

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about it hurting.” 

“Yeah,” You nod. “But it’s off and your jacket isn’t cut, so the next question is what do you want to be done first-- your arm splinted or for me to relocate your shoulder?” 

He groans. 

“Wow, they both sound like so much fun.” 

“Splinting probably won’t be that bad after pulling the jacket off,” You note. “I found an old wrist brace in my stuff so I’ll use that on your wrist then the splint for your elbow.” 

He nods along, probably still recovering from the force it took for you to yank his jacket off so you start splinting his elbow and wrist. 

“You’re actually going to have to rest,” You tell him, finishing up the tight wrappings. “Broken bones are no joke, you’re actually going to have to rest if you want to heal.” 

“Yeah, yeah I know,” He grumbles. 

You move to his shoulder and maneuver his arm into place. 

“Alright, you ready?” 

He nods. 

“Okay, I’m going to count to three. One, two--” Then you shift his shoulder into place, rolling the ball back into his socket. 

“Shit!” Red Hood doubles over. “I thought you were going to count to three!” 

“It’s a trick for putting stuff back in place,” You explain, putting away any extra supplies. “If I had put your shoulder back when I said I was going to, your body would tense up in preparation and make it harder to put it back.” 

“Right,” He grumbles, rolling his shoulder then stands up to leave. “Thanks for the help.” 

“Wait,” You call to him as he reaches the window. “Why did you wait so long to tell me that the dealers you killed were dealing to kids?” 

He shrugs with one shoulder.

“Does it really matter to you?” 

“Kind of! I’m not on board with killing people,” You remind him. “But at least it makes slightly more sense.” 

“I don’t go around justifying myself to people. You rather agree or get the hell out of my way.” 

“What a motto,” You roll your eyes. “Do you kill everyone you don’t agree with?” 

“You’re still alive,” He points out. 

“How reassuring. What, do you have only child syndrome or something?”

“Stop trying to guess shit about me, you suck at it,” He snaps. “See you next time, doc.'' 

“I guess I don’t get any say in that matter, do I?” 

“As long as I’m the one holding the gun, nope,” He winks, stepping out of your window. 

“Guess I’ll just have to invest in a gun then,” You retort. 

Red Hood snorts and fully steps onto the fire escape outside your window. 

“You won’t shoot me.” 

“You don’t know that!” You protest. 

“Yeah, I do,” Then he hops off the railing, already ignoring your advice to rest his injuries. 

“I might,” You mutter to yourself. “Go break your arms again, see if I give a fuck,” You mumble angrily, walking to your bedroom. 

Red Hood still an asshole. 

. . . 

Two months later, you open your apartment door to be greeted by a familiar gun. You sigh, locking the door behind you. 

“I thought we moved past the whole “threatening me with a gun” thing?” You roll your eyes. 

“Last time doesn’t count,” Red Hood reasons through a pained voice. You notice he’s laying down this time instead of sitting up. “I couldn’t hold up a gun.” 

“What did you do this time?” You ask boredly. 

“Got blown up,” He responds casually. “I think I got some stuff stuck in my chest.” 

“If you stain my couch, being blown up won’t be your biggest problem tonight,” You growl at him. 

“Love it when you threaten me,” Red Hood remarks with an eye roll. 

“Shut up,” You mutter, grabbing your trauma kit. “I don’t know how I became your personal “doc in the box”,” You grumble, sitting down next to him. 

“Because you keep helping me.” 

“I don’t know why I keep doing that either.” 

“Probably morals or some shit.” 

“How ironic of me,” You remark. 

Red rolls his eyes. 

“I have morals.” 

“Would’ve fooled me,” You retort, looking over the shrapnel lodged in his chest. 

“Last time I talked to you, you seemed impressed I actually killed people doing really shitty things.” 

“I know every drug dealer you kill isn’t dealing to kids. It doesn’t cancel each other out.” 

“They all have the potential to,” He points out. 

“Yeah, and every person has the potential to be a serial killer, but you don’t see me going around murdering every person I can find,” You snap on a pair of gloves then use a pair of tweezers to begin picking out shrapnel. 

“No, but you certainly wouldn’t let the ones holding a knife to people’s throats go free.”

You clench your jaw, already annoyed. 

“Who tried to blow you up?” 

“Batman.” 

“Nice,” You nod. “And somehow, you still think you’re in the right.” 

“You don’t know shit about Batman or the things he’s done.” 

“You sound like every other masked psychopath in this city with a vendetta against Batman.” 

Red snatches your wrist, squeezing tightly. 

“I am nothing like them,” He growls out. 

“Really?” You ask, unphased by his grip on you. “And what makes you different?” 

“I’m being what Gotham needs.” 

“That’s a pretty subjective answer, if you ask me. You don’t think someone like Two-Face at one point thought he was being what Gotham needed? Or what about Catwoman and Poison Ivy? They seem to be a lot like you.” 

“The villains that run around Gotham, they don’t fear Batman,” Red releases your wrist. “You wanna know why? Because they know he won’t kill them. But they’re scared of me because they’ll know I’ll finish the job. Gotham doesn’t need justice. She can’t even carry out justice. She needs an iron fist, vengeance.” 

“Gotham needs a lot of things, someone else going around killing people is not one of those things,” You mutter, dropping the last piece of shrapnel on a paper towel you laid out. 

“You’re right, we don’t need anyone else going around killing innocent people, so it’s a good thing I’m not killing innocent people.” 

“So, what happens when that line becomes blurred?” You ask, sitting up for a moment to look at Red Hood. “What happens when your judgment becomes clouded and it turns out the people you thought were evil aren’t actually evil? What happens when you start killing innocent people?” 

“I won’t let it get to that point.” 

“Nobody thinks it’ll get to that point,” You point out, beginning to clean out the cuts. 

“Yeah, well, I have certain… past experiences that set me apart.” 

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows. “And what’s your tragic backstory that sets you apart?”

“None of your business,” He snaps. “And also not what I am referring too. Didn’t anyone tell you about what happens when you make assumptions?” 

You roll your eyes then grab a pair of scissors and cut a small section of Red Hood’s shirt only to be met with the strangest thing you’ve ever seen in all your years of practicing medicine.

“Is this…” You stare at the scar longer, just to be sure. “Is this an autopsy scar?!” 

“Don’t worry about it,” He brushes you off quickly. 

“Holy fuck it totally is,” You curse. “Who are you?!” 

“You know, the whole point of the helmet is for you to not know the answer to that.” 

“You literally have an autopsy scar! And you’re not going to give me any explanation for that?” 

“Nope. It’s none of your business, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” You growl. 

“Then stay out of my business.” 

“You brought your business to my apartment when you broke in and threatened me with a gun!” 

“And?” 

“What do you mean “and”?!” 

“And none of what you just said makes me obligated to tell you shit!” 

“I’ve kept you from dying, multiple times!” 

“So? You’re not the only one.” 

“Are you fucking serious?! Dude, you have an autopsy scar! Do you know what that means?!” 

“I would love to hear your thoughts.”

“You rather got tortured by someone who is seriously twisted, or you straight up died and were dead long enough for an autopsy to be performed and are now somehow alive.” 

He pauses then slowly nods. 

“Yeah, that actually just about sums up what happened.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both.”

“...What?!” 

“I gave you an explanation! Can you just finish?!” 

“None of your explanation makes sense! How are you alive?!”  

“I don’t know!” He snaps. “And I’ve had a shitty night so I’d really like to leave so can you please finish?!” His voice cracks on the last word. 

You frown but know you’re not getting any further explanation. Instead, you finish stitching Red up without another word. He stands up and carefully puts his jacket back on and walks toward the window. Before opening it, he stops and glances back at you. 

“I’m… I’m not fully sure how I am alive. All I know is I woke up in my coffin. I died a few years back and a lot of shit happened and now I’m here, for better or for worse.” 

You stare at him for a moment then frown. 

“Are you… okay? Not physically, but mentally?” 

He chuckles humorlessly. 

“Not really. Dying kind of fucks you up. Coming here is fun though. You don’t take any of my shit and it… It makes me feel like myself again. Thanks for the stitches, Doc,” Then he opens the window and disappears into the night. 

You stare dumbfounded at the window. Red Hood is still an asshole, but he just got a whole lot more complicated.

Part two is soon! Wow, I went from never writing multiple parts to needing to split them up because I really love writing for Jason. I’ve also been so blown away by all the love I’ve received on White Flag. Thank you guys so much! 

Part 2

[thesleepy1]

Tigers Die, Men Cry

A/N: I couldn’t sleep because this was bouncing around in my head the entire time. I just had to get it out before I forget it or get distracted. Must. Write. The. Angst. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Unbeta’d because of laziness.

-Says the brain tired idiot who finished the fic days after they crashed from exhaustion. I need more caffeine.

Pairings: Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Summary: Sebastian didn’t catch the flu. It's something much, much worse. God save the queen because her kingdom will burn by Moriarty’s hands.

Word count: 3,460

Please proceed with caution.

Warnings: death, grief, aggression, past abuse, mourning, fire, guns, foul language, addiction, smoking, more warnings unlist, more warnings to be added, suicidal thoughts, pass attempted suicide, failed suicide attempt,

Sebastian thought he merely caught the flu. Or at the very least a stomach bug. He had gone out for lunch only to return to his apartment running for the bathroom. The mess he made in there was enough to make morticians cry in their sleep. And to top it all off, he collapsed to the floor before he could even clean up the mess.

Jim almost burned down the building looking for him. He was unable to answer the phone for the second ring and Jim assumed the worst. The crazed man tore through his own home before rushing to Sebastian’s. When the phone went to voicemail once again that was when the gasoline was called in.

“ANSWER YOUR PHONE,” Jim had yelled through the halls, stomping in his new Oxfords before pulling the front door of its hinges. The place had been what Sebastian left it as, barely lived in. Yet there was no evidence of a struggle.

To this day, Sebastian didn’t know why Jim had entered his home. The criminal consultant was too prideful and spiteful to waste precious time ransacking his apartment for his body or some sign that he had left against his view. Maybe, Jim cared about him just a tad more than the rest. Sebastian was dying, he had the right to dream.

Jim had found him unconscious on the floor and instead of helping him to his feet, the man had just kicked his stomach in. The mess had been ignored once more. Sebastian didn’t respond, just subconsciously curled inward in a poor attempt to protect himself. “Get up, or else you’re FIRED!”

No response. Jim kept his cool. The apartment building had not been set on fire, just the first six floors soaked with lighter fluid. A phone call was made and Sebastian was sent to a hospital.

-----

It wasn’t all that bad in Sebastian’s opinion. He just saw it as a long vacation. One that Mortiarty rarely granted him. Sure, it was a pain being tied up to wires and machinery he didn’t have the slightest clue about, but it really wasn’t all that horrible.

There was a little brown teddy bear that Jim had begrudgingly got him from the downstairs gift shop. Sebastian had meant it as a joke, something to get Jim out of his hair so he could suffer alone for a moment. When Jim did return with the little guy with a green ribbon around his neck, Sebastian thought the world must have been ending. The criminal consultant with murder and bloodshed in his eyes tucked the bear next to Sebastian’s side and returned to is post. The fur was surprisingly soft against his stubble. And the ribbon was made from a cheap faux velvet that reminded him of those inner linings of overcoats.

Really, it wasn’t all pain and terror. He had Jim by his bedside.

“Good morning,” Sebastian greeted in a sore tone, his eyes shut but knowing that Jim was right next to him, sitting on his bed.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jim replied in that sweet, caring, hiss of his.

“Did you try to get some sleep this time?” No reply. It was going to be one of these days. Moriarty had yet to rest since Sebastian had been admitted. They were unable to get one of the VIP, luxury rooms in case either Sherlock or Mycroft were monitoring the country’s hospitals. Jim had not been in a compromising mood, wanting the best of the best for whatever reason.

It was just a room.

The insane man had only conceded, if that was the right word, when Sebastian’s state had worsened. According to one of the nurses, Jim only relented when Sebastian weakly called out for help. Not that he remembered any of that. Calling out for help, especially for Moriarty’s assistance seemed uncharasteric of him. It must have been the poison talking.

Since then, Jim had barely left the room. Only if it were a life or death situation and even then he had people stationed in Sebastian’s room at all times. It was a little suffocating, but nice enough to have people who would actually engage in conversation with him.

“Did you have breakfast at the very least?” Sebastian tried again, prying his eyes open. Jim hadn’t stopped shaking either. He was almost always seen nowadays hunched over his phone, trembling where he sat. His fingers moving at light speed, his voice never softening. It was difficult to rest sometimes when there were random bursts of fury from the criminal consultant. But Moran had worked with the man long enough to ignore it as background noise.

“You know the easiest way to shut me up is to let me have a smoke.” Moriarty could change his motivation and intent at the drop of a hat. If he suddenly got bored playing sitting hen with Sebastian he could have him killed with a snap of his fingers. Pleading for a cigarette was not the dumbest thing Sebastian had done.

“I don’t like repeating myself. I told you to stop smoking,” Jim said in a warning, eyes never wavering from his phone screen.

“You also told me I’ll live and I doubt I’ll make it to next week,” he smirked, darkly. The teddy bear was proof that Jim knew the same. Though one of them had accepted the fact, the other was still delusional.

“The anti venom will be here soon. So shut up, or I’ll have you gagged,” Jim threatened, hand tightening over his phone.

“We both know that’s unrealistic,” Sebastian sighed. “It's unreasonable to think something that expensive will happen in a day. It takes time, boss.” Time that he did not have. He could barely feel his limbs as is. His legs had stopped responding yesterday and his hands were losing their nerves. He could just faintly feel the change of fabric between the blankets piled up on his body, but that was if he was trying. “This room is nice and all, but it would be nice if I could die at home.”

“I’ll kill their families if they don’t hurry up,” Jim snapped, body going still at the facts Sebastian had uttered. Because that was what they were, fact. A little vial of some anti venom wasn’t going to bring him back to life. “I’ll skin every SINGLE LAST ONE who did this to you!”

Sebastian let out a horse chuckle that shook his chest. Jim stopped his fluttering hands at that, straining to listen to what Sebastian had to say now. “I hope you have fun with that,” Moran’s lips tugged up into another smile. “Something to keep you occupied while you find a new sniper.”

“Because that was all I ever was to you, right?”

Jim stilled, ignoring Sebastian’s question.

“Do me a favor?” Sebastian tried a different approach. That peaked his interest enough for him to stop whatever he was doing on his phone. “Hold my hand? I don’t have much feeling left in it, I just want to know you’re there.” This was a long shot, but he’s done the impossible before. “I know physical contact isn’t your thing. But nine years without you can make anyone go insane.”

Not expecting anything to come of it, he sunk back into the comforter. Jim was very insistent that he at least had a soft and sturdy bed. The pillows were goosefeathers and the blankets were velvet. His bear with the green ribbon was very comfortable.

Jim did not face him, he set his hand over Sebastian’s. He squeezed his hand in a vice like grip, just enough so Sebastian could feel it. “I order you to stay.”

Moran sighed at that, rolling his tired eyes, “You know I don’t have any control over that.” He rested his chin on the bear. Before he dies, he should come up with a name for the little guy. It was the least he could do. “But I know damn well I don’t want to die here.”

“Where.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, not expecting Jim to fold so quickly. “Glasgow,” he replied with a cough.

-----

The car ride was wonderful. Sebastian suddenly missed his bed and mountain of blankets the moment he was maneuvered into the back seat. Instead of getting in the passenger seat, to everyone’s surprise, Jim sat next to Sebastian. His hand never left Moran’s.

“Stay awake,” Jim commanded, sternly, digging his blunt nails into Sebastian’s skin as if he could feel the pinpricks of pain.

“Don’t want to,” Sebastian articulated, laying his head back on the rest. He had left his bear friend back in the hospital, asking the nurse to keep an eye on the little guy for him. That bear could have come in use, a much better pillow than the cold window.

“If you don’t keep your eyes OPEN we’re going back to the hospital,” Jim yelled in his ear.

Sebastian opened one eye to glare at him. Jim looked worse than he did. His usually slicked back hair was sticking out evenly, his blazer had been discarded and his tie had been thrown onto the seat next to them. His stubble had grown out into an unkept beard, his dark eyes rimmed with red. Sebastian decided to have a little mercy on his boss. “Tell me a story.”

“I don’t do stories, Sebby,” Jim glared right back, urging the driver to hurry with a brief glance.

“Then tell me about your childhood.”

“You mean my lack thereof,” Jim made a clicking sound with his teeth. “What is there to say? That my parents loved me?” The two men burst into a fit of laughter that ended with Sebastian coughing until tears welled up in the corner of his eyes.

Jim stiffed next to him, a sign that the one thing that should not have an effect on him was making him act up. Emotion. Jim Moriarty was actually caring for someone. It terrified him and he did not scare easily. Jim had never been scared a day in his life. He watched Sebastian regain his composure, watching his every breath.

“Fair enough,” Sebastian gave one more moist cough, “Let’s go with something easier. Favorite color?”

Jim shook his head, “Too personal, Sebby. What next? The address?” He rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, sinking into the odd lukewarm warmth that lingered there. He could feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest. “What do you want to know about it?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Jim answered instantly.

“Too quick,” Sebastian smiled. “Nobody likes red. People just say they like red because everyone says they like red.” His breath seemed to hitch when Sebastian closed his eyes for a second too long. “What’s your real favorite color?”

“Why are you so insistent about this?” Jim asked honestly, curious for once about what kind of cogs turn around in Sebastian’s head.

Moran made an odd motion with his neck and shoulders in a mock of a shrug. He stifled a groan under his breath but Moriarty saw through it like glass. “Curiosity. I like to know what you think of things.”

Deciding to indulge him, Jim continued, “Red is overrated anyways.” Sebastian nodded softly in agreement. “And blue is too common to be my favorite. There is blue everywhere. Quite an eye sore if you ask me.” On que, he glanced out the window, watching as they were moving farther and farther away from the large buildings and wholeheartedly dull city.

“Green is a good moderate.”

“It is, but yellow on the other hand is just HORRIBLE,” Jim groaned, causing the driver to flinch. “Normal people might say red is their favorite because of the herd, but yellow? Yellow is for attention. They just want that poor sense of individuality. Nothing likes yellow. Nobody likes yellow. They’re just attention hungry whores.”

“Mine is yellow then,” Sebastian smirked, his eyes dull with sleep.

“You slut,” Jim said in a hushed shout, intimate in nature but rightfully harsh. He shook Sebastian’s side to make him stay awake, but the sniper seemed to be currently contemplating rather or not to leap from the vehicle. “Stay awake,” Jim ordered, digging his nails into Sebastian’s neck and collar. “What other useless information do you want to know?!”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

-----

Sebastian’s childhood home was nothing impressive. It was a one story building with a little overhang that would be overgrown in the spring. His father would make him climb up there, rain or shine and pull the vines off the roof. He had fallen more times than he liked to admit. And each time, there was no one to comfort him or coo at him for such an injury. The young boy was just expected to shake it off and get back to work.

Suffice to say, Sebastian did not have the fondest memories of the home. It had burned down three or so years after he had left for the military. Burned down by accident or by one of his mother’s jealous lovers was still a topic being departed to this day.

So when Moriarty had his driver pull up to the lane, Sebastian had expected a little plot of land ashen gray from the smoke and rumble, the edges overgrown with grass as tall as his knees. He did not expect to see the house as it was. No burn marks, no caved in walls. There were even well tended flowers growing in the path. The place looked like it had never seen a fire to begin with.

“What did you do?” Sebastian sighed in a gravel voice.

“You wanted to die here, fine. But I was not going to stand in a little field of despair,” Jim explained with flair, pushing Sebastian’s wheelchair into the living room. It was just as Sebastian had remembered. The greenish gray couch that he used to dig coins out of, the fireplace that was never used. Jim even managed to recreate the desk that his father had gifted to his mother before things went downhill.

“When did you even find time for all of this?” Sebastian asked with a choked cough that he used to hide the tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“I make do,” Jim explained vaguely, setting the trained killer down in the middle of the room. He stepped out for a moment to return with a flower from the path. “This is what normal people do, isn’t it? Give flowers to people who don’t give a horse's ass what happens when they’re dead? Give me rat’s poison for all I care. I’m dead.” Setting the flower down on Sebastian's lap, he stepped back like he hadn’t just poured his heart out to his sniper. In the only way that Jim knew how, that is.

“I put flowers at your grave,” Sebastian said remorsefully, with what could have been called spite. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You also put a cartilage of bullets in with the boutique,” Jim rolled his eyes, taking a step around the room. Everything had a light sheen of gasoline and lighter fluid soaked into the fabric. The smell was not as bad as Jim had originally assumed. Sebastian didn't even seem to notice.

“Well, I didn’t think you would be happy if I blew my own brains out over your headstone.”

Jim was livid at this statement but hid it well. So well, that Sebastian thought his boss was mad that he didn’t go through with it. “Maybe I should’ve kept a bullet, eh?” he laughed sadly, trying to keep his hurt hidden. He could play if off as a joke if Jim inquired further.

Sebastian looked so small in his wheelchair. He was draped with a thick blanket over his lap to keep his legs warm, his upper half was swadded in two different coats as well as three different shirts. All did nothing to hide his sunken eyes or sharp edges. His hands no longer moved, they were so thin compared to what they used to be. Everything about the sniper was like a horribly altered mirror of his past.

The anti venom would not make it in time.

As the silence grew on, Sebastian wished he could shift in his seat. He felt so exposed being scrutinized by Moriarty like he was now. Despite being on the other side of the room, Jim never took his eyes off of Sebastian. It looked like he was waiting for an apology. For what, Sebastian didn’t have the faintest clue.

He coughed loudly enough to get out of his own head, “Maybe two or three just to have made sure? Seeing as you came back unscaved and all with just the one.” Even he could admit that was a poor jest. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The same as it had been, minus the cobwebs and bullet holes. “As last words go, mine are not the worst I’ve heard.”

“What was?”

“Something stupid about not fearing pain. Don’t remember much about the bastard who said it, though.”

“And do you?” Jim asked softly that if they weren’t the only two people in the small room, Sebastian might have missed it.

“Do I, what?” he feigned ignorance, glancing at Jim from the corner of his eye.

“Fear pain?”

“Used to,” Sebastian said honestly, feeling his eyes grow heavy. “But after a while, I got used to it. It was what came afterwards that always scared me.”

“What could scare you?”

“Raging, crying, acceptance.” It was Sebastian’s turn to glare right back at Jim. “A pool of blood but no body. An empty casket. The stillness of life like nothing had changed when everything had.” Sebastian wasn’t yelling and that was what shook Moriarty the most. He spoke in such a calm, measured tone. Jim’s own words used against him. “Waiting for something to happen like an abandoned dog.”

Sebastian tilted his head in a mock shrug. “I’m expendable, you weren’t.” He finally looked down onto his lip, counting the petals of the flower. “I didn’t think you were coming back…and accepting that fact….”

“Well, I’m HERE NOW!” Jim said in a loud cheer, throwing his arms up into the air. He looked more bizarre than he usually did. The lack of blazer and tie made him appear insane beyond any sort of control. “So stay and watch me make the world, MINE.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the scene before him. All of it was just ridiculous. His inevitable death, the reconstruction of his childhood home, Jim’s hair without its slick, and his sudden joyful outburst. The consultant criminal knew exactly what to do to make his final moments better. Sebastian could not have asked for a better send off.

His laugh left his open maw and spilled into the space before him, taking up each and every corner it could get its hands on. It was deafening, like a roar that could shake the whole newly built building. Tears streamed down his face, collecting on his jaw and thick stubble from the pure hilarity. He was practically shaking with it.

Then nothing. Silence.

Sebastian’s head fell to the side and stayed there. His face was still contorted into a full on smile, but it was soft around the edges. Calm almost, finally content. Like his laugh had filled the room, the silence was suffocating. His whole body stilled like a statue. If Jim didn’t know any better, he could have passed off the sight of Sebastian’s corpse as the sniper merely sleeping.

But he knew. No matter how forcibly he screamed, no matter which puppet puppeteered, no matter what he did. That man’s eyes were not going to open and recognize him.

Jim didn’t fall to the floor. He was more civil than that. He walked the last few paces to Sebastian’s wheelchair and kneeled down. The sleeping man looked so tired the past few days. Sebastian deserved his rest, Jim could allow him this. Could allow himself to do this.

He rested his head on Sebastian’s lap, bringing his arms around to hug at his waist. Jim traced the exposed skin on Sebastian's stomach, running his cold hands over the scars. Some he put there himself, but most were from long before they knew each other. Moriarty had long removed the memories of the days without Sebastian from his mind.

And not? Now he could allow himself to cry. If only for a second, a hushed moment. Before the home will be set to flame, Jim let himself witness this aftermath.

[jawritter]

The Arrangement

Chapter 11

Summery: You are a young girl that was raised in a small church in Dallas, TX. One of the only churches left in the state that still practices arranged marriages. When your betrothed ran off to California you thought you'd escape the fate you were trained for ever since a small child. Now upon the death your parents your fate seemed to be inescapable as he's returned, and is ready to take you as his bride.

Book Warnings: Arranged marriage, loss of virginity, smut, unprotected sex, angst, language, suicide attempt, battles with anxiety, struggles with mental illness, age gap (about 11 years), I think that’s it, chapters will have warnings of their own!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, fighting, accusations of Infidelity, domestic violence (a slap), reading getting caught up in her own headspeace, insecure reader, Danneel being a raging  bitch, manipulation, distrust, feelings of abandonment, language, I think that’s it.

Word Count: 2710

A/N: This book is a book about Christian and church based arranged marriages, I would like to take this moment to say that I DO NOT have ANYTHING against the Chirstian faith, and mean absolutely no harm to anyone! Especially Jensen’s family! This is a complete work of fiction, and should be treated as such!

Beta’d by the amazing @deanwanddamons who was awesome enough to do all this for me! It was a lot of work, and she deserves all the praise for it!!

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Want More? Check Out My Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

Three months.You and Jensen  had been married for three months. 

It felt like only yesterday that you closed the door on your parents house for the last time. Now here you are, stirring  tonight's supper, waiting on your husband to get home from his meeting with his agents. 

They had flown in to Austin last night to meet with him today about his 'future.' Jensen said that means that they wanted him to try out for some other acting roles, which he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to do. 

You told him that you would support him in whatever decision he made, though you knew that acting meant relocating if you wanted to be with him while he was filming, because the likelihood that he'd get a role that filmed in Austin where basically non existent. 

You'd never lived outside of the state of Texas. 

Actually, you'd never been outside of the state of Texas period, which was quite contradictory to your husband, who has literally been almost everywhere. 

Sometimes he made you feel like such a child. 

You knew that was never Jensen's intention. He never looked down on you or degraded you, at least not to your face. He even stood up to Jared three months ago. The two of them hadn't really spoken since, and you felt horrible about that. Even though Jensen had repeatedly told you that it wasn't your fault, and that Jared was being a child that needed to grow up.

You were lost in your own thoughts when the door opened and closed loudly, alerting you to Jensen's return. 

"Y/N? You home?"  You heard his voice ring through the house as he made his way toward the kitchen. 

"Yeah in here!!" you yell over your shoulder, trying to compose your own thoughts before you had to come face to face with him.

His arms encircled around you, pulling your back tight to his chest. You instinctively leaned your head back against his shoulder. 

There was something about his  presence that just seemed to calm you. The way he smelt, the way his solid body felt up against your own, the way he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight; like if he let go of you, you'd disappear, and he just couldn't have that.

"How did your meeting go?"

"Not bad, not great, but not bad. They want me to try out for more roles, which I already knew. They didn't seem too happy when I said I wanted to work on my own album. One just by myself, and then maybe... I don't know."  He sighed deeply against your neck, making you shiver. 

"I got time to figure it out. I really am not sure I want to go back fully into acting, maybe just an appearance here and there, I really want to do my music. They said I had plenty of time to think about it."

Kissing you on the forehead, he takes his phone and wallet out of his jeans, then sits them on the counter next to you. 

"I'm going to go grab a shower real quick, then after we eat we can lay on the couch and binge watch Friends, preferably naked." he said, winking at you and making you blush, before turning back to your task at hand.

Turning on the dishwasher after loading it, you heard the ding of Jensen's phone on the counter next to you. 

It was a text. 

You weren't trying to snoop , but you saw it anyway. When you heard the phone go off you imminently looked up at the phone. 

It was his publicist Brian. 

Jensen, call me. Someone took a pic of Danneel kissing you today. They turned it into TLC. Got to do damage control man.

You stood there staring at the phone on the counter, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn't believe what you had just read. He had said she cheated on him, that they were done. 

Your vision starts to blur and burn as tears brimmed their way to the surface of your eyes. 

'No it's just a joke, or a mistake, he was meeting with his publicist and his agents today. He was nowhere near Danneel. It's a lie...' 

Just as you had almost convinced yourself that it was bullshit another text came across the screen. This time it was the picture. 

There they were, standing in front of a building, her mouth locked to his. You closed his phone and stumbled your way to the kitchen table that was just a few feet away.

You felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest. Every fiber of your being felt like it was crumbling. 

You hadn't realized until that moment how much you had really fallen for the man. Right now though, all you could really register was the inexplicable hurt, and feeling of being betrayed. 

You wanted to leave, but had nowhere to go. You couldn't get out of a marriage like the one you and Jensen found yourself in easily. You were literally stuck unless Jensen released you. Even then you were back to where would you go?

Your thoughts weren't coherent anymore, just pain, and confusion.  She was stunning compared to you, worldly, she could probably do a lot more for him than you could. 

With that thought,  the shame really hit you. You obviously weren't satisfactory to him, otherwise he wouldn't be going to his ex wife to get what he needed.

Tears were flowing down your face in earnest now, hurt, embarrassment, and your own insecurities eating away at you down to your very core.

How were you going to face him when he got out of the shower? What were you going to tell him? You didn't know how to handle this. 

Hearing the bathroom door close you knew you needed to get yourself under control, but you couldn't, the hurt was just too much.

You tried desperately to dry your face so that he wouldn't notice you had been crying. You didn't know how he would react. You weren't intentionally standing there looking at his phone. You were just there when it went off, and crossed the screen. It wasn't like you were looking on purpose, and if you had your way, you'd never have seen it, and continued to live in ignorance. It would have hurt a lot less. 

You heard him come into the living room, looking around for you. 

"Baby? Where are you?"

You could hear him getting closer to the kitchen. Taking a deep breath you didn't know what to do. You wanted to yell, you wanted to slap him, which surprised you, you wanted to scream, you wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. The overwhelming emotions are too much for you to compute all at once.

You heard him come up to the table and pull a chair back. You must have looked as horrible as you felt on the inside because he immediately reached for your hand, which you jerked away from harshly. He sat there for a moment looking you over, not sure what to say or do, completely unaware of what caused this outburst from you.

"Baby, what's wrong? Talk to me sweetheart?" 

He pushed the chair back, and moved to get on his knees in front of you, reaching for you. Your body reacts before you could even process what you were doing, shoving your chair back away from him harshly. You couldn't look him directly in the eye, but you didn't miss the flinch in body language when you pulled away from him so harshly. You’d never done that before. 

"Come on baby, please talk to me. We were fine when I went to take a shower, what happened? Tell me so I can fix it, I don't like us like this." 

Standing before he could finish his pleas, you cross the room to the counter and take his phone in your hand,walking halfway to him and throwing it at him before exiting the room to lock yourself in the bedroom that you shared with Jensen. 

You didn't know where this kind of aggression came from, it wasn't in your nature. You slid down the door after locking, sitting with your back to the door as you fell apart, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

You thought for a moment that your heart was going to stop beating. You had never felt so completely broken.  

You could hear him calling for you. The sound of him running closer to the door and jiggling the handle. You couldn't make yourself move. You couldn't face him, or the fact that you were not good enough for him, or the fact that he was probably very angry at you for throwing his phone at him, or looking at his text message, or a multitude of reasons your mind was conjuring  up.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jensen's POV:

Jensen's heart was pounding in his ears. He wanted to literally murder Danneel, and if it wouldn't be the fact that orange wasn't actually the new black he probably would have tried, and made it look like an accident. 

She had been texting him for a week now. Saying how much she missed him, and how much of a mistake she had made, how she wanted another chance, how she wanted him back and for them to be a family again.

He had nothing left for her, he literally felt nothing. He knew she was full of shit, that she just didn't want to be brought to court over the children, because she knew if she lost, she would lose a pretty good bit of his income with it. 

So he just ignored her, not answering her text messages and just deleting them. Seeing as she couldn't get through to him on the phone, she jumped up and followed him to his meeting with his agents this morning, and when he walked out of the office she had ambushed him, grabbing him and kissing him hard before he had time to react. 

She must have had a photographer hiding in the street. He was pretty sure he'd figured out that she was jealous and trying to ruin his marriage toY/N. If it would have been a regular photographer, then the photo of him yelling at her and pushing her away would have followed, but nope. Just the one of her kissing him. 

Anger boiled under his skin. Her narcissism knew no limits, and once he fixed this shit with his wife, the woman he actually cared about, he was filing for a restraining order tomorrow. 

Jiggling the door knob again he spoke through the door. Everything in him wanting to hold her, to tell her it wasn't him, that he'd never do anything like that to her. He'd never hurt her. He wanted to shield her from shit like this, and had failed measurably. Now she thinks that he's cheating on her. 

"Come on Y/N, open the door baby. This isn't what it looks like. Come on, let me in."

Nothing. 

"Baby,you know I can pick a lock right? I want you to let me in though, I don't want to force my way in... Come on sweetheart, you got to believe me. She followed me to my meeting and kissed me. I didn't even know she was there until she basically jumped on me. Please sweetheart, I would have never, NEVER have done that to you."

Nothing. Jensen could feel the anxiety tightening in his chest like a vise. 

He couldn't lose her, not over this. Leaving the door only long enough to get something to pick the lock on the bedroom door. He was starting to feel short of breath. Like he was about to have a full on anxiety attack. 

He'd been afraid to admit he had real feelings this early in their marriage for Y/N, more than just basic lust. Funny how you don't really know what you have until you stare at the possibility of losing it.

-----------------------------------------

Your POV:

You could hear Jensen messing with the lock on the door. You had thought he had just given up and walked away from the door. You had moved from your spot on the floor, and literally crawled your way to the bed. You didn't have the strength to get up to your feet to walk. It was like something in you had died.

You knew you really cared about Jensen, you knew you were quickly ‘falling’ for him, and wanted to make a good wife for him, but you didn't realize you had feelings this deeply for him. 

You wanted more than anything to believe what he was saying, you wanted to believe it was all Danneel. You wanted to believe that she had jumped him outside the office building, and that he had nothing to do with it. She kissed him.

There was a part of you though that was screaming men lie when they get caught. He broke your trust. You're not good enough for him. You will never be good enough for him. You're a sheltered, overgrown child, that he hasn't even tried to take out in public with him since that fiasco at Jared's house. 

You're nothing but something he's ashamed of. 

A burden.

With every horrible thought that ripped through your head, it felt like your chest would cave in. Believing your own thoughts, the worst one yet ripped through your subconscious before you could stop it. 

'You have no family left, and now you're about to not have a husband. You're too sorry to even hold on to an arranged marriage. Your father would be so disappointed. You are a disgrace, and a shame to your family's memories.'

The door burst open before you had time to even react to your own thoughts. Jensen's heavy footsteps moved quickly around the bed. He  kneeled down in front of you. 

"Baby please, I didn't kiss her. They didn't show the whole story. That's the media, they do shit like that to make drama for themselves. She jumped me outside the building when I left my agents meeting."

You couldn't look at him. Just continued to give a dead, heartbroken look at the wall. 

"Y/N, please look at me. I'm not lying to you.. She's been texting me for days saying she wants me back. I've been ignoring her. That's why she did that."

Nothing. You couldn't make yourself respond to him. You felt like you had the grand canyon in your chest where your heart used to be. Your body refuses to function.  Your mind told you to reach out to him. Even though something deep down in you told you that he was telling you the truth,  an even louder voice in you told you that he's lying, and you will just get hurt if you believe him. That he's going to leave you. One way or another.

"Sweetheart please.. I love you, I'd never do anything like this, I don't want her.."

Was he really going to sit there and tell you he loved you? After what he'd done?

Something snapped in you then. Anger you hadn't expected flooded through you from the top of your head to your feet. Before you could even register what you were doing you reached out and slapped him hard in the face, knocking him from a kneeling possession to a sitting one.

A look of shock, bewilderment, and another look you couldn't recognize crossed his face as he sat there staring at you with his mouth hanging slightly open, staring at you.

"Don't you dare.. You don't have the right to come in here, and tell me you love me after what you've done..." 

You sat there staring at each other for a moment, neither of you saying a word. 

Jensen after a moment composed himself. Got to his feet, and walked out the bedroom door. Slamming it behind him. 

You laid back down on the bed and cried yourself to sleep. 

Why was God doing this to you? Why did he keep taking everything from you?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[did-he-just-hiss-at-me]

"They'll forget."

warnings: implied suicide attempt(non-specific about who), long with no cut cuz mobile, angst, hurt/comfort

summary: "Remus cackled. 'Don't say that! They're definitely going to try to rescue you, and they'll fall for our trap!' Logan sighed, and his head drooped. 'No.' he said in a hollowed tone. 'They'll forget.'" (not an excerpt)

ships: implied dukeceit(beginning), implied intruloceit(end)

au: super au(my au)

notes: based off this post. sorry if you guys didn't want an au tied to it hgdjfjs. lmk if you want a sequel

-----

(Logan's POV)

Day 1

I woke up with a massive headache, and lacking the ability to see. I couldn't move any part of my body except my head. Where am I? What happened? I questioned internally. I didn't want to alert whoever put me here to the fact that I am awake.

My memory is a foggy mess. I can't remember much. There was... yelling. Or rather, fighting. I wasn't participating in said fight. I don't even think I was allowed to.

Then I was walking home. I remember having my hands in my pockets, staring at the ground. Not caring about the world ahead of me, just below. Maybe a tear or two slipped out, it's hard to remember.

Then I remember someone grabbing me. Pulling me into an alley, and kicking me to the ground. I saw two familiar faces. I got a baseball bat to the face, then darkness.

I coughed, loud. It wasn't intentional, my throat was really dry. How long was I unconscious? It felt like a whole day. Not good for my sleep schedule. Speaking of schedules, I'm worried that my boss has fired me from work by now. He has no patience.

"Hey, L's awake!" a familiar voice called out to another, the sound echoing down the hall. A chill went down my spine, trouble was coming. Footsteps came after the echoing voice. They got louder and louder, fast.

"Heh, You sure that wasn't the other guy?" another voice appeared. It sounded sinister. "Dee, what other guy...? Did you proceed with a kidnapping without me?!" The first voice again. "No no, I'm kidding, Logan's the only one we got right now."

I tried my hardest to appear unconscious, but hearing what was supposedly my name caught me off guard. Logan. That's who I am, right.

It comes back to me now. I am Logan Everton. Natural-born Super with technologic-based abilities. I go by the codename Digit. I am a Super with good intentions.

I remember what happened before I got here. My common allies(though they would refer to us as "friends"), Patton 'Heartbeat' Harper, Roman 'Magma' Aveyard, & Virgil 'Specter' Deckett, were at Roman's place, having a fight. Our team ethic was going awry and it was making everything harder, our successful missions being smaller than our unsuccessful ones.

I had remained quiet most of the conversation, but that's because nobody would let me speak. I'd try to pitch in, steer everyone to a positive outcome, but they'd either yell over me or tell me to stop.

11. I counted. That's how many times I had been shut down. After that, I had enough. I grabbed my backpack, and left without a sound. Nobody called out for me, telling me not to leave, that they would listen to me now. Not at all.

As I shut Roman's front door, I had let out a big sigh. Hands in my pockets, I walked down the sidewalk to my house. It was just a couple blocks away, I would've made it. But back then I didn't care. I started to cry, but I didn't care.

But suddenly I was pulled into an alleyway. I was so caught off guard that I was unable to resist being kicked to the ground and knocked out with a baseball bat. I remember seeing the faces of the two men who grabbed me; Roman's ostracized brother, Remus 'Psycho' Aveyard, and Ethan 'Deceit' Helquist. A common enemy of ours. I now was able to match the voices I just heard to the faces. They got me, and now I'm doomed.

Somebody pulled whatever was over my eyes off my face. Regardless I still tried to look unconscious, but they weren't having it. "Open your eyes Logan, that's not going to work on us." Ethan sneered. I opened my eyes and glared at Ethan. "What do you want from me." I wanted answers.

"Ooh, straightforward now, aren't we nerd? You usually want to know details first, haha!" cackled Remus. "Shut it Rem, this is my turn." snapped Ethan. "We don't want anything from you... yet. For now, you have one, simple purpose... heh..." he chuckled. This could not be good. This guy is a expert manipulator; which is boosted by his powers of deception, hypnosis, and "glamour"(which according to Lo's research, meant you can disguise yourself). Ethan's powers didn't last long, but they were effective.

"I said it once. And I'll say it again." I started to demand. "What. Do. You. Want. What is your plan." I needed to contact the others and let them know what is happening. They wouldn't know otherwise.

Ethan put his hands down on the arms of the chair I was strapped to, his hands just barely touching mine. His face was 1/2 of a foot from mine. "I know your tricks, Lo~. I confiscated your technology, you cannot contact your little 'pals'. Anyways, until your teammates get here, you're just bait. You will lure them here. After all, what will your team be without their smart team member?" Ethan explained with an evil smirk. Right, how did I not realize that? My head still hurts, it's making it hard to think clearly.

"And yet, your plan is still flawed." I dead-panned. "What. Did you. Say?" Ethan growled back, moving his head back a little and grabbing me by my shirt.

"I told you, your plan has a loophole, and it's being exploited right now whether my friends know it or not." "What are you talking about, dork? Our plan is perfect!" Remus cackled once more.

"They're not coming."

Silence settled upon the room. A stunned Ethan gently let go of my shirt, & took a couple steps back. He let out a laugh of disbelief. "You must be joking! Seriously?! Why wouldn't they come for YOU?!"

"Because they don't know I'm missing. And they never will, because they don't want to know." I paused for a moment, tearing up a little. Not enough for them to notice, but it's there. "They don't care about me."

Remus started laughing, killing the sad moment. "HAH, I don't believe that for a second, four-eyes!" His face was filled with disbelief and mania. "You...Your friends need you, why wouldn't they come for you! You're so valuable to them, which is why we chose you in the first place!" he cackled once more.

"Well, you made a poor choice then. Anyone would have been better than me..."

Ethan snapped out of his stunned state. "Don't think that you can fool us so easily, Digit." he glared, putting emphasis on my nickname. "Remus?" he called for the male's attention.

"Yes, Double Dee~?" he responded with a wink.

"I told you, stop calling me that. Now, go get our prisoner food. Probably McDonalds or something."

"Will do, ya snake-charmer!" Remus winked again. Remus ran out.

"Oh, and one more thing, dear prisoner." The words felt like acid on Logan's skin. "They have 7 days to get here. Whether you say they'll come or not, they have a time limit before there's... consequences" Ethan warned, with a hiss at the end. He presented an evil smile before leaving Logan alone in the dark.

---

(No POV)

Day 2

Ethan & Remus returned to their prisoner early that morning, and hung around. Eventually they transferred Logan from being tied to a chair to a window-less bedroom with a locked door. It was actually a nice room to be in. The bed was super comfy, there was a TV with a DVD player(plus many dvds), a table and chair, and a bookshelf. On the table, Remus left him a notepad and pencil to write on if Logan needed anything, as there was enough room under the door to slip paper through. Logan never used it that day though, he just sat around in his room and sulked, knowing how this wasn't going to turn out for his enemies. The only time he got up was for food, which was always fast food. At least they were generous enough to give him nice(ish) things. They could've just gave him a burger and left, But Logan didn't care either way.

Ethan & Remus never stuck around in the room, just checked up on him. But seeing Logan just laying there on the bed filled the two with an emotion they could not identify yet.

---

Day 3

Almost the same as yesterday. Today was a Monday, so surely someone from his job would wonder where Logan went, right? Nope. Ethan kept Logan's phone with him at all times and there were no texts, no calls, not even a message on any social media.

Logan hesitantly got out of bed to do stuff aside from eating meals. None of the movies available were ones he was interested in, so he got Remus to bring him some documentaries, as well as Logan's personal notebook from his bag.

In fact, the little maniac decided to hang around Logan a bit. Some of the documentaries Remus grabbed were unintentionally ones he liked, so he decided to watch them with his prisoner.

Ethan still didn't like Logan. That's what he says, at least.

---

Day 4

Not much happened, just the usual. Except Remus had brought Logan a cookie with his dinner, a nice change.

---

(Ethan's POV)

I was sitting at my kitchen table, just staring out the window. I had my arm supporting my head while I thought about things.

Logan's proving himself right and I don't like it. But I don't get why. I should be upset because my plans are going wrong, but... I'm not.

Suddenly I felt hands covering my eyes. "Guess who~?" a voice asked in a sing-songy tone. I chuckled. "Obviously it's Remus. There's nobody else it could be."

Remus uncovered my eyes and pulled me into a hug, causing me to yelp. "You got me, babe!" he confessed, kissing me on the cheek. "Sorry for the hug, I forgot you don't like large, sudden moments of physical contact." Remus pulled away slowly and apologized, looking a bit embarrassed. Overstepping my boundaries is the only time he ever seems embarrassed.

"It's ok, Rem." I unintentionally sighed. Logan's still on my mind. My expression became a but more sad as I continued to think about the situation.

"Something wrong, Double Dee~?" Remus flirtatiously chuckled. He then noticed my facial expression and his smile fell. "...Seriously. Is everything ok? You usually let this kind of thing slide, Ethan." he queried worriedly. You could see the concern in his eyes. He only uses my full name when he's genuinely troubled.

"No no, it's not that." I reassured with a smile, as I grabbed his hand and held it with both of mine. Then the frown of mine returned right after. "It's Logan."

"Oh... is it because of you-know-what?" he questioned again.

"If "you-know-what" is the fact that his "friends" still haven't come for him? Yeah. It is..." I responded once again. Remus's face said everything. He recognized that Logan had told the truth.

"What's more, they haven't even shown a sign that they're planning to come get him. I tracked their movements across the city, not even a little bit of time was spent doing any sort of planning." I added on. Remus & I looked into each other's eyes. We saw the pain within ourselves. A familar feeling. An experience we remember all too well.

Seconds that felt like hours passed by. We wanted to cry. We were abandoned by those we trusted so dearly. Cast aside, all because of mistakes. Look what it did to us. We know the feelings experience during that time of loneliness. I don't want Logan to feel what we did, and I know Remus agrees.

"He... Logan's just like how we once were."

"Indeed, he is. And we're not going to let it remain like that."

---

(No POV)

Day 5

Remus & Deceit, to Logan's suspicion, made an effort to slowly welcome him. Remus was already doing so but only out of "sheer pity for the nerd". At first, Logan was hesitant. He had a bias against them due to them being villains.

Day 6

But by mid-day Wednesday, Logan had opened up more. He didn't understand it, but he just let it happen. He didn't care anymore. They're probably earning his trust so they can manipulate him against the others later.

Logan just wanted it to be over. During this past week, he had a lot of time to think. Enough time to lose hope in humanity. Nobody was going to rescue him. He was going to be forced to kill those he once loved.

He didn't want to admit it, but Logan was actually looking forward to his revenge. Not towards his kidnappers, no. They've actually shown him more acceptance than he's felt in a long time.

He wanted revenge on his former team.

---

(Logan's POV)

Day 7 - The last day.

Remus returned to check on me right on schedule. We talked a bit, watched a movie, he even brought a few puzzles for us to do.

Ethan, however, did not return until the evening. I had forgotten today was the "deadline" until the sinister man entered the room and dropped his backpack beside the now closed door with a glare towards Remus.

"It's time." he snapped. "Do you want to leave the room, Remus? I do not want to upset you, after all."

Remus gulped. "No... I want to stay. This is important for the three of us." he shook his head.

Important for the three of us? My body stiffened up and I squeezed my lower right arm. That cannot be good. Remus & I were previously sitting on my bed, angled right across from the door. The now terrified man got up and stepped beside his partner, who was now in the middle of the room, a few feet away from me.

"Should I hold him back, to make sure he cooperates...?" Remus questioned worriedly.

"No. You'll scare him." said Ethan as he stared into my eyes, never moving his attention. "But you already are, look at him." Ethan's previously tense stance had instantly loosened, realization dawning on him. Remus was right, I had now realized I was shaking, sweat was dripping down my back.

"Oh... Oh! I-i'm so sorry, Logan. It wasn't my intention." He bent down to my level and apologized. I was still stiffened up, though, and I turned my head away. "I'll let it pass." I finally let out as he waited for my response. His expression became sad.

"Logan, look at me. You need to listen." I hesitated for a second, but then turned to look him in his heterochromatic eyes. He seemed genuine.

"Today marks almost exactly a whole week of your friends not coming to save you. I originally had one plan, which you had no choice." I glared at him, moving back slightly. "But now that it hasn't worked, you have three choices." My eyebrows raised at the sudden proposal. I still remained like a statue, but now i'm truly listening.

"Number one. We let you go free, but... under one condition." Ethan paused for a moment. "You either give up all your technology-period-or, you let us keep track of what you do with any technology you use. We know your powers rely on having a gadget with you, Logan. We can't let you continue being a threat, but we also no longer want to see you hurt. You're a good man, you know." he confessed solemnly.

My expression softened. In the end, I didn't want to give up being a hero. The world needs me. But if this ends up being my best option, then I will agree.

"Option two, our backup plan in case you refuse option 1 & 3. In the situation where you refuse the before mentioned options, we will proceed with our original intentions. We hypnotize you with the intention to use you against your friends. We no longer want to do this to you, but if you refuse to cooperate we will do this." once more, his offer came solemnly.

I tightened up again, prepared to defend myself. I didn't want to know option 3, I just wanted to be as free as I can get. But before I could open my mouth, Remus spoke up.

"Why didn't you save that for last? I thought that would've made a better ending."

"Trust me, this one is a better closer in my opinion, Remus." he sighed.

"Finally, option 3." Ethan took a deep breath. This sounded like nerve wrecking answer for him to say. I wasn't sure whether to care or not. I just remained defensive.

At last, he let it out. "You join us. Leave your troubling life as a hero behind. Get payback for what the world has done to you. Or if you want to remain 'heroic', the three of us can become anti-heroes. Whatever it takes to make you happy." Ethan sounded serious.

Remus chimed in again, to Ethan's frustration. "Don't you want to show those losers how you feel about them now?! Smash their heads in?! Make them regret even wronging you once?!"

"No!" I lied, curling up into a ball on the bed. I didn't know what I want one bit. My morals are split in front of me, forcing me to choose one half and discard the other permanently.

The more serious of the two grabbed me by the shoulders, remaining at my eye level. "Look. I know you're hesitant to leave it all behind. You're used to one path in life. But we want what's best for you in the end. I know that anger is going to fester within you until you can no longer handle it, and end it all because there's nothing you can do about it." In that moment. Remus started shaking, crossing his arms and trying to calm himself. Ethan didn't notice, he was too focused on reassuring me.

"We were exactly like you once. Abandoned, by those we trusted most!" Ethan too, was now breaking down. "Cast away, all because of some mistakes! We had never known better! The problems built up within us, and corrupted us! And all the painful emotions of loneliness and betrayal along the way..." he choked out that last bit with a sob. "We want to help you avoid that part. We've turned out to want to care for you... W-we want-" the manipulator was now crying. Remus came up to him and slowly pulled him into a hug to comfort him, crying too.

"Shh, it's ok, Eth. It's ok, deep breaths." the maniacal one said in a way that seemed out of character for him. As Remus cried too, he rubbed Ethan's back.

I, Logan, have now come to a realization. They're serious. They genuinely care about me. Unlike anyone currently alive and in my life. I decided in that moment that my heart is right. I want what will satisfy my fury.

I got down to the ground with them and grabbed Ethan's hand, squeezing it periodically. "Ethan, listen. I'm here. Do as I say. Breathe in for 4 seconds..." As I began to help calm him down, he followed along. "Hold it for 7 seconds... And now let go for 8, and repeat." After about a minute Ethan was calm.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that side of me. You didn't deserve to know all that." he tried to confess. "Eth-..." Remus began to reassure, but cut himself off.

"I'll do it." I agreed, catching their attention. "I'm going to join you. You're right." I said as I stood up. I was going to say more, but I was stopped by the both of them getting up, and Remus pulling me into a tight hug.

"Don't worry, you'll fit right in with us. Everything will be just fine. We will never forget about you."

And in that moment, I knew they were right.

[soheila-1996]

My story- part twelve

I have epilepsy. This details my seizures, I can’t speak for everyone, everyone’s seizures/ experiences are different. This is graphic. Seizures are messy. They aren’t fun and it felt wrong to make it out to be cute when they really aren’t.   Pretty much all the things that happen in the plot have happened to me. Well, I’m not married to a king or live in a palace so…there’s that but everything else is accurate.  There may be some jokes about it here because I do joke about it sometimes. It makes me more comfortable and I find it helps relax everyone around me. I’m also writing about it because there really aren’t that many fics written about it and I think it’s important to shine light on it.

Any feedback is really appreciated! :)

Tags: @kacie-0156 @texaskitten30, @cordonianroyalty, @kingliam2019 , @cordonia-gothqueen,   @bobasheebaby @losingbraincellseveryday  @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @jared2612 @flutistbyday2020 @debramcg1106 @anotherbeingsworld @leaharhys @cordoniaqueensworld @bascmve01

This is also part of wacky drabbles hosted by @wackydrabbles. The prompt this week is: #43: Is this a game to you? 

Paring: Liam and Riley

Warnings: Panic attack, bullying, blood, mention of miscarriage, suicidal thoughts. 

Word count: 7,699

Catch up here

(Josh’s POV)

My wife and I are currently wandering around a  Target, we’re here to pick up the last couple of items for our daughter’s birthday on the weekend. We were looking at some clothes that she had mentioned she liked. She’s turning five Saturday. It feels like it was yesterday when I was holding her in my arms- time really does fly by. 

My wife, Leah, took a pink and white striped shirt with a gold butterfly fly over the rack and put it into the cart after making sure it’s the right size. 

“Alright I’m going to the bath stuff,” Kate announced. I looked up at her with my eyebrow raised. 

“Do you need more bath stuff?” I asked teasingly, a smirk danced across my lips. 

“Do you need more pens?  I know you’re about to go and grab some  the second I turn my back?

“Point taken,” I laughed. I quickly gave her a peck on the lips. “ “Meet you in the middle when we’re done?”

“Yep,” Leah said as each of us took off in our own directions. 

I stayed by the clothing for a few more minutes picking out anything else I thought my little girl would like. I just can’t believe how much time has actually passed. Nearly five years. I don’t think words can explain how much I love her. 

Unbeknownst to me, there’s a girl a little bit away from me reaching for an item of clothing on one of the racks just next to mine. She can’t be much older than thirteen. School had finished a couple hours ago now. 

The girl stumbled forward as she reached out for something, she attempted to catch herself onto the rack but she fell anyway. 

I had just started to walk away from the clothes and towards the stationary aisle when I heard people yelling. 

“Oh my god!” A woman exclaimed.

I turned around and headed back to where I was. A bunch of people were now crowded around something, I can’t see what was happening and honestly I don’t really want to get involved. 

“She’s having a seizure!” one of the onlookers exclaimed.

Without thinking, I jogged over to the group and slipped past some of the bystanders. Like the woman had announced to the entire store, a girl was laying flat on her back and was having a seizure. 

I hesitated for a second, this reminds me so much of my little sister, Riley. I soon snap out of it and kneel down beside the girl. “Does anyone know if someone is with her?” I ask. 

The onlookers all shake their heads. “Okay,” I muttered before beginning a familiar routine. No one had any problem with me taking the lead.

I quickly moved away from the girl and retrieved a sweater off the display and slipped it under her head. Just then a saleswoman appeared, pushing past the interested bystanders. I read her name tag: Emily

I look up at her, “I need you to help roll her over onto her side,” I instructed. She nods and joins me on the floor to help me roll her. I pull out my phone from my back pocket and start a timer. 

Emily helped me recover the backpack off her back. While we were doing that I noticed a bracelet with a large red emblem on it- a medical alert bracelet I soon realised. 

I slipped it off the girl's wrist over her hand and read the back: 

Lacey Jones 

Epilepsy

And then a  number to to call in an emergency underneath. 

If only my little sister would’ve followed this Lacey’s lead when she was her age. It would’ve saved her a lot of trouble. 

“Can you call that number for me please?” I ask Emily as I hand the bracelet over to her. She nodded.  “-and ask if we should call an ambulance,” I add. 

I look down at Lacey as a man hands Emily his phone. 

I feel horrible for this girl. She’s so alone and so incredibly vulnerable. She honestly can’t be older than 13 at the least. I can’t help but think about Riley. 

“Isn’t she going to swallow her tongue?!” A woman exclaimed with great concern. 

“Does someone have a wallet or something?” A man asked. I looked up to see him patting down his pockets looking for something to put in the girls mouth. 

“No no, no, don’t put anything in her mouth,” I  respond quickly,” she won’t swallow her tongue.”

“You need to hold her down!” Another woman added. It’s honestly surprising how little people actually know about dealing with a seizure. 

“You’ll hurt her if you do that,” I explained. 

“Are you a doctor?” The same woman asked me harshly. 

“I’m not, no,” I respond, shaking my head. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” She asked, her voice hostile. 

“Yes, I do. My little sister has epilepsy and I kept her alive for most of her childhood so yeah,” I replied, running out of patience with her, “I think I know what I’m doing.” 

I looked up at Emily who was still obviously trying to get hold of whoever the number on Lacey’s bracelet belonged to. My statement had shut the annoying woman up at least. 

A little spit started to leak out of Lacey’s mouth, I used the sleeve on the sweater beneath her to wipe the fluid away. “You’re doing really well, Lacey,” I whispered to her. 

“It’s her mom,” Emily told me. “She wants to know how bad it is and then she’ll make the decision if we should call an ambulance. 

Dealing with a panicked mom is not my repertoire.  I can just imagine all the things he would want to know if he got the same call to say this was happening to Lana. 

“Okay, she’s breathing and one her side,” I glanced down at the timer, “And it’s started just over a minute ago.” Emily repeated all the information to the concerned mother on the other end of the phone. 

Emily informed us that we didn’t need an ambulance just yet. I ask her to ask what Lacey Is like after a seizure so I know what to expect in advance. It was about a minute later and Lacey’s movement’s started to slow down. 

“There you go,” I said gently  as my finger hovered over the timer to stop it. It was just a few seconds later and it stopped completely. I looked up to Emily to tell her to tell Lacey’s mother that the seizure had stopped. 

(Leah’s POV) 

I just picked up  a couple of things and now I’m walking back towards where I left my husband. I know what he’s like; he probably hasn’t moved from there yet. 

When I arrive there I don't see him but I do see a group of people crowding around someone. I can’t see what’s happening from where I’m standing so I move a little closer. I recognised the denim jacket my husband was wearing through the sea of people; my heart sank. Five minutes! I’ve left him alone for. Five. Minutes!

I pushed past some of the onlookers just wanting to get to my husband. I was instantly relieved  when I saw him kneeling beside a young girl. It’s not him that’s having a problem. 

The crowd parted when a woman’s voice calling “Lacey” was heard. A concerned, panicked looking woman came barrelling past the onlookers and knelt down beside my husband and what I presume is her daughter 

The woman thanked Josh and then he stood up and walked over to me. We moved away from the crowd a little bit. 

“What was all that?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. 

“I was just walking away and then I heard screaming- she had a seizure,” he explained to me. “She had a medical ID on and we called her mom.” 

“I left you alone for five minutes,” I mentioned with a smirk. He shrugged. “You don’t always have to play hero.” 

“No one else knew what else to do. They would’ve hurt her had I not stepped in,” he explains. “I know what to do so why not help?” 

I gave him a quick peck on the lips, “Let’s go pay, then we can pick Lana up from my mom’s and get home.” He nodded in agreement and so we headed towards the check-out. 

(Riley’s POV)

Liam and my parents have all thankfully stepped out and left me alone. I know that they all have good intentions but they are getting annoying. It’s like they believe that I need to be babysat when I don't. 

I want to be able to talk to them about what’s going on inside my head but I don't know how to. Talking about my feelings has never been something I’m good at. I find it awkward and it makes me think I’m bothering them with my problems. I’m always more than happy to help someone else with their own problems but when I have one I feel like I have to solve it on my own. 

Asking for help isn’t easy for me. It never has been and albeit that’s gotten me into trouble in the past. I have an amazing husband and a group of incredible friends who are more than willing to sit and listen to me vent but I just don’t know how to. My way of trying to sort through my emotions is to do it alone and push everyone away. I haven’t quite figured out that it’s never going to work.

Everything is a mess and I don't know how to get out of it. I’m not sure if it’s even worth it at this point. Every time I feel like everything is going okay, something happens to fuck it up and I’m back to square one. 

All of it swirls around my head,  knocking into each other and beating me down again and again. It’s like a chorus to a song on a constant, rapid loop. Sometimes it gets so loud that I can't hear anything else. It drowns everything else out until I can’t even hear myself think anymore. 

Everyone hates you.  

You’re useless. 

You’re a failure 

 It  all twists like a knife  and all sense of reality spins away for a moment. Every one of my insecurities, every scabbed over wound feels like it's all being torn open again and are left to fester. 

It all just keeps getting louder and louder and then...it goes silent. I’m left sitting in a room on my own that hasn’t changed even though it just felt like the walls had started to close in. There’s no one to talk to because I've managed to push everyone away. 

Liam and  my mom have suggested counselling but I’m not all that keen on the idea. I'm not stupid. A therapist couldn't care less about my problems. All they care about is getting their money at the end of a session. They’re paid to care. Maybe that’s just in my head too. I just find it hard to believe that anyone could actually give a damn about my problems. That’s partly the reason I’m not sold on the idea of venting to a stranger once a week, another part of that is if I can't talk to my family how can I talk to a complete stranger? The last time I had given it ago didn’t turn out so well. It didn’t help in the slightest. 

I’m tired of being tired. 

It’s been a really, really challenging few weeks. I don’t even know how long I've felt this hopeless. Maybe it never really went away to begin with. 

I climbed out of the bed and headed into the conjoining bathroom. I turned on the tap and splashed some water over my wash in the hope it would wake me up a little bit. When I look up at the mirror as the water drips down my face, down my chin and onto my shirt; I don’t recognise myself anymore. 

I don’t recognise my eyes, they're dull and no longer have  the same twinkle they used to; they make me look years older than I actually am. My cheekbones look sharper than they used to. Actually, all of me looks skinnier than I used to. 

I dry off my face and avoid looking at myself again. It only makes me feel worse but in a way it makes me understand why my parents and  husband are so concerned. I would be if the tables were turned.  I look like a zombie.  It’s so draining thinking that it’ll all get better but It just doesn't. 

I understand that life is made up as the bad and the good moments  but why does it seem like mine is only made up of the bad? 

All I really want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for days because life is just too hard. Surely my problems can’t follow me into my dreams, right? 

I want to get out of this hospital too. I just want to go home, back to my own bed, my own stuff and maybe then I’d be able to get some sleep. 

After my first miscarriage I wanted to die. I wanted for the ground to just open me up and swallow me whole. I didn’t know how to continue, how to move on after what had happened. Everyone had convinced me that it would get better  but...it just doesn’t. I’ve tried pretending that everything is okay for so long and I’m tired of pretending to be happy. All of this had just proven  that wishing it away doesn’t work.  

I’m not sure why but this all reminds me so much of what happened when I was seventeen with Ben. If I recall correctly that’s when I started to feel like this. I don’t think it ever really, truly went away. 

** I’m awake but I can’t open my eyes. I had tried but the lights stung them so  I opted to close them again. Physically I feel weird, I try to move but I can’t. 

Why can’t I move?

I’m trying. I’m really trying to get my body to move but it feels as if I’m paralysed. What’s happening to me?! 

Nothing makes sense. I don’t even know what the last thing I remember is because everything is foggy. 

I can’t think. 

I can’t move. 

My eyes flutter back open and this time I know to squint to avoid being blinded by the harsh lights above me. I let my eyes adjust a little bit, the room around me started to become clearer. 

I realise that I’m looking up at a ceiling- It’s white as most ceiling’s are. The room smells almost sterile...like a hospital. Am I in a hospital? I’ve spent enough time in them over the years to recognise this overwhelmingly sterile smell anywhere. 

Why am I here? I don’t understand. 

I feel myself beginning to panic. I just don’t understand anything….What can’t I move?! 

It’s a question I keep coming back to. I don’t understand why or how I’m here and what they’ve done to me. It feels like my body has been magnetised to the bed beneath me and there’s nothing I can do to free myself from it’s hold that it seems to have over me. 

I just need to understand what’s happening. If I could just start to remember something maybe I’d start to feel better. 

I want my mom and dad. 

(Karol’s POV)  I’m sitting beside Riley’s bed. She looks so much better now that she doesn’t have that tube shoved down her throat. She looks like she is actually alive. 

They had extubated her a short while ago and now we’re just waiting for her to wake up. Micheal and I are here after we had sent Josh home to get some rest. I feel so impeccably guilty that I haven't been here every minute of the last few days. The first time seeing her was...I’m not sure there are words to describe what seeing my little girl like that did to me. 

I’m sitting on her right and Micheal on her left. Neither of us know how to feel. We feel like this is our fault and the worst thing is that it kind of is. We should’ve noticed that Riley wasn’t taking her medication. We should’ve been more strict with her. We should’ve spoken to her about what happened with Ben… We should’ve done something If we maybe this all could’ve been avoided. 

The doctor’s words from the other day continue to echo in my head.  “In some cases of convulsive status epilepticus, particularly when it has gone on for this long, sometimes causes brain damage.” 

Brain damage? 

That could mean so many things. What if she does? What is her life going to be like? There’s so many things, so many consequences just those two words could possibly mean. 

All of this makes me feel physically sick. It’s the worst feeling in the world to watch your child go through something and you have no control over any of it. I wish it was me. 

I remember the day Riley was diagnosed and the neurologist told us that she would need medication, I was in a state of denial and maybe I still am. It’s hard to accept that there is something wrong and that I can’t do anything to change it. 

I’m scared. After I had gotten mostly past that state of denial; I became overprotective over my daughter. I was upset, It was like I was grieving for the loss of a ‘normal’ child, I hate that I felt that way. Of course, I would prefer Riley not to have epilepsy but she’s perfect the way she is. I didn’t let her do so many things out of fear that something would happen. I hate dropping her off to school in case she has a seizure and somebody deals with it incorrectly.  I didn’t let her go to camp during the summer or stay at friends houses in case something happened. I’ve babied her for so, so long and now I have no idea if she’ll be okay when she wakes up.  

Her life could potentially be so incredibly different...What if she can’t do so many of the other things that she could before this? What if she never gets to do the thing i stopped her from doing? I’m dreading finding out if she’ll have any lasting side effect from this. 

“Karol,” Micheal called, quietly. I looked up from my lap and looked over to him. He gestured to Riley who was just beginning to open her eyes. I stood up and moved closer to the bed, leaning over the rails to look at her as she sequined as her eyes fluttered open. “I’ll go get the doctor,” my husband announced as he stood and walked out of the room. 

I ran my fingers soothingly through her hair. Her eyes darted around the room. She must be so confused. “It’s okay,” I whispered, “You’re in the hospital but you’re okay, Ri. I’m here. Dad’s here too, he’s just gone to get the doctor,” I explained to her quietly. 

“C-can’t m-m-move,” She tells me. Her voice is raspy and quiet; I can barely hear her. I don’t really understand what she just said. 

“What Honey?” I ask as I lean in closer to her over the railing. 

“M c-can’t m-move,” she repeated. Panic immediately washes over me. I don’t understand what’s happening. 

Why can’t she move? 

I continue to run my finger through her hair. “Shhh...It’s okay, Ri.” 

Just then my husband re-enters the room with Riley’s new doctor, Dr Jane Stone, trailing behind him. I move away from the bed and take the doctor to the side. I signal for Micheal to just go over to comfort our daughter as I try to get to the bottom of this. 

“She can’t….W-why can’t she move?” I ask the doctor in great concern. 

She gives me a small smile. How is she being so calm? “This is a common side effect of coming out of a coma, Mrs brooks.  She should start to regain feeling very soon but she still will be weak.  Four days doesn’t seem like a long time but it is when you're constantly laying down and not moving,” Dr Stone explains to me but I’m not convinced. “She’s doing really well,” she added, “just give her some time.” She gave me a small smile but it did  nothing for my nerves. 

The doctor leaves after checking Riley’s vitals. Now I'm left with Riley and my husband. I walk back down to the bed and look down at her and run my fingers through her knotty, greasy hair. I can see that she’s scared by the expression she has on her face. I just feel so, so incredibly helpless. She’s my daughter, I’m her mother and yet I can’t do anything to make this better.  

“S-scared,” She whispered. She winces at the pain in her throat that the tube had caused. Her voice is barely audible. 

“You don’t need to be, sweetheart,” Micheal reassured. I can’t speak; I don’t know what to say even if I could. 

I can’t begin to imagine how scared and confused she is right now. She’s just seventeen years old; she doesn’t deserve this. Nobody does. 

“Tired,” She murmured. 

“Get some rest,” I tell her. It doesn’t take long for her eyes to flutter shut. After I'm sure she’s asleep I explain to Micheal about what the doctor said.

(Riley’s POV)  I open my eyes, thankfully the lighting is much dimmer than It was earlier. It still stings my eyes a little though. I blink a few times until my eyes adjust and I notice my brother sitting in the chair next to my bed, more occupied with scrolling through his phone than looking at me. 

“Josh,” I whispered. My throat feels like it’s burning; I wince at the feeling and bring my hand up to my throat which requires more effort than it should. 

Josh looked down at me and turned his phone off. 

“Hey,” he greeted, quietly. “The doctor said your throat will be a little tender for a while,” my brother explained to me after noticing my hand was still resting over it. “Don’t talk if it hurts,” he recommended. 

I vaguely remember talking to my mom earlier but I can’t tell if that was a dream or not. It felt real but everything is still fuzzy and doesn’t make sense. “W-what h-h-happend?” That’s new; why am I stuttering? It’s not because of my throat. A sore throat doesn’t make you stutter. 

“What’s that last thing you remember?” he asked with an almost sad expression on her face. 

“I-I d-don’t-” Why is this happening? I’m trying to think back but I can’t because I’m so focused on trying to figure out why I now have a stutter. I don’t remember having one prior to this.

I looked around the room. 

Where am I?

 I think it's a hospital room by the looks of it. There’s annoying beeping coming from just behind my bed. Talking of the bed; it feels like it’s made of nails. 

“You’re in the hospital,” Josh confirmed. I nodded; I’ve already figured that out but thankful for the confirmation. 

“W-why?” God my throat hurts. “I w-was a-at h-home…” 

“You had a seizure,” he explains, “it didn’t stop. I had to call an ambulance, they couldn’t get it to stop either and then the doctor’s had to  put you into a coma to stop it.” 

The last thing I remember is laying down on the couch to have a nap after I got rid of  Sally. I’m suddenly very concerned about Sally; I told her to leave me, I...Wait, Josh said he called an ambulance, how did he know? 

“W-what?” I question. None of this makes sense to me. I don’t even know how time has passed.

 Is it the same day? 

It is weeks later? 

Josh said I was in a coma but not how long it was for. I don’t understand any of it. The last thing I knew I was laying down for a nap and now I’m in a hospital. “H-how l-l-long for?” I ask, getting increasingly concerned and confused. 

“Four days,” he responded. 

Four days?! 

96 hours?! 

“W-wh-” I just don’t understand. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest; my breathing quickens. Fuck. 

A loud beeping fills the room and my brother leaps forward, putting down the railing so he can sit on the end of the bed. He takes my face in his hands to make me look at him. I can’t breathe. 

“Riley, it’s okay,” he tried to soothe but it’s not. It’s not okay. None of this is okay. 

My eyes darting around the room. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest! I’m trying to get air into my lungs but it seems like the harder I try, the amount of air I’m actually getting decreases. 

My heart is thudding against my rib cage. 

I’m scared. 

I’m confused. 

I look back up to my brother as my tears start to well up. I’m crying now; I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand how this happened. 

I can’t breathe. 

I’m now only able to take in a few strangled breaths. The panic I’m feeling has already gotten its vicious claws in and I can’t shake it off. 

I’m scared.

I can feel my brother’s hands on the side of my face but his touch isn’t doing anything to comfort me. 

“Ri, look at me.” My panicked filled gaze flicked up to meet him. “It’s okay. You’re okay,”he tried to soothe. “Copy me, okay?” 

I nod. I just want to be able to breathe properly again and to understand what’s going on. My brother took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled out of her nose for a few seconds. I tried to follow suit but I can’t. It’s too hard. 

There’s other people- doctor’s I presume but I can’t hear them. All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I think they’re telling me to do the same thing my brother is, don’t they realise how hard it is? 

Telling me to breathe isn’t actually helping me too! 

I somehow manage to follow my brother’s lead;  following his breathing pattern. I feel myself start to calm down, the beeping stops and the other people disperse out of the room. 

My brother stays sitting on the end of my bed. I look up at my eyes welling up. “I-I d-don’t u-u-under-” 

“It’s okay,” Josh interrupts. “You’re okay; that’s all that matters.” 

“F-four d-d-days?” I ask. I need some more information. Finding out that I’ve been unconscious for four days is a pretty big, alarming shock. Josh said I had a seizure...was it really that bad? “S-seizure?” 

He nods, “Yeah, you had a seizure.” 

“H-how l-long d-d-did it l-last?” 

“Over twenty minutes,” he replies.  Josh explains the rest of it. Sally left me, apparently I called Casey, she called him and so on. I feel bad; I told Sally to leave and go to that party. In hindsight that was a spectacularly bad idea. 

By the time our conversation ends, I’m exhausted and just want to sleep. It’s so much information to process. I’m still not sure that I understand all of it just yet. 

** It’s a week later and I’m finally being discharged! No more hospital food. No more being woken up every few minutes in the night by the constant beeping or nurses coming in and out the room. No more sleeping in the uncomfortable hospital bed. I’m finally going home. 

Recovery is apparently going to take a little while. I’m still a little weak so they’ve recommended some physical therapy to regain a little bit of strength. I haven’t really been allowed to get out of bed since I woke, mainly due to the fact my legs felt really weird for a long time, and I’m still ridiculously sore from the seizure. 

Speech therapy is also another thing I’m going to have to do. My stutter seems like it’s going to be somewhat of a permanent fixture. It’s erm...it’s definitely not helping my confidence. I used to stutter a little when I was a kid and was bullied severely for it...I guess it’s a good thing that it doesn’t look like I’m going back to school for a little while. 

The last weeks have been one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me. It terrifies me how quickly things can go wrong. One moment I’m fine and the next I’m in the ICU in a coma and a tube shoved down my throat. It’s mortifying. I am so beyond grateful that I’m still here and that my brother was there to help me. 

I had managed to get my parents to lay off Sally a little bit. I convinced her to go therefore I should take some of the blame. Mom and dad didn't really agree with that but had left her alone. 

My mom had stayed the night and drove me home this morning. When we arrived back the house was quiet. Everyone else is apparently out doing their own thing. I’m happy about that; I don’t need everyone crowding around me like they had done in the hospital. I’m fine. 

That’s probably just me being stubborn though. Nothing’s fine. I had a seizure, which led to doctor’s having to put me into a coma and scared the undying shit out of everyone in the process. 

It's later the same day, everyone is home and we’ve just eaten dinner. I’m about to head toward the stairs and head to bed for an early night when my mom speaks, “Can we talk for a sec?” She asks as the entire family moves out the kitchen and into the living room. 

I look at everyone quizzically.  “Sit down,” my dad orders. He sounds serious. 

“O-okay,” I stutter and sit down on the couch. Casey sits beside me, Sally beside her and Josh, my mom and dad take the couch opposite. “W-what is t-t-this a-a-about?” 

“We just want to talk to you about something,” My mom explains. 

“We know that you weren’t taking your medication.” I nod, they’d mentioned it while I was in the hospital. “You can’t keep doing that.” 

“Do you know how dangerous it is to just stop taking them?” Mom asks. I shake my head; I knew that if I stopped I'd probably have more seizures but I didn’t know that I could put myself at risk of Status epilepticus. “We need you to promise that you’re not gonna do that again. That you’re gonna take your medication.” 

I promise that I'll do that and then they finally allow me to head back up to my room and to bed. I’ve learned my lesson after all and  I’m exhausted. 

** - 2 weeks later. 

It’s just gone noon after my physical therapy appointment. It had gone well- I had so much more strength in all four limbs that I previously did. My mom and I have just stopped in a store to pick up some much needed groceries before we head to Macdonald’s for some lunch. 

Lately, I only get out of the house to go to my appointments. It’s not that I used to go out a lot before all of this but it’s the fact the choice has now been taken away from me. My already protective family had only grown all the more protective. 

Recovery is taking a long ass time. It’s annoying. I just want  my life to go back to normal. 

By now, everyone at school is aware of what happened. Jake- one of Ben’s friends lives opposite me and had apparently seen the ambulance that night. I’m not sure how everyone knew the details but they did regardless of how they had discovered them. Luna had told me about it when she came over the other day. 

My mom had kindly trusted me to go and get some milk. Seriously, I've barely been left alone since the incident. I headed down the aisle, opened up the refrigerator and took out a carton. I closed it then turned around about to head back to my mom when Ben and his goons rounded a corner. It’s  a Wednesday afternoon! They’re probably skipping school again. 

I try to get away quickly, however, I'm still a little sore from my appointment and so they see me. “Riley?”

That’s Ben I realise. I slowly turn to look around at him. He let out a chuckle at the sight of me. “So you woke up?” He asked with a stupid smirk plastered across his face. 

“Yes,” I said. Thank god I didn’t stutter. I wanted to punch him but hurting my hand isn’t worth it. 

“That’s a shame.” How did I ever have feelings for this douche bag? “You should’ve died because let’s face it your family would be much happier without the freak.” 

“S-s-s-shut u-up!” I exclaim. 

He raises an eyebrow, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. “What?” 

“L-leave m-m-me a-alone.” 

He cocks his head to the side, “What? I d-d-don’t u-u-u-understand,” he responded, mocking me. 

I opened my mouth to say something but I don’t want to give him more ammunition so I shut it again. My stutter had become something that I do feel insanely insecure about. I didn’t ask for it like I didn’t ask to have seizures all the time. Over the last couple of weeks my family have gotten used to it but I haven’t. I hate it. 

“W-what g-g-got n-nothing else t-to s-say?” He asked. I shake my head; what did I ever do to him to make him hate me so much? I can’t think of anything. 

Maybe it was because I got some stuff on his carpet when I had a seizure at his house….

Maybe I’m not pretty enough or smart enough…

Maybe he’s lashing out because I scared him…

What did I do? 

I must’ve done something, right? 

I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes. I turn away from him as a tear slips down my cheeks making the boy erupt into laughter as I walk away. 

Why does that have to happen to me? 

I soon found my mom. I hide my now tear stained face for her as we pick up the rest of what we came for then paid. 

We found where my mom had parked the car and loaded out shopping into the trunk. When we were loading in the items my mom caught sight of my face. She stopped what she’s doing to look at me. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, confused. She had only left me alone for not even five minutes. 

“N-nothing,”  I muttered, defeated. I placed the last few items in then jumped into the passenger's seat. My mom soon joined me and turned in her seat to look directly into me. 

“Ri?” 

“C-can w-w-we g-go h-home p-p-please?” I ask. 

“You don’t wanna go get food?” 

I shook my head. “N-not h-h-hungry.”

“Okay,” She murmured and turned away from me to put the keys into the ignition. Thankfully she doesn't ask anymore questions on the drive home. 

Does my mom and the rest of my family wish I had died too? 

**

I’m in the garage, my fist is connecting with the hung up punching bag again and again. My knuckles stung as they made contact. I cried out in pain, frustration, annoyance as I continue to beat the shit out of the bag until my knuckles start to bleed unbeknownst to me right now. 

Stupid. 

Freak. 

Useless.  

You should’ve died. 

Ben’s words echoed in my head mixed in with my own thoughts. Both my hands continue to make contact with the bag only making the wounds that now little red my knuckles worse. I. Hate. Everything! 

Why can’t I be normal? 

Why did I have to get the fucked up brain? 

Why can’t I just be like everybody else?! 

I kept hitting the bag. Each question I came up with makes me hit harder. Harder and harder. I went to hit the bag again but someone’s hand clamped around my one wrist and pulled me away from the bag. I went to hit it again with my other hand but someone came to stop in front of me. 

“Riley, stop!” I looked up to see my brother looking down at me with concern written all across his face. “Just stop,” he said quietly. 

I yanked my arm out of his grasp then looked down at my now bloody knuckles. I had barely felt it. 

“What’s wrong?” Josh asked, prompting me to look up at him. 

“I-I s-s-s-stutter.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured. 

“N-n-no  i-i-it’s n-not! I-I s-s-stutter -a-and h-h-” I paused for a minute. Why can’t I just speak normally?! “H-have s-seizures.” 

“That’s not your fault. It doesn't matter. Riley, what happened?” he asked, “This isn’t like you.” 

I took a moment to figure out what I’m going to say in the hope that it would make a difference. “I r-r-ran i-in t-” I paused again; my strategy was making no difference whatsoever. The stutter lives on. 

Josh placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Take your time.”

He doesn't understand that I don’t want to take my time. I want to be able to have a conversation without it taking forever to say just one word. “I r-ran i-i-in t-to B-B-Ben,” I explain. 

His face fell. My family all knew about what Ben had done; how spiteful he is. “What did he do?” I can tell that he’s angry but he’s trying to hide it from me. I don’t answer his question; afraid of annoying him more with my answer or because how long it will take for me to tell him. “Ri?” 

“I-it d-doesn’t m-m-m-matter.” 

 “It does,” he insisted. I shook my head and tried to walk past him and into the house but he moved to block my path. “Talk to me,” he encouraged. 

I sigh. He’s going to find out one way or another. “H-he s-s-said t-t-t-t-that i-i’m a-a f-freak a-and t-t-that I s-should h-h-have d-d-died.” 

I see anger flashed across my older brother’s face because he takes on a more somber expression. “You know none that is true, right?” I don’t answer and choose to flick my gaze down to the floor. “Ri? 

“H-he s-s-said t-that you w-w-would all b-be b-b-better o-off,” I tell him. I can feel the hot tears pricking at my eyes once again. 

“Ri-”

“L-l-like I s-said i-i-it d-doesn’t m-m-matter,” I interrupted, matter of factually. I then moved around Josh and back into the house before he could respond. I don’t want to talk about it. There’s no point.

I just reach the stairs. I stay standing at the bottom when I see Casey come out of her bedroom and approach the top of the stairs. I wait patiently for her to walk down them. She raises an eyebrow when she reaches the bottom and see’s my bloody knuckles.  

“What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” I say, as I push past her, up the stairs and into my bedroom. Ben’s words continue to echo in my head. I’m angry, upset and I need to let my anger out somehow and so without thinking I decide to take it out on my wall. 

My first makes contact with the concrete wall and I immediately feel a fiery pain lacing through my hand. I’m not sure if my stomach flips because of the sight of my quickly swelling, bloody knuckle or it’s something else. 

I’ve been good with blood but I quickly decide that laying down is probably a good idea. I take a pillow off my bed and put it on the floor near where my head will lay, deciding if this is a seizure that going on the floor is better so I don’t fall off the bed.  I carefully lower myself down and lay on my side with my head resting on the pillow. My stomach flips again and my arm begins to tingle. 

Oh no. 

I feel sick but I know that I need someone to come and help me. I’m scared; I’m really scared because of what happened last time. 

I open my mouth and scream, “Josh!”

I hear footsteps pounding up the stairs and just a second later my door is pushed open. He kneels down beside me. “Are you going to have a seizure?” he asked me calmly. 

I simply nod in response to his question. “It’s another shaky thing,” I say as I try to breathe through the nausea. My voice is slightly slurred and everything doesn’t really make sense anymore. 

I start to try and squirm away. I don’t really understand why I’m on the floor. “Just try and relax, Ri. It’s okay. 

The last thing I hear is my brother reassuring me that everything is okay as the word fades to black. 

** I’ve just arrived back at the palace. I’m pretty sure my parents and husband followed behind me in a separate SUV. Discharging myself probably wasn’t the best idea but I didn’t want to be there anymore. Sitting alone in that horrible little room wasn’t helping me. 

I walk through the halls towards  the apartment. I pass Maxwell and Drake on the way...Since when do they hang out together? Anyway, I ignore them and continue on my way. 

I unlock the door and slam the door behind me and head straight into the living room. I nearly jump out of my skin when I see my brother sitting on the couch. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

He stood up and walked closer to me where I’m standing in the doorway.  “Is this a game to you?” He asked me, an unusual bite in his tone. “You can not play with your health like this, Riley. You fuck up and there are real like consequences…” 

“Josh,” I said, interrupting his lecture. 

He holds up a hand, “I’m not done. Listen to me; you’ve promised mom and dad, you’ve promised Liam and all your friends that you're going to stop putting yourself at risk like this and take your medication. You know what will happen if you keep doing this. People rely on you, people need you-” 

“No one needs me!” I yelled cutting him off, “I am fucking useless, Josh! Y-you can’t understand! You don’t live in constant fucking fear that you’re going to have a seizure. You don’t have a fucking disorder that makes you feel utterly useless or like your sick and need looking after. You don’t have to reassure people multiple times that you're fine before they even consider leaving you alone...You didn’t basically ruin your partner's dream of having a kid…”

“Ri?” he interrupts. 

“Just leave me alone,” I ordered as I set off toward my bedroom. I slam the door with an almighty bang. When is everyone going to stop treating me like I’m a baby? 

[out-of-context-charlie]

(this is the first fic i have ever published so like it is totally self-indulgent and probably garbage but whatever here we are)

It was a rainy day in Dragon City. 

On the darkened sidewalk, a pair of expensive shoes walked with purpose under a dark blue umbrella. Anybody else stupid enough to be out in the downpour steered clear of the man wearing them, hiding within their overcoats and hats to avoid his piercing glare. Eventually he stopped at a clunky brownstone at the edge of town. He looked up at it and then back down at the scrawl on the piece of paper in his hand to make sure he had the right place.

Zhao Yunlan wished he had not given up smoking. There was a certain beauty to watching smoke rise and curl in the dark gray light that a storm cast into his office. The sucker did not offer the same satisfaction and only added to his boredom. 

He looked absently at his scuffed shoes propped up on the desk, streaking mud over the various “important” documents he was supposed to be going over. Under his heel was yet another letter from his father cursing him out for getting fired from the DCPD, or rather quitting in an extravagant fashion. He caused quite the scandal, the only son of Police Commissioner Zhao blowing the whistle on a cover-up involving a dirty cop.

Now here Zhao Yunlan sat in a converted shoe factory, the chief of his own dysfunctional precinct. Alongside him was a ratty bunch of investigators: one convict, a runaway, a crackpot scientist, and a street urchin who believed he could talk to cats. His secretaries couldn’t even read for shit. Some days he thought the only one qualified to be in this line of work was Old Li, the janitor. Not to mention taking cases for whatever street scum needed a favor that day.

There had been a whole host of characters who’d crawled through his door and if they could pay, he would shine their shoes. Like yesterday, he had finished up a case involving a prize fighter wanting to expose a murderous boss. Then he also had the better clients, like the businessman whose daughter and her fiance went missing. He paid well, even if the culprit mysteriously disappeared.

“Old Zhao!” Da Qing crashed through the door, looking as clueless and alarmed as usual. 

Zhao Yunlan pulled the sucker out of his mouth with a smack and waved it at him. “Speak.”

Da Qing stood up straighter and attempted to smooth down his shirt but only succeeded in getting more dirt on it. He cleared his throat. “Ah, there’s someone here. A very well-dressed someone who says he needs urgent help.” And to add to Zhao Yulan’s headache, he winked.

Zhao Yunlan rolled his eyes. A few years ago, Da Qing began talking in code to make the clients feel more at ease, or to make the department itself look more interesting and mysterious. The only one in said department who humored him was Old Li, but that was just because the old man felt parental toward him. “So somebody very rich is very desperate, got it. Just send him in.”

With a pout, Da Qing retreated through the door and Zhao Yunlan slid his feet off the desk and half-heartedly put the cluttered papers into a stack. Normally he would just leave it since seeing the disorganization put people at ease. But if the client was higher class then it was actually the complete opposite. The more it looked organized and official, the more they felt they were not stooping down to another level. Then again, it was also very fun to watch a man in a suit squirm. 

The door opened again and a man walked through it. This time, Zhao Yunlan was the one squirming. 

Instead of some fat, sweaty businessman, the client standing before him was incredibly handsome. A professionally tailed blue pinstripe clung to a tall frame, accenting the rigid muscles beneath. He wore a matching fedora low on his head and round glasses that glinted in the low light. 

The client moved respectfully to the side, clasping his hands in front of him as Da Qing stumbled in. “Old Zhao, this is Professor Shen Wei. Professor, Detective -- ah, ex-detective -- I, mean.” He paused and collected his bearings. He started again, calmly. “Professor, Zhao Yunlan. He is the leader around here.” 

A professor? That was a new one. Zhao Yunlan popped the sucker back in his mouth and looked at Da Qing. “You can leave now, Fatty. Also, tell Zhu Hong that if I don’t have the files on the Crow murders by two today, I'll break her legs.” Da Qing nodded and backed out quickly. When the door closed, Zhao Yunlan gestured to the seat in front of him. “Professor Shen, please sit down.”

Shen Wei cleared his throat and sat down neatly, placing his hat on the table in front of him. “Is it really appropriate to call your subordinate ‘Fatty?” He asked in a smooth, deep voice that made Zhao Yunlan momentarily forget he was supposed to be a professional PI.

“If you saw how much it costs to feed him, you’d know that ‘Fatty’ is being extremely generous. But we are not here to talk about him..” Said Zhao Yunlan quickly, leaning back in his chair. He schooled his face into the usual business casual (slightly annoyed yet still charismatic) and waved a finger at him. “You have a problem, Professor Shen. Tell me.”

Shen Wei’s lips tightened into what may have been considered an attempt to smile and he folded his hands neatly in his lap. “I heard that you are who to call when you need somebody found.”

Zhao Yunlan grinned. “I have been known to catch a stray or two, yes.”

“Do you know of a girl by the name of Li Qian?”

“Mm. Nineteen year old female found dead at the docks two nights ago.”

“She was one of my brightest students.” The professor's jaw clenched and a shadow passed over his eyes. “She took care of her grandmother, the owner of a store known for priceless antiques. One of which Li Qian wore around her neck everywhere she went. There-”

Zhao Yunlan interrupted him with a large sigh and put his hands behind his head. “Professor Shen, as much as I love listening to you speak, you really came down here to talk to me about a suicide? Or you did. In that case, I’ve solved it!” He suddenly leaned forward and threw his arms out. “Li Qian was the killer.”

The shadow flickered again and Shen Wei looked like he was biting his tongue. “Please do not joke about her death, Detective.” Even though his face remained passive, there was a large amount of venom in his words.

“Ex-detective, actually.” Zhao Yunlan corrected him. “But like I said, those at the scene ruled it a suicide. She drowned.”

“I know that.” Professor Shen pushed up his glasses and shifted slightly. “I talked to the police myself and asked about the circumstances. Those circumstances make me believe they made the wrong call.”

“You think she was murdered?”

Although he had not been at the scene, Zhao Yunlan still had friends in the department who would occasionally let him peek at cases. The girl was found in the harbor with sea water in her lungs. Not a scrap of evidence suggesting otherwise. As far as he could tell, the poor kid flung herself off one of the bridges and ended up there for the fisherman to find. 

“Why?” Zhao Yunlan asked, cocking his head.

Shen Wei pushed up his glasses again. “Her necklace was missing. Zhao Yunlan, this is not an arbitrary fact. Her grandmother is extremely ill and does not have access to proper care, so she does not have much time left. Not once did I see my student without that necklace around her neck. She clung to it like it was a piece of her soul and I’m fairly certain if she did plan on killing herself, she would have had it with her. Also being such a valuable piece, I’m sure if a criminal saw a vulnerable young woman walking down the street in the dead of night, they would also see an opportunity.”

His words made Zhao Yunlan pause. When he still worked at the DCPD, he did plenty of interrogations. Most criminals were so nervous they were practically wetting their pants, but others were as calm as Shen Wei in front of him. He was not accusing the professor of anything yet. However, the darkness hiding behind the man’s dark brown eyes suggested he knew more than he was letting on to. In any case, his detective senses were alive and alert.

“So you are asking me to find the necklace and bring in the people you believe murdered her?” 

Shen Wei shook his head. “I am asking you to assist me in my own investigation.”

Zhao Yunlan sucked in a breath. “Ah, with all due respect, professor. I do not assist. I catch criminals with the assistance of others. Plus, this is really not a job for academics such as yourself. 

The professor eyed him and reached into his suit. Zhao Yunlan’s eyes bugged when a large stack of cash made an appearance. He hastily began counting the bills all while Shen Wei watched him intently. “Is this enough?”

Humming, Zhao Yunlan moved his head from side-to-side. “I might need something else.”

“Name your price.”

Zhao Yunlan grinned. “Smile for me?”

To his pleasure, Shen Wei’s face became a deep shade of red. Zhao Yunlan laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, I’m kidding! I’ll make you smile on my own eventually.”

Shen Wei’s lips tightened again and he dropped his head. “We shall see.”

Zhao Yunlan’s heart fluttered. “Challenge accepted, my dear professor Shen.” He grabbed his pistol from underneath his desk. He set it on the table next to the cash and smiled widely up at Shen Wei.

“Now, let’s go find that girl’s necklace.”

[rxtiigan]

as my freshman year of college comes to a close, i decided i wanted to share my final poetry portfolio for my creative writing class. here goes nothing:

Saturdays are For the Boys; Mondays are For the Anxious

Monday:

Breathe.

It’s not that hard.

Count your fingers, still ten.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out

Chest is heavy, stick it out

The clock ticks on as my heart palpitates to the face of my sternum

I feel the muscle cracking through

Any sudden movements and--

BOOM

Social suicide

Tuesday:

The worst part is knowing you’re lying to yourself

The statistical probability of literally exploding in class is approximately--

DEFINITE

Think logically, idiot.

Wednesday:

The clouds look almost as pitiful as me

Funny how they can disappear whenever they like

Thursday:

My days run together like my thoughts as I attempt to focus on whatever it is we’re--

Friday:

I had plans today

I had plans

To smile at strangers

I had plans

To speak up in class

I had plans yesterday

Plans

To look the pretty girl in the eye

Plans

To count my change only once before i rang up

Saturday:

Weekend is bliss. Weekend is tranquil. Weekend is avoidance.

Sunday:

I have plans for tomorrow:

get out of bed, overcome my anxieties, do this all over again--

Plans change.

…here we go again

‘Jagged Little Pill’ on Repeat

Sometimes, i sit in my room and think of you--

Talking to you is like talking to a wall

(not in the way you’d think)

The walls remind me of you--quiet, but so loud with potential

you’re new and unexplored; let me be the first

The song of you, rhythmic and intentional--any change of tempo like an accidental splash of paint;

unexpected and offbeat

The boom from your soprano acoustics ring in my ear, pure and staccato--a certain intention to it

You want me to hear you belt

The air smells like fresh periwinkle hydrangeas--your favorite

The dust i forgot to sweep floats around like your laugh on a day when i say all the right things

The ceiling cathedral high--reminds me of the way you make me soar

The song of you is stuck in my head now

Never stop singing for me

————————————————————

Alternate Ending

The door, however, reminds me

This is all temporary

You can leave

The song can end

unexpected.

Quiet, Freshman

“Quiet.”, you say, as I bow my head to your superiority complex

To you, I am nothing but a punching bag and your words are the heavyweight champ

“No more.”, I say, as you gawk, dumbfounded at the high-femme martyr

God forbid a woman speak the forbidden

All hail whatever it is you’re compensating for

Now it’s you who’s bowing.

“No.

More.

Quiet.”,

I say.

How’s it feel being so small?

Sure, Have Another

I think i’m going to tell you i love you

I think i will, but i won’t

I won’t tell you the way you make me feel when you tell me to breathe

I won’t tell you that i think of only you between each ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’

I won’t even tell you about the constant countdown to make you mine

I can’t say any of this

Because that would mean

I love you

And I don’t

I can’t

I won’t

To love you would mean you’d (hypothetically) love me

You can’t (hypothetically) love something that hasn’t learned to love itself

I think i’ll wait to love you

I’ll wait until the leaves fall but i don’t

Until the sun rises but you fall into my grasp;

for me

Until we look at each other not because we want to, but because to look away would be selfish

Until i can’t bare to see you stand alone any longer--

But oh how you can hold your own, all alone.

You have this way about you that says, “Loving me is a privilege; don’t you ever forget that?”

How could I ever?

There’s another way about you, though, that lets me in just a bit more than you’d like.

It says, “I’m in this.”

“You’re not alone.”

“I'll stand with you.”

It says, “I'll never tell you this but sometimes I lay up at night thinking of you.”

“I think of the way you’d fall for me too.”

“I feel the same way about you--”

It says, “Snap out of it, Des.”

It says, “Reality check!”

It says hopeful hypotheticals that tightrope across my mind; the danger of the act an ever pounding migraine--

I’ve never yearned for a hurt so bad

I (hypothetically) cannot wait to love you.

————————————————————

loving you scares me

but i’ve decided to face my fears

turns out, you faced yours too

no amount of toilet paper will heighten your immunity

2020--synonymous with the year of unforeseen dystopia; apocalyptic chaos

national pandemic turned internal panic

what was yesterday’s social anxiety is today’s doomsday prep

it’s all fun and games until it hits home

lives lost

families destroyed

education shifted

this isn’t some government facade

this is real life

start acting like it

[9uk]

Let Me Stay Close To You : epilogue

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 3k

⌲ genre : angst , fluff if you squint

⌲ warnings :  mentions of death , suicide , abuse

⌲ a/n : pardon me for I have a lot to say. I feel damn sad that this is really THE END of this series. feels only like yesterday that i decided to work on this baby. i’m sorry if there are any loopholes, i just sort of want to leave it to you guys to decide what had/is going to happen. as always, feedback is seriously more than welcomed! and I just wanted to say for all of you lonely souls out there, victims of bullying, people who are more insecure than they should be feeling, I LOVE YOU! I’m here for you, I’ve met so many people throughout a simple series and I’m always a listening ear for y’all! Don’t give up, press on <3 The road to self-love is a rough yet beautiful one! A big thank you for all my readers’ endless support and words of encouragement, as cliché as it sounds, I would never have made it to the end w/o you guys, no joke. I hope y’all stay with me! ^-^

**there are some references from forever rain by our wonderful leader Namjoon included in this writing.

part six  >  epilogue.

The rain drops falling on the surface of your umbrella only grows heavier with time.

The pattering is a constant rhythm that keeps you drowning in the bittersweet memories of the man lying before you, under you. Lowering the black parasol you have in hand, you shield your face from the series of footsteps approaching from afar. The sky is crying with you, and that puts your heart an inch closer to complete calamity. Your black leather gloves scrunch as you tighten your grip on the handle, your hand visibly shaking in unadulterated rage. Teeth clenched, you slow down your breaths and allow the last tear drop of longing to roll down your pale skin.

 The ends of your long coal dress is drenched with rain water and spluttered with mud, but that’s okay. 

Your boots are sinking into the soaked soil and you feel the wetness creeping into the sole of your feet, but that’s okay as well. 

The stalk of lily you had gently placed on his tomb is being slapped by the violent pouring of the dark grey clouds who mourn with you, but that’s okay too.

 Whether you dig six feet under this polluted ground, no matter how carefully you place the flowers you bring him every year, he would never come back into your life—and that’s not okay. That’s not okay at all, because the best friend you had loved so deeply had taken his own life to end his suffering.

The group of people walking your way is closing the distance and without another glance, you flee from the scene.

Stretching, you make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. It was the morning you had no clue was going to turn your life upside down. The glorious sun rays peeking through your curtains and the sweet singing of the birds flying outside your window grill couldn’t even save you from the catastrophe headed your way.

“Sweetie, there’s a letter for you!” The jingling of the car keys travel from downstairs and you quickly finish freshening up.

“Who is it from?” You ask, hand smoothening down the railing of the staircase as your tiny feet tap their way down the steps.

“It’s from Junghyun, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, before you scurry to your mother’s side and snatch the envelope from her hands.

The six-year old you understood the meaning of privacy, so you’re bolting back to your bedroom with a letter sent from your best friend in hand. And all excitement and anticipation was erased and instantly replaced by worry and fear when the first words you read are ‘I’m sorry’.

Your brows furrow harder and harder as you took in every line written on the piece of dreaded paper.

“So you’re saying that I should wait for her to knock off work to express my sincerity?”

Taehyung nods enthusiastically. “Look, I’m sorry for touching your girl the other day so trust me, this is the best advice I can give you,” Jungkook rubs his temple in frustration. “Doing that will definitely win her heart.” He looks away from his phone just long enough to send a wink.

“I-I’m not trying to get her or anything dude,” Jungkook plays with his fingers and his voice softens, “I just want her forgiveness, that’s all.”

And that is how you notice a certain man by the name of Jeon Jungkook strolling into the diner at 8 on a Sunday morning, orders a banana milkshake and occupies the small booth at the corner for a straight ten hours. He does nothing but play mobile games or doze off occasionally—or attempts to read a book he doesn’t even know the name of—but you will leave that out because he fails terribly every time. You thought you had made it as clear as day that the both of you were nothing more than a bully and victim, so why was he wasting his time here, sitting in the corner of Pop’s waiting for you? Unless…

The lengthy shift ends in the blink of an eye somehow, you don’t think it’s because of Jungkook’s presence and the lingering stares you receive from him—nonetheless you are gleefully waving Kihyun goodbye as you dump your apron into the staff cabinet. You don’t miss the way he shouts after you while wiping a plate dry in hand, “Have fun with your date! He’s a keeper.”

With a roll of your eyes that you know he can see despite not having to turn around, you walk through the backdoor and fish out your worn-out yet loyal pair of earpiece. You’re hoping that leaving from the behind would catch Jungkook off-guard, and that he wouldn’t be able to confront you or you wouldn’t have to bump into him. You couldn’t be more incorrect.

“Running away from me again, huh?” The cracks of the little stones in the gravelly ground beneath the sole of his Timberlands shoot through your ears in an unpleasant manner.

You dare not turn around to fully face him, too exhausted to deal with a person who held so much complications in your life at the moment. Moments later way too soon, he has stepped in front of you, leaving you with not many options.

“Y/N-” He reaches out to hold your hand, but you immediately flinch away as if it was a natural reflex whenever you were around him.

“Don’t touch me, Jungkook.”

His expression falls, along with the outstretched hand and he tucks it away in the pocket of his grey sweatpants.

“Listen I’m,” He runs his fingers through his brown hair and groans in annoyance directed at himself. “I’m..I’m just very sorry, okay?” His eyes are closed now, focusing on putting out the words that come from the bottom of his heart. “I really want the both of us to be something more than just a bully and victim,” Jungkook seemed unsatisfied with the status of the both of you. The walls you painstakingly build around yourself from the world is slowly but surely crashing down to the ground as he kept speaking about the possibility of redemption and forgiveness on your side.

“Can we be friends? I don’t know I just-”

He’s stumbling on his words now. Jungkook feels this inseparable connection with you, since your hearts connected when he hugged you to sleep, since you walk past him on the third day of college, he could literally recognise you anywhere and everywhere, the only face he would notice in a crowd, the only person he felt a sense of belonging to—or maybe ever since you bandaged his wounds up every time you visited.

Sometimes at night, he wonders why you stopped visiting after the death of his brother. Was he nothing more than a boy you took pity on? Was he not valid enough of a reason for you to come back?

He doesn’t know if it’s right to say it, or appropriate in any way but he knows about the value of second chances. After all, he was miraculously given one in life with the cost of his brother’s life.

“I missed you.”

The words falling out of his mouth comes to you as a shocker, eyebrows raised upon the claim.

“You were there for me at my lowest, when I got beaten up by my dad, abandoned by my mother,” Jungkook steps closer, and he steals the chance of you being momentarily stunned to grab your hands gently, cautiously.

He looks to the side, brows knitted in concentration to try and express himself in broken sentences in the best way possible. “You helped me, a-and all I did was try tear your life apart.”  

“Yeah, congratulations. You succeeded.” Your tone is menacing, filled with venom and vengeance for the guy who stood before you. But you still didn’t quite get the part of you assisting him in the past. Unless…

The next thing that happens is something you thought you would never be able to witness in your life. The forbidden tear seeps out of the corner of his eyes and flows down the cold skin of his cheek. Because your reply to his heartfelt confession is all it takes to shred the last bit of control he has of his emotions, before he is breaking down right in front of your eyes.

Out of pure instincts and zero intentions, you hold his hand back as a tiny form of reassurance.

You’re wondering if it is in you to protect and to help others in need, or it’s simply just because your heart is beginning to ache for Jungkook and the pain he has been through. It’s like for a minute or so, you have forgotten all about the traumas he created for you and the scars he left on your skin—because the distance between both your bodies are closed eventually (you don’t remember when exactly and who stepped forward) and you’re hugging a crying Jungkook.

It’s baffling how you are willing to put aside your feelings for someone like Jungkook. Maybe it’s in you, maybe it’s just in you, and you would do it for anyone else and it’s not solely because of Jungkook. But who were you lying to?

“I’m sorry Y/N…I really fucking am, god! I would do anything to gain your forgiveness,” Jungkook sobs into your shoulders. If only it were that easy—to forget about all his wrongdoings and eradicate the constant and lingering fear he introduced in you.

“It takes time,” You pull away from him, “but I guess I can try.” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper as you tell him your decision. His fingers wind up in your hair, clutching you close to the warmth of his body. 

You’d rather be free and experience the happiness that is paired with sorrow, then to swirl forever in a whirlpool of anxiety, self-pity and hatred. This could be a turning point for your life, and you were willing to take up on the offer because you had nothing to lose. 

Getting hurt will be an experience in your life, whether or not it does occur for the second time, you have grown to accept the way some people are and the way you choose to respond to ugly situations. You were constantly trapped in a cage of uncertainty and insecurity, blinded by the fog of stubborn overthinking and worrying, you failed to realise that the key to unlocking yourself from these bars are in your very own hands. It is a phase of learning, growing, accepting—and loving.

You’re hoping this chamomile tea would fight off the thoughts and memories of your late best friend. 

You carefully bring the hot liquid closer to your mouth, your lips resting on the circumference of the teacup, the lovely aroma dosed in the smoke produced flowing into your nostrils and reaching every part of your body. 

Your lonely umbrella stands quietly in the corner of this coffee shop, drenched and drying by itself. 

It was a rather empty coffee house, located opposite a goddamned cemetery, like which genius on earth decided to open a lovely café filled with sunflowers and tulips, fragrant coffee and sweet pastries beside a home for corpses? Or rather go to work every day seeing the dead and the frequent sad faces of their families.

But the shop came to rather good use for your mini hideout from the cruel family you detested.

After having a quick sip, a man dashes into the shop, the bells at the door ringing so violently the potted plants all turn to face the perpetrator in a face of disgust.

He hurriedly sweeps his hair back, rain water splattering everywhere and dusts the remaining droplets off his windbreaker, before heading further inside to find a seat.

Life never stops to amaze you in every single, way.

Jeon.

His shit-eating grin appears at the sight of you.

Jung.

“Oh, Y/N!”

Kook.

He makes his way over to your place and sits down without invitation.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

It comes out at the same time quite amusingly, and light giggles emitted from the both of you.

“I came to visit a friend.”

“My parents came to visit my brother.”

Same time, yet again but you managed to catch onto his sentence.

“Why aren’t you with them? You hated him with all your life or something?” You try to joke and lighten the already very dark atmosphere, but you realised the worst mistake you could ever make was to say something like that about someone’s death.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to-” You quickly cover up and apologise, hoping Jungkook would take no offence to your stupid joke.

“No, it’s fine really. I didn’t know him that well anyways.”

You keep silent, not wanting to say anything insensitive anymore.

None of you said anything after that, and you feel worse than ever at the change in his expression—like he was hurt by something.

“To reply your question, no. My brother is the last person I would hate I guess. He helped me a lot.”

Confused, you probed further.

“What do you mean by that?”

Jungkook clears his throat and wraps his hands around your cup of tea to seek warmth.

“Well technically, he passed away, I still don’t know how but it saved me from the misery I went through when I was a child back then.”

You watch the smoke rise from the cup, fading into thin air as they soar higher.

I’m Junghyun’s brother, Jeon Jungkook.

The flushing of the rain has ceased to a slow drizzle, and the rain drops left on the window pane are in a race to see who reaches the bottom first.

Your eyes slowly look up to meet Jungkook’s, dawned upon the realisation of it all—the lost pieces of the jigsaw puzzle coming together to form the picture, finally.

Jungkook doesn’t see how your face had entirely changed, your features now plastered with disbelief and a burning urge to find out the truth. He continues blabbering on.

“Nothing surprising, but my parents see me as some bad omen and for me to visit my brother, that’s strictly not allowed. But I have a company dinner to attend to later on so I tagged along and roamed the surroundings of this graveyard since I couldn’t-”

“Wait,” You grab your bag and stand up. “Come with me. You have to see something.”

He mumbles a ‘oh sure why not’ and the both of you are walking towards the group of people you saw earlier on.

“Y/N, is that you?” The whole family lifts their heads to take a good look at you, not paying much attention to the man you’ve brought along with you.

“Oh my, how beautiful you’ve grown!” She exclaims once she confirms that it is indeed you, best companion of their first son. His father turns even more gloomy at the sight of you, his lips curling downwards even more, as if he has been brought back to the times when you came over and played water balloon fights, kicked soccer balls for fun and climbed tress— with his son. His one and only son that he had already lost.

“Why won’t you let Jungkook see him?” Not even a greeting is spared and you may be coming off as impolite, but on serious note you couldn’t care less if it’s anything got to do with these monsters of a parents. Jungkook raises his brows at how daring you were to use that tone against his powerful family.

You’re only met with silence and you push Jungkook to the front, to which he only looks down, seemingly afraid of his parents.

“That’s because I only have one son! And it will be like that forever!” His father raises his voice at you and you don’t even flinch. You almost want to thank Jungkook deep down, for forcing you to become such a tough bitch honestly.

“Then let me tell you now, that your one and only son is gone from this world forever because of none other than his cruel father!”

The clouds decide to release the rest of the water it contains, to wash away all the unspoken misdeeds and cleanse the sins in this corrupted family.

Everyone shuts up at your accusation, his parents know more than their son being reported on the news as a death caused by an accident, behind closed doors are devious secrets and pretentious lies. Everyone knows, only Jungkook is standing there completely clueless about the whole situation. Your umbrella lowers, to hide your bitten lip and tear-stained face. Jungkook takes the handle from your hand and carries it for you, putting his hand around your shoulder to pull you close to him.

It’s hard to see your tears in the pouring rain.

I’m sorry.

Because by the time you are probably reading this, I am already dead.

I’m sorry for scaring you with the sudden news like that but it is something that had to be done. I am tired of the nightmares and scary monsters that creep on me at night. I am tired of hugging my pillow so tight and trying to block off the screams coming from downstairs. I am so afraid, Y/N. I have no idea what my parents are doing behind my back, but it surely sounds like nothing good. I am living in this house with terror and I cannot do this anymore. Sometimes I really want to tell you how scared I am at night when I hear those sounds in the house but knowing you, you will come and help me and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. There is a bottle of rat poison in the storeroom, just know that the cause of my death isn’t from some accident or something that my parents will put on the news. I’m not that clumsy like you haha. This is the only way to save everyone from this misery and I chose this path myself. I will always love you, you know that right? I’m sorry I’m weak and I cannot handle fear. You are strong I know it and you will get over this. Look at the moon when you’re sad okay? Take good care of yourself, Always have you in my heart.

[trashcanband4]

Father Daughter Duo Ch.5

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3  Chapter 4 Chapter 6

Chapter Title: Moving in. Pairing: Eventual DarylxOc. Setting: The prison. Warnings: Rape, Non-customary situations, Suicide attempts. Word Count: 4,136. 

When I came to I was laying in the back seat of an old Chevy truck. Someone had dressed me in the clothes that I had brought to the river with me and my hands had been bandaged in fresh linen. "Dad," I looked in the direction the voice had come from to see the back of a young boy's head who was standing where the front passenger seat had been leaned forward. "She's awake." The boy turned around and looked at me with a blank face. "You know you really shouldn't walk around the woods by yourself. It's not exactly smart these days." Like I didn't already know that? Before I had a chance to say anything he ran off and the wavy haired man that I had seen in the woods replaced him. He didn't say anything to me as I sat up and pulled my knees into my chest. He just stared at me, like he was expecting me to say something first. We ended up just sitting there looking at each other. 

The stare down between us was broken when a severely pregnant woman walked up to him, said something quietly then handed him a bottle of water. She cautiously smiled at me before she walked off. "I'm Rick." I just stared at him and tried to control the urge to run because I knew now that if I did I wasn't going to get very far, my body wouldn't let me. "Your name?" he tried to hand me the bottle, but I just ignored it.

"Bay." I choked out my name. I noticed the other man from the woods standing at the front of the truck looking at a map that was spread out on it. There was also a bald man, and a grey haired man that reminded me of my grandfather.

"Well, Bay, were you alone out there?" I thought about telling him I was, because my father was dead to me now, but I didn't.

"No." He looked at me like he was expecting me to say something more. "I'm sure my father wants to know where I'm at." I looked around me realizing that my backpack, which contained my weapons, was no where to be seen. "So just give me my things and I'll be on my way." I couldn't help but think that they weren't going to let me go that easily.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Of coarse it couldn't be that simple. "Where are you and your father staying and are there more people?" Did he really expect me to tell him, and if I did would my father get mad at me? "Look around you," I did and I saw three more people that I hadn't noticed before. Two girls, a brunet that looked to be about my age and another younger blond, were standing guard at one end of the line of cars while a Chinese looking man stood guard on the other. It had been a while since I had seen a real group, and these people looked almost normal compared to the string of horrible people my father and I had encountered. "If you're living in a safe place, we would appreciate it if you would let us join you." I once said that eyes were the first thing I noticed about people. Well, if I was reading this mans right at the moment, he was desperately in need of help.

I took another look around and my eyes stuck to the pregnant woman. She looked like she was going to pop at any moment. The more I thought about it the more I realized that the prison was big enough to share, and I couldn't let that woman give birth out on the dangerous streets. "It's just my father and me." He took several steps backwards and motioned for me to get out of the truck. So I braced myself on the back of the tilted seat and eased myself out. My knees were wobbly and he reached out to steady me, but I quickly dodged him and crossed my arms protectively over my chest. "Give me my things and I'll tell you the rest."

He huffed out a heavy breath and glanced at the other man from the woods. He looked me over before he gave Rick a single nod. "Fine, but no funny business." He walked around to the other side of the truck and came back with my backpack in his hands. He held it out to me and I quickly took it from him and checked it over for my stuff. It was all there so I tucked the gun in my waist band at my back and tossed the bag over my shoulder. "Okay, you have your stuff now where are you staying?" I really didn't want to tell him, and I probably would have just taken off if it hadn't been for the pregnant lady staring at me with one hand on her back and the other on her belly. My stomach twisted from fear and my heart went out to the pregnant woman. My sympathy for the woman pushed the fear aside.

"We made camp in the prison yard last night." They all made faces like they didn't believe me, but I kept on talking and told them how my father and I happened upon it. I told them how to get there. I was just going to walk back, but the man that I learned had bandaged my hands, Hershel, told me that I was too weak and would never make it on foot. I wasn't going to argue with an old man so he introduced me to his daughters, Maggie and Beth. I ended up riding with them and the Asian guy, Glenn, who I quickly figured out, was Maggie's boyfriend. It was nice knowing that there were other women in the group and that I wasn't going to be completely surrounded by men.

They chatted on the way to the prison, but I blocked them all out. If they were talking to me I didn't know it. I just stared out the window watching the trees go by eventually I got bored with that and stared at the tire of the motorcycle in front of us. Finally the prison came into sight and the sick feeling in my stomach only got worse.

When we had all gotten out of the cars I walked off and Rick followed. "I know you're probably expecting me to just let you people come waltzing in, but I need to talk to my father first." He squinted at me like he was expecting me to pull something, but I really had no intentions of doing anything like that. He didn't protest so I entered the yard to find my father still passed out even with the sun straight up in the sky. So I scooped up the Jack Daniels bottle from where it still laid in his limp hand. There was a decent sized rock next to his head and I let my eyes move between the stone and the bottle a few times before I threw it down hard. Whiskey and glass shards flew all over him and the loud sound caused him to wake up stringing together a line of curse words I didn't even know he knew. "ShitGodDamn. Bailey Simone Clark! What the fuck's the matter with ya!"

"You want to know what's the matter with me?! What's the matter with you?" he looked around him realizing that our prisoner was no where to be seen before he took in the look of pure outrage on my face. "When exactly were you going to tell me you started drinking? When walkers break down the fence and try to eat us?" he opened his mouth to talk but I interrupted him. "No, you were going to wait until there was a horrible disgusting man tied to an old rusty school bus. Oh wait that was last night." I said sarcastically and his brows knit together in confusion.

"Bailey I…" he tried to defend himself, but I held up my hand stopping him.

"Save it Sean." I could tell that it hurt him when I called him by his first name, but I didn't care, "I don't want to hear it and we have visitors." I pointed to where Rick stood with his group outside the fences.

"Who the hell are they?" he asked just as angrily as I thought he would.

"Survivors, like us. They found me down at the lake." It was the only explanation I felt like giving at that time.

"What the fuck were ya doin' at the lake by yerself?" the anger in his tone bordered on hysterical.

"What the fuck were you doing drinking yourself stupid last night?" I asked mocking his tone with my eyebrows raised. "Besides they're here now and they're going to stay here because I said they could." I could tell just by looking at him that he was wondering where this sudden change in me came from, but I wasn't going to tell him. I started to walk away, but he grabbed my t-shirt covered, bruised arm and spun me around before I hissed and jerked it out of his grip.

"Who the hell do ya think ya are young lady? Ya think ya can talk to me like that and get away with it?" his question angered me more than anything else had that day.

"I'm a woman that finally realized what kind of man her father really is. Now if you don't mind I'd like you to meet the men that saved my life today." This time he let me walk away and I could hear his faint foot steps behind me as I made my way through the maze of gates. "Sean this is Rick. Rick this is Sean, my father." I was going to leave them to talk everything out but my father's stupid voice stopped me.

"I'm not done talking to you young lady." I gritted my teeth and turned around ready to tell him to stop talking to me like I was a child but he cut me off. "Where the hell is Merle? Did you let him go or what?" that made me snap and I shoved him hard making him stumble from the unexpected force.

"Let Merle go? Let Merle go! I didn't fucking let him go he-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. How about you two save the yelling for when we're on the other side of the fence huh?" Rick got between us cutting off my ranting and pointed to a few walkers that were emerging from the nearby tree line. After that our arguing stopped as we all walked along the gravel path that lead to the prison yard. I could hear the others talking from behind me, but the only conversation I paid any attention to was the one that was taking place between my father and the man with the crossbow on his back.

"Who's this Merle guy y'all were yellin' about?" The curiosity in his rough voice struck me as odd. He didn't look like the nosey type.

"Just some ass hole that found us yesterday. Did have 'em tied up to that buss over there, but when she woke me up earlier he was gone. I still don't know what happened." My dad explained, but the guy asked another question as if he was excited about something.

"Yeah, whatever," The curiosity that was once there was replaced with an awkward urgency, "Was he missing his right hand?" it was this question that stopped me in my tracks causing my father to walk into me. I shoved my father off of me and turned around to stare at the crossbow guy.

"You…you know Merle?" I stammered out and he suddenly looked like a little boy on Christmas, but for me it was Halloween and a real live chucky doll was trying to stab me.

"Ya've seen my brother? He was here?" His…his brother? I didn't bother asking, the resemblance was enough to confirm what he had just called the man of my nightmares. Before I knew what I was doing I took off running and ended up hiding under a desk in the nearest guard tower. I hoped that no one would follow me but soon my father, Rick and Crossbow Guy's voices filled the tower. My father crouched down to look at me where I sat with my knees pulled to my chest under the desk.

"What the hell's yer problem? Ya've been actin' weird all day." He wanted to know what was wrong with me? If it wasn't for the fact that I couldn't stop my rapid breathing I would have told him off. My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my head and I just wanted everyone to go away. My hand shook as I tried to wipe off the cold sweat that rolled down my forehead. 'Please just go away' I thought to myself as I listened to Rick tell my father to leave the tower. "And leave her here with just the two of ya? I don't think so." My stomach twisted and I was positive I was going to throw up on my father.

"She's having a panic attack and you're not helping. Leave or I'll make you leave." I heard my fathers familiar footsteps fade as he left the tower. I opened my eyes to see that Rick had kneeled down in front of me and Crossbow Guy was standing behind him. Rick put his hand on my shoulder but I jerked it away never taking my eyes off of the man behind him. "Look at me" I didn't. "Look at me Bay." Only when I felt like I was about to pass out again did I look at Rick's worried eyes. "You have to calm down okay?" his voice was calming, but it didn't put a dent in how I was feeling and my eyes darted back to the brother of the man that destroyed me. I couldn't calm down with him in here. I managed to get out one word that was directed at Crossbow Guy, leave. Rick looked over his shoulder and jerked his head to the door. The man shook his head no and said something about having to find his brother. "Daryl, I'll find out what I can, but I can't do it with you in here." I watched his feet as he walked to the door and slammed it behind him. Now that he was gone I focused my attention on Rick. "Breath with me and try to relax." he started taking slow deep breaths and I forced myself to follow along. Eventually I stopped shaking and got my breathing under control. But I was still sweating and I felt like I was going to puke. "How are you feeling?" he backed off, sat down on the floor and leaned his back against the metal wall.

Now that I looked at him he looked as exhausted as I felt. "Like shit." My voice came out sounding weaker than I had planned and I leaned up from where I had slumped back against the desk and rested my face in my hands.

"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" his voice wasn't demanding or controlling like it had been when he wanted to know where I was staying. It was soft and caring, but no matter how nice he sounded the truth was I didn't know him and I didn't know if I could trust him. "I know you don't know me, but you can talk to me if you need to. You probably won't believe me, but I'm a cop. Or I used to be anyway before all this flesh eating dead people stuff happened." Now that I looked at him and the way he acted before, I could tell. He was telling the truth, because all cops have this cloud of authority that surrounds them and it was all over him. "So you can trust me to keep my mouth shut." I didn't know how he know that there was something bad that I was holding in, but he did and it all came rushing out of me like a horrible title wave.

I told him everything that happened from the moment Merle push his way into my life up to why I was sitting here talking to him. "Just don't tell my father what he did please. I don't want him to know."

He looked like he was thinking about saying that he wasn't going to keep my promise, but he finally nodded his head. "Okay, I promise that I won't tell your father." You would think that letting it all out would make me feel better, but you would be wrong. For some reason it made me feel worse. It was only Rick's promise that made me feel even the slightest hint of relief. "But you should know that no one here is going to mess with you." I somehow didn't believe that. The only women in the group were either too young or taken. One of the men were bound to hit on me and I had a feeling it would be the brother of the man I now hated with every bone in my body. "Daryl needs to know what kind of man his brother is. One of us needs to tell him."

"No! You can't tell anyone." I hated the way Rick looked at me now that he knew and I knew that once my secret got out that everyone would be looking at me the exact same way. They would either pity me because they believed me and feel sorry for me because they would see me as a pathetic little girl who lied for the attention. Either way I didn't want my dirty laundry hung out for everyone to see.

"Okay fine, but both Daryl and your father need to be the first to know when your ready to tell them." He stood up and walked over to the door before he stopped and turned back to me. "And if you ever need to talk again, I'm here." He walked out leaving me by myself. I didn't want to go out there and face all of those people, or my father, but I knew that I would have to sooner or later. So I dried my face, tugged at my sleeve until it covered most of the bruise, then walked out of the door and down the stairs. Only to be suffocated by my father when I opened the door.

"Are you okay? What did he say to you? Did he try to mess with you?" I tuned him out at that point and pushed him back from me.

"I'm fine Sean, he didn't say anything important to me and he didn't mess with me." I crossed my arms over my chest and started walking across the yard to where food was cooking over the fire from the night before that someone had started back up.

"And why do you keep calling me by my fist first name?" my father caught up to me, but I didn't stop walking. "Answer me young lady." I stopped walking and got in his face.

"Stop calling me that and I'm calling you Sean because that’s your name. If I call you Dad it might make you think I respect you when I don't. You lost what respect I had for you last night, when you left me alone with that son of a bitch!" He grabbed my bruised arm again when I tried to walk off and I hissed from the pain and jerked it away from him. Judging by the look on his face the thought the hiss was one of anger. "Don't touch me!"

I ended up spending the rest of the day walking the parts of the outer layer of the fence killing what walkers had gathered there. It was Maggie that came to tell me that supper was ready. I followed her back the fire. There were only two spaces available in the circle, one between my father and T-Dog and another, wider, one between Rick and Daryl. I chose the latter and sat closer to Rick, because I felt like he was the only person here I could trust.

The over all mood around the fire was cheerful and it affected everyone but me. Everyone gorged themselves on the meal that my father and Daryl had killed, but I just picked at the stringy meat on my plate. When most everyone was finished eating and I had pushed my plate away, Maggie and Beth started singing. It was a slow sweet song that I actually enjoyed because it had been so long since I had heard someone sing other than myself. "Oh all the comrades that ere I had are sorry for my going away, and all the sweethearts that ere I've had would wish me one more day to stay. But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not. I'll gently rise and I'll softy call good night and joy be with you all. Good night and joy be with you all." Every one started clapping including me. My dad looked at me over the fire and I cast my gaze down, wishing I could just fade away.

"Why don't cha sing Bailey?" I rolled my eyes wondering why he was acting like I never even yelled at him. "Oh don't pretend like ya can't. I heard ya when ya thought I wasn't listenin'." I didn't know he had heard me, much less that he thought I could actually sing. I had never done it in front of anyone before other than my third grade music class.

"I'm sure they could care less." I tried to deflect the attention off of me, but it didn't work.

"I'd like to hear, and I'm sure everyone's getting tired of hearing me sing." Beth spoke up and I felt like punching her. Several other people chimed in that they would like to hear, which only added to the pressure. If this would have been happening two days before I probably would have caved.

"No. I don't feel like singin' and I'm not that good anyways." I said and my dad spoke up again.

"What are ya talkin' about? Ya've got a wonderful voice." He sounded happy like the rest of the people and the others made sounds of agreement like they new what I sounded like.

"I said no Sean, now drop it!" everyone got really quiet after that and I clenched my fists digging my fingernails into parts of my hands that weren't covered in bandages. My middle fingernail dug into the hole in the center of my left hand making a sharp pain shoot all the way up to my elbow. I thought everyone would stare at me, but as I looked around the group they all seemed to have started having their own conversations. Well everyone but Daryl. He was looking at where my shirt sleeve had ridden up. I reached my hand up and covered it making him look up at me. The look on his face suggested that he knew what happened. I made myself smile at him, even though I'm sure it looked pained, before I stood up, grabbed my sleeping bag and headed to the nearest tower.

My father grabbed my hand when I walked by him, and I jerked it away from him. "Where ya goin'?" I told him that I was going to sleep in the guard tower. "Why don't'cha sleep here at the fire where it's warm? Ya will freeze to death up there."

I looked between him Rick and Daryl a few times. "I'll risk it." I said coldly before I started walking to the tower again. I locked the door behind me before I pressed my back against it and slid down. I cupped my head in my hands and let the tears I had been holding in for the past five hours fall until I ran out of them. I almost didn't have the will power to even pull myself up the stairs, but I somehow convinced myself that I couldn't sleep on the filthy dirt floor. Once I made it up the stairs I rolled out my sleeping bag, took my pillow out of the foot of it and slid in. After a while I was able to push everything out of my head and I fell into a nightmare filled sleep.

Daryl Tags: @jodiereedus22 @mtngirlforever @zzeacat @winchester-angel@moodygrip @beegnc @hells-mistress @lighthope08 @sapphire1727@luisadontcurr @chloebabyboo @ilkaeliseb @twdeadfanfic @ravengalaxia@1lluminaticonfirmed @my-current-fandom-is @nikkiloves-bailey @coffeebooksandfandom @lonewolf471 @gruffle1 @mblaqgi @calumstuffs@beltzboys2015-blog @neontiger007  @lonewolf471 @sourwolf-sterek32 @dixonluvv @dotslabyrinth @kayln97 @art-flirt @beltzboys2015-blog @cbarter

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[theclearblues]

Hades | Chapter 3

Notes: This is my entry for @upsidedownparker ‘s 5k writing challenge! Congrats on 5k, Kath!

As always- if you find any mistakes or have feedback please comment! I ove hearing from your guys xx

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs (THIS CHAPTER IS VERY MATURE)

Word Count: 3.2k (A lot of stuff happening up in here tonight)

I apologize if the read more tab doesn’t work on mobile!

Tom had driven all the way back into London to Y/N’s house with the intention to kill her, simply because he believed she was a loose end that needed to be taken care of. But as she sat beside him in the backseat of the black Range Rover, he couldn’t imagine laying a finger on her. Her cold exterior had melted off like sugar in rain, she sat quietly as her hands shook in her lap, fingernails slicing into palms. Bruises in the shape of fingers on her wrists, becoming more prominent as each minute passed, bracelets of abuse. Her eyes were still glazed over, and around them was turning black and blue. Tom noticed her shoving her hands under thighs, desperate to keep them from shaking. She was suffering but refused to look weak. Tom admired her for that, but had had enough waiting,

“Who was he?” He asked forcefully, not even turning his head to look at her. She remained silent while staring at her palms. He continued, his tone growing more harsh, “what’s his name?”

“Ivan,” saying his name made the shake in her hands corrupt her shoulders.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that, darling.” he smirked, but Y/N could tell he was growing impatient.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Y/N snapped back, her hands sliding out from under her thighs and into shaky fists in her lap.

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” he had turned and leaned over to her, snatching her wrist in a violent grasp as anger coursed through veins, “now, who is he?”

Her mind wanted her to stay strong and remain confident, but her body betrayed her the minute his fingers pressed against her freshly bruised skin. Instinctively, her hands pulled out of his grasp and she pushed herself further away from him and pushed her shoulder into the car door. Realizing what he had done, Tom sank back into his seat with his jaw clenched and didn’t say another word.

Y/N wanted to tell him, she wanted to finally blurt it all out to someone. Explain what had happened periodically throughout the two decades she spent in that godforsaken house. She wanted to tell him about every girl that walked in and that was dragged out, to give him their names and their eye colour and the colour of their nails. But she held back, it was too much to say. Too much to process and too much to explain.

Why didn’t you call the police?

The threats that he made her believe.

Did he ever assault you?

Physically, sexually and emotionally.

At first, a young Y/N wasn’t aware that this wasn’t a regular thing that happened in everyone’s home. But after talking to a friend from school in sixth grade, and a half-hearted attempt at an investigation, she learned to shut her mouth. He showed her what happened when she talked about home.

He hadn’t hit her or forced himself on her like that in years. And it brought back painful memories from a childhood full of trauma.

Tom watched thoughts flow through her head as she blankly stared down at her hands, they still trembled. Even from across the car it was obvious her bottom lip was between her teeth, but this time it wasn’t seductive, she bit down so hard her skin had turned white and blood began to pool around her teeth.

Tom tried to read her life through her actions, like he did with any other person, but just found himself in the same situation the first time he met her. Only this time her eyes carried tears and her hands were no longer strong and unwavering, a mysterious pain.

+++

When they arrived back at the Holland Estate, Harrison led her up the grand staircase to a bedroom. Meanwhile, Tom drove away from the house with Ivan still tied up in the trunk, no one fucked with anyone associated with the Hollands and got away with it. That had just applied to members of the family yesterday, but Tom decided to extend the branch out to close associates.

Y/N sat silently on her bed, Harrison stood by the door for a few moments, waiting for her to say something. As he turned to leave, Y/N forced the words out of her throat, “he hasn’t done that in a while.”

His ears pricked up the sound of her voice. Harrison turned to her, his expression soft as he walked over to the edge of the bed where Y/N sat solemnly.

“He’s hurt other girls too,” she paused, “and I know I should’ve said something to someone. But I’ve tried and he’s covered it up and he said he’d kill me.” The pace of her words quickened as she tried to get it all out, in hopes that it would help her forget.

Harrison stood, letting her speak as she wished, “can I sit?” He said, pointing towards the empty side of the bed. She nodded.

“We’ll take care of him, just have a rest, yeah?” Y/N could tell he wasn’t used to comforting people as he pushed out the words he thought would fit best. But he was trying, and to Y/N that was more than enough, and more than she’d ever had.

“Yeah, next time you see me I’ll be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Harrison asked, confused.

“To kill him,” the tears in Y/N’s eyes threatened to spill, but as she lifted her chin to Harrison, they fizzled back behind her eyes, “I need to be the one that fires a bullet between his eyes, but I need to make him suffer.” It wasn’t a want that Y/N craved, it was something she needed to do to try and move past that part of her life.

Harrison realized she was talking about Ivan and he nodded before heading out the door, “I’ll let Tom know.”

“Harrison-”

“Call me Haz,” he grinned, looking over his shoulder at Y/N.

“Haz,” she paused, getting used to the name on her tongue, “don’t say anything about this to anyone else, yeah? I don’t want all my new co-workers thinking I’m weak or anything.” She smiled weakly as Harrison nodded and finally walked through the door.

+++

“She wants to kill him,” Harrison stood across from Tom, his feet propped up on the desk. Tom had just gotten back and had set himself up in his office, papers astray all over and a nearly empty scotch bottle at the back of the room.

“Too bad,” Tom replied, scrolling through documents on the computer in front of him.

“What do you mean ‘too bad’?” Harrison’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked down on Tom.

“Fuck, I hate how tall you are,” Tom groaned as he sat up in his chair, swinging his legs off the edge of the desk, causing some papers to drift onto the floor.

“Sit down,” he gestured to one of the leather chairs near the desk.

Harrison sat in the chair and leaned forward, his elbows supported by his thighs as he folded his hands.

“I already killed him,” Tom stated with lack of expression.

“What? Tom, she’s been readying herself to kill this fucker since she got here.”

“Well, she clearly hasn’t realized that I don’t abide by others wishes,” he laughed a bit then got up from the chair and walked over to the table behind him. He poured himself a glass of scotch, the silver tray shaking a bit when he picked up the glass.

“You’re something else, aren’t you?” Harrison scoffed and rose from the chair, “I’m not telling her you killed the one person she wanted revenge from.”

“Watch it, Haz. I am your boss,” Tom snarled from behind the glass.

Harrison glared from across the office.

“Yes, I’ll tell her. It’s not that big of a deal anyways,” Tom threw the last mouthful of scotch into the back of throat, embracing the burning sensation and allowing the fire in his stomach to settle.

“Yeah, right.” Was all Harrison said before he left the office, leaving Tom alone with his thoughts.

+++

After two hours of Tom not leaving his office, Harrison decided to take matters into his own hands. He leaped up the steps and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, the sound echoing through the wide hallway.

Y/N opened the door wide enough for Harrison to see the whole room. She had somehow, made the room look like a bomb had gone off. The duvet on the bed was half on the floor, pieces of paper from god knows where were scattered around the dark hardwood, the curtains on the window were hanging on to the curtain rod by three rings. Harrison raised his eyebrows and scoffed at her, was this her attempt at a power move?

It was like she read his mind, “it’s not a power move, you div. I think better when things are messy,” she pushed him and walked out into the hall, skipping down the stairs. Harrison took one last glance at the disheveled room before shutting the door and following Y/N down the stairs, wondering where she thought she was going.

+++

He found her in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

“Tom wants to see you,” he said, waiting for her to look up from inside the fridge.

“No he doesn’t,” she replied, grabbing a slice of watermelon.

“Yes he does,” Harrison assured, he pulled out a stool and sat down at the kitchen island.

“Haz,” she paused, taking a bite of the sweet melon, “if Tom wanted to see me, you would have come right from his office. But you didn’t you came from the complete opposite side of the house, and Tom doesn’t seem like the type to text you an order,” Y/N smiled, basking in her knowledge as she watched Harrison decide if there was any loophole in her evidence he could take advantage of. Before he could say anything she added another fact, “and, you wouldn’t be sitting down at the kitchen island like you are.”

He immediately got up from the chair. The legs squealing against the tile, she giggled as she finished the last bit of edible watermelon then threw the green rind in the trash.

“But, I’ll go do what you want me to, Haz,” she walked out of the kitchen and down the west wing of the mansion. There was a long hallway that had three doors, one at the end, and two on either side. Harrison led her all the way to the far door, which opened to a wide room with a few chairs, a large globe and an impressive desk, with Tom sitting behind it.

He sat upright, scowling with his hands folded on a stack of files, “what the fuck is this, Harrison?”

“You had something to tell, Y/N?” Harrison replied, acting innocent as he held the door open.

Tom just rolled his eyes and waited for Y/N to sit down in a chair across from him.

“Here’s the deal, darling,” he snarled, annoyed with Harrison. He thought this whole thing was a waste of time, in Tom’s eyes he took care of a problem. That was his job.

“I killed your friend, sorry about your luck,” He tilted his head as he told her, Tom knew he was being ignorant but he couldn’t care less.

“You-” she paused, her fists clenching, “You fuck-” hair falling in her eyes, she made no move to tuck it back behind her ear, “You fucking inconsiderate fuck!”

She stood over the desk and leaned across, she grabbed his face with her dominant hand, squeezing his jaw so her nails slightly dug into his soft skin. As she was reaching for his face, his hand moved to rest on the gun that was tucked in his waistband. He was about to pull it out and press it into her chest but he stopped and waited for her. It shocked him, but he did nothing. She leaned down even further and lifted her slightly chapped lips to his ear and whispered acid, “he was mine and you knew it.” Her full lips brushed against his ear, her breath warm. Then suddenly, she let go of his face by shoving it to the side, leaving him bewildered. Tom’s face quickly became red with fury, but he made no movement to fight back. His hand slid from the handle of his gun after she let go and fell on his thigh, and he sat there waiting for her to make her next move.

Harrison watched the interaction with wide eyes, what in the fuck, he thought.

Tom and Y/N stood, glaring at each other. The only thing keeping them apart was the desk that stood as a barrier. The tension in the room grew as each second passed, leaving Harrison in an awkward position in front of the door.

Knock.

Harrison almost sighed with relief as he heard it. He spun around and opened the door to see one of Tom’s men, Alex, standing at the door with a package between his fingers.

“What is it?” Harrison questioned, his gaze hard as he looked down on his inferior.

“I don’t know, it was on the front door. It’s addressed to Tom and Y/N,” Alex hid behind his words, spitting them out as fast as he could so he could leave the office.

“Y/N? Why?” Harrison asked himself as he snatched the orange package from Alex. He turned back around to face Tom and Y/N and shut the door on Alex’s face.

While Harrison spoke to Alex, Tom was dealing with Y/N. 

She was demanding, overbearing and domineering, but Tom was fascinated by her. He was drawn to her in the most peculiar ways, he wanted to know the way she thought and how she kept herself composed in stressful situations. Why her cold exterior fell apart in particular circumstances, but any other time she was cold and demeaning, as powerful as an arctic storm. How had she grown and manicured this incredibly disdainful persona in her short twenty-something years. When she had her hand wrapped around his mouth, he felt like he was under a microscope. He was being examined in the closest of quarters, he was being judged by a jury and the jury decided he was guilty. In this court of law, he felt no resentment. Under any other conditions, he would have pulled his gun and fired mercilessly. But with her, he wanted to hear what she had to say, to hear what the jury had decided. In all truth, he was aroused, and he knew this was a life sentence.

When Harrison turned around with a strange package in his grasp, Tom’s train of thought took a sudden halt, “Tom, it’s addressed to you and Y/N.”

“What? Who the fuck knows this address? And who would know that she’s here?” Tom’s mind was going into overdrive. He was analyzing possibilities, loopholes in the security, threats within the staff. Tom pictured the background of every person who could have known that Y/N was here, or that he hired her.

“No return address, I assume?” Tom asked as he eased himself back into his chair.

“No, messy handwriting though,” Harrison held the edge of the envelope and flipped it over, “After we open it, I’ll take it to the warehouse and see if I can pick up any prints.”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, “open it, would you.”

Harrison peeled the flap of the envelope open, then pulled out a file, much like the ones found in Tom’s desk. In fact, it was one with Tom’s desk. His handwriting labeled the file “Nova”. Y/N recognized it as the name of the strip club she worked at.

“What the fu-” Tom paused, he jumped up from his seat and walked over to the filing cabinet that was built into the wall. He flipped through the alphabetical files, searching for the “Nova” file. It was gone, replaced by a file that said “watch out”. Tom was fuming, who snuck into his office and stole a file without any alarms tripping or anyone noticing someone was in here besides himself? The first thing he thought of was to round up all the house staff and all his men that had ever worked security within or around the house in the last month.

Harrison was working his way through the contents of the file, about ten pictures and then a typed note.

The pictures were in a sequence. The first was Ben, who had worked for Tom, on the ground in the alley. His face bloody and swollen, hard to identify but Tom could tell. The next few were different angles of Ben on the ground in the alley. The last two was Y/N walking out of the same alley and climbing into a car without a license plate, Tom’s car. But to a court or to the regular person, no one would know whos car it was.

The typed note was ominous in its wording:

Dear Mr. Holland,

Lovely that I have a way to contact you, isn’t it?

There’s no evidence of her being a victim, only that she assaulted him. The only way this gets covered up is if you represent as a witness in court, otherwise it’s her word against his. I know you don’t like the law, Tommy, but if Y/N goes in without you, I’ll just happen to slide some evidence of her little secret to the prosecution. So you give it all up, Tommy, or you give her up.

See you soon, Mart.

P.S. Ivan wasn’t the only one who knew, Y/N.

Y/N’s fists were tight at her sides. She wished she had a knife in her hand so she could slice the paper up into a thousand pieces and burn it in the warm fireplace that blazed behind her. Her mouth was dry as she slid her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to gnaw away at the anxiety building in her gut.

“Harrison, I’ve just been fucking blackmailed!” Tom looked up from the note with disbelief. His mind was racing again, who was Mart? Harrison was silent, trying to think of an answer for Tom.

“Who the fuck is Mart?” Tom looked at Harrison, wanting to bounce ideas off of him. He read the note over and over, trying to find something that would give away the scheme.

Y/N was silent as the name popped into her head, “it’s Rob, Rob Martin from Nova. He tried to get a bunch of us to call him Mart months ago, but it never caught on.”

Tom searched his memory for as much information on Rob Martin as he could muster.

Rob Martin, 37, manager of Nova strip club in London, started working for the Hollands in 1995. He was one of the people that really pushed for the underground brothel, half of all the brothel clients mention his name as to how they found out. Indulges in the brothel’s services himself from time to time. Family history? Alcoholic mother and father committed suicide.

Tom turned and walked up to Y/N, their faces inches apart, “what’s he talking about, Y/N?” he snarled, the faint scent of scotch seeping from his mouth.

“I don’t know,” she said, scrunching her nose up at the smell.

“Bullshit, Y/N! I need to know, so I can make a plan,” he was angry now, it galloped through his veins like cocaine through an addict.

She wouldn’t tell him, she didn’t trust him to turn her over. It scared her that another person besides herself or Ivan knew, let alone Rob Martin. How did he know? He must be a hacker? But she had never mentioned it ever on any technology, nor had she spoken about it to anyone. Unless Ivan blabbed, but she figured he was too drunk at the time to remember the main events.

“I don’t know, and I’m leaving.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” Tom growled

“Give me a reason to not turn around and leave,” she dared him, her eyes staring at his.

“Because I fucking own you.”

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[owlsshadows]

Ennotana Week (Day 3)

Aug 3: Autumn ☆ Yellow ☆ Kiss

(in Hungarian culture, yellow is the color associated with jealousy.)

Continuation of this and this. 

Mentions of Noya/Tsuki, loosely linked to Strawberry Toffee.

 Nishinoya has been acting strange lately, especially in his notorious attempts at picking on Tsukishima. Not that it would be out of character for him to tackle the blocker after a scored point or to steal his glasses to try them on for fun; it was all very much Nishinoya to do so – but there had to be a limit even to Nishinoya’s meddling and need of skinship, and since the moment they’ve started their joint summer camp with Nekoma and the other big city schools, Tanaka noticed no restraint in his best friend.

From stealing a towel from around the neck of Tsukishima to dry his face off with it, to pull on the blocker’s shirt to hide under it from Daichi’s scolding, Nishinoya has been bothering Tsukishima at all possible occasions.

“Don’t you find it weird?” Tanaka asks Ennoshita one morning.

“What?”

“That,” Tanaka points precisely at Nishinoya, who tries to force some more food into Tsukishima, while attempting to steal the tall first year’s glasses at the same time.

“Not really,” Ennoshita replies, stuffing his face with rice. “Look, since I’m not suicidal I wouldn’t try to meddle with Tsukishima too much, but we’re talking about Nishinoya here. There’s no such thing as weird when it comes to him.”

“Hm,” Tanaka huffs, digging into his rice. “Still. Stealing his towel is a bit too much…”

“Says the one who notoriously hogs all the blankets to himself,” Ennoshita remarks. “I’m not gonna sleep next to you next training camp.”

“Oh come on, don’t just attack me out of nowhere…!” Tanaka exclaims, but his voice gets lost in the war cry Nishinoya makes as he races across the room, a pair of glasses in hand, Tsukishima in tow, fast-walking. “That’s going way overboard.”

“Well, ‘til Tsukishima lets him,” Ennoshita shrugs, nudging him to turn back to his food. Tanaka reluctantly takes a bite of something chewy and green, but his thoughts wander, eyes following the absurd duo.

He could swear he heard Tsukishima giggle.

It stays on his mind for the rest of the day, gaze following the tall blocker and the tiny libero unconsciously. And he notices things: badly disguised glances, high fives that linger unnecessarily, pinkies that somehow get interlinked for short moments. And something builds in him, like a nasty stomach ache, planting budding pain under his ribs and sending him heartburns.

When after a nice play Nishinoya trots to Tsukishima and bops into the blocker’s side, barely hiding his intentions to rub his face against the taller boy’s chest, Tanaka tears his eyes away, only to find Ennoshita, sitting on a bench to the left.

His eyes find a moment of rest there, drinking in the familiar angle of his forehead, his nose, his lips. Ennoshita’s pale, slightly shiny skin is now pearlescent with sweat, his soft brown hair flattened and stuck against his scalp. The afternoon light glows against his skin, glides down his chin and follows his neck down to the edge of his T-shirt. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks. Tanaka is way too far, yet he reckons to hear the soft pop as Ennoshita’s lips separate from the water bottle.

“Oy, Ryuu,” Nishinoya tackles him suddenly, impact melting his vision into blurry shades of pink, black, brown, yellow. “You ready to team up with me and Suga-san tonight?”

“Setting practice?” Tanaka asks. As he looks at Nishinoya’s happy face, so content with the world, the ugly thing in his stomach churns.

How unfair, he thinks.

Noya has always been the braver, the more daring – it earned him a slap from Shimizu once, and the respect of Tanaka for the rest of his life – but for this simple difference in their traits to make Tanaka so frustrated one day, that deep within his urge him to keep his distance from his best friend grows every minute…

Unfair.

“Sure thing,” he replies, patting Nishinoya on the shoulder. He is not to give in to some monster feeding off of his cowardice and let it destroy his friendships. Not without a fight.

“Cool!” the libero clings to him shortly. “All day you seemed so down, I wouldn’t have known what to do if you said no.”

“I would never say no,” he says, hushing the pain in his stomach.

“That’s my Ryuu!” Nishinoya exclaims, turning towards the nearest teammates.

Yamaguchi nods, slightly startled by his vigor – Tsukishima on the other hand laughs, eyes lingering on Nishinoya’s face just a moment longer than it would be natural.

Tanaka wonders whether his senses sharpened, noticing it all that seemingly no one else can see, the only reason he finds not making him any happy.

People see what they want to see.

That, Ennoshita told him yesterday night – it was a lengthy anecdote about how each movie leaves a different feeling in everyone, and so if you ask a group of 10 to describe the same movie, and show the answers to someone, it’s 10 different stories you get – and while he did find it interesting, it was late at night, and half of the thing he has already forgotten. This lone sentence stuck in his head, along with the fired up eyes of his friend.

He notices Noya teasing Tsukishima, because he wants to do the same. He craves Ennoshita’s attention – and oh, he would steal towels, pick fights, launch himself at him at full speed – if only he had the courage to do so. Stealing his blanket at night sadly doesn’t count; he does it after he fought off his anxiety and managed to fall asleep, deep unconscious.

If only he could grab his hands once, that would be ideal. Even if their palms are sweaty, or covered in dirt after a round of flying falls.

“You wander around like someone lost.”

If only –

– he had the courage.

“Chikara.”

“Ryuunosuke.”

“You abuse my name way too much.”

“Where to?” Ennoshita asks, gallantly ignoring Tanaka’s whining.

“Ah. The… gym. I meet up with Suga-san and Noya.”

“I would’ve thought you were power walking around the dormitory. You passed this spot three times already.”

Of course he did. He was busy gathering courage to invite Ennoshita to their extra practice – not that he would ever admit it.

“If you are done mocking me, you could maybe join me!” he says. Frustrated by his own cowardice, he lets the invitation slip – not quite how he planned, and definitely not in a charming way.

“Ok,” Ennoshita says simply, sinking his hands into his short’s pockets and stepping out the dormitory’s door. “After you.”

Baffled, Tanaka obeys, walking ahead. He feels uncomfortable to begin with, being so unsuccessful at wooing his friend, but the feeling becomes unbearable as Ennoshita trails behind, never quite lining up beside him. Out of his sight, it is up to his hearing to deliver him the rhythmic thuds of Ennoshita’s steps and his imagination to fill in the gaps – the latter not the best friend of teenage boys with impractical crushes.

Hot wind blows in his face, and he wonders if Ennoshita smells him.

He wonders if he smells bad, actually.

On the court, he is fearless; Ukai even called him the pillar of Karasuno for his endless mental fortitude once – yet, when it comes to Ennoshita, he curls in on himself. Insecurities bloom in his heart, nurtured by every attempt he fails to call out to his friend, to grab onto him, to speak.

Once Ennoshita comes in the picture, he becomes a coward. He becomes frail. Vulnerable. Inexperienced.

He turns into someone who is jealous at their best friend’s happiness.

Tanaka forces his train of thought to stop, halting his steps along the way.

“It’s not like I want this…” he grumbles beneath his breath.

There’s a breeze against the nape of his neck, it smells like shampoo and coke –

“You don’t want what?” Ennoshita asks, lips dangerously close to Tanaka’s ears. “Sorry,” he steps away to the side, raising his hand in his defense. “You stopped so suddenly, I nearly walked into you. So… care to share what’s bothering you?”

The idea to stop so abruptly in front of Ennoshita that he walks into him one day barges into Tanaka’s mind like a storm, washing away all the frustration he felt while walking ahead of him.

“I was just thinking…” he starts, collecting his thoughts.

He can’t admit that he was thinking about Ennoshita. Let alone his feelings.

It would be selfish, forcing his feelings on his friend. It would be so tactless, so brash to confess, and he has so much at stake – he could destroy it all.

He values their friendship more than anything else, and if he has to decide between the feelings he has and the possibility to lose it all…

He is a coward like that.

But sometimes… just sometimes, he wishes to take his chances. He wishes to be cool and in control – to be charming beyond belief, to make Ennoshita fall head over heels in love with him.

He wishes he would have the courage to be daring. He imagines teasing Ennoshita – and even though he knows he would never win an oral argument; he could always poke at his friend’s sides. Ennoshita’s ticklish after all; if he could elicit laughter, he won the argument without the need for a witty comeback.

“… about Noya and Tsukishima,” he shrugs.

Ennoshita takes a sharp inhale. Something darkens in his eyes, and somehow Tanaka feels a distance between them, even as Ennoshita places a hand on his shoulder.

“They’re gays, Tanaka.”

“I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And? You good?”

“What?”

“You were bothered by them before,” Ennoshita continues, somewhat guarded. “If… if it disgusts you, or you feel concerned…”

“No, no!” Tanaka shakes his head. Why did he start this conversation again? How is he coming out of this alive?

“You can be honest with me you know.”

“I’m just…”

Jealous.

In love.

Hopeless.

He places a hand over Ennoshita’s on his shoulder, dragging it down between them. Heart throbbing in his throat, drumming in his ears and pulsing through his veins, he trembles.

Hand holding accomplished. Not quite like planned. Not even in a meaningful way. It’s just a coward’s play, something along that fine line he can still dance back from to safe terrain.

“I was surprised,” he says, finding that the words come much easier if he stares blankly at their interlinked hands. “I thought that this was something rare, and to see it in front of my eyes, it made me feel –”

“Uncomfortable?” Ennoshita guesses, ducking his neck to catch Tanaka’s gaze.

Tanaka blinks, breaking his stare away from their hands, and he finds that it’s extremely hard not to look at Ennoshita’s eyes – not when they are so mesmerizing, brown, with flecks of gray and yellow.

“Jealous,” Tanaka replies.

It’s Ennoshita’s turn to be at a loss of words. He glares at him surprised, brows raising, lips slowly parting, but no voice coming out.

“I’m trash, aren’t I? I see my best friend’s happiness, and all I can feel is frustration because I can’t just jump at the boy I like freely.”

“What stops you?” Ennoshita asks, his voice careful, hand trembling in Tanaka’s ever so slightly.

“Have you ever been rejected?” Tanaka squeaks, octave higher than planned. “I know it sounds stupid, coming from me, who is being rejected on a daily basis by Kiyoko-san, but this and that’s different. I thought I was fine just loving Kiyoko-san for the rest of my life, but then this thing happened, and now I like this one boy, and he is the softest thing ever, and I would die if he rejected me.”

“Yeah,” Ennoshita says. “This sounds stupid. Coming from you, coming from anyone else. You can’t die from a rejection. You can be pretty down, of course, mope around for a few weeks, but then you get over it and move on.”

“You speak as if you have been rejected. Is there something I don’t know of?”

“Well… not exactly rejected, but almost the same.”

“Someone broke Chikara’s heart!”

“I notice your desperate attempt to change topics, but we are now talking about you.”

“Damn.”

“At least I know why you’ve been acting like a lost puppy for the past few weeks.”

“Did I?” Tanaka asks.

Ennoshita smiles in reply, shaking his head shortly.

“So, what makes you think that you will be rejected by this softest thing of yours?” he asks, nudging Tanaka in the side with his free hand.

Tanaka looks at Ennoshita, heart filling up. It breaks him, keeping him in the dark. It feels like deceit, to talk about his crush with his crush himself. Tanaka is no good at lies, acting and the such – he has always been the one who wore his heart on his sleeve.

Except that Ennoshita made him meek.

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

“Wouldn’t I what?” Ennoshita asks, oblivious. “Reject you? Such a great party?”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Well, if you ask like that, I’m no longer sure whether to brush it off or take it seriously.” There’s something painful in how he says it, how his hand tremble in Tanaka’s while he says it, how his eyes falter, gaze cast to the side.

“I’m sorry,” Tanaka says, squeezing his hand. “I don’t intend to make you feel uncomfortable, Chikara.”

“Well…”

“But I really want to hear your reply.”

“What?”

“Would you reject me?”

Ennoshita lets out a sigh, long and pained.

“I won’t. But I would kill you for calling me the softest thing ever.”

“You can kill me anytime,” Tanaka offers, opening up his chest for any imaginary weapon, closing his eyes in surrender.

When the attack comes, it’s fatal. It’s soft yet firm, thin yet plump, simple yet daring. Ennoshita charges in with his lips, pulling Tanaka close by their interlinked hands.

“There,” he says then, letting Tanaka go.

“Wow. That… that was something. You killed me good.”

“Are you dead yet?”

“I think I must be at least dying. And dreaming in delirium. About you kissing me?”

“Just so we are on the same page,” Ennoshita says clearing his throat. “Did you actually confess just now?”

“I think I did. I wanted to.”

“Good then. It would be so weird if I just kissed you and your lover boy was someone else.”

“No, it’s you!” Tanaka exclaims, only to burn up in an extreme blush afterwards.

“Hnn,” Ennoshita says, leaning closer. “So you really deserve that killing.”

This time, Tanaka is ready for the kiss – that not making him any more experienced, but at least he tries his best, leaning into it.

“Dead yet?”

“Could survive a few more strikes.”

“How am I soft?”

“You are. Just. Just accept it.”

“You know, for a moment you really frightened me back there with this whole softest thing ever story. I thought you had a thing for Hinata, and I really didn’t know what would I do with my stupid crush if I had to support you in courting him.”

“You have a crush?”

“Oh my god, Tanaka, forget about me kissing you, got it? Forget it all, you don’t deserve it, you never did, I should’ve just forgot about you back in first year when you broke my heart –”

“I did?!”

“Well. It doesn’t feel too good when you just started developing a crush on this crazy weirdo to see that he is confessing on every occasion to your team’s beautiful manager.”

“Oh, shit, no. I couldn’t. No.”

“Yes, yes you did. You shattered my young heart.”

“Chikara, I’m sorry, if I knew I wouldn’t have–”

“Hush now. That was my stupid ass being all mopey. But did I go up to you to confess? No. I had rather run away and quit club activities altogether.”

“Oooh.”

“Yeah, I know, crazy story, huh? I was a pretty dramatic kid. You know, too many movies,” Ennoshita laughs, entwining his fingers with Tanaka’s and starting to pull him towards the gyms. “We can discuss this later, and talk about what made you finally realize my potential, but for now I think we are late for practice.”

“You’re right,” Tanaka agrees, half sad that Ennoshita stopped kissing him, half happy at the promise of continuation. “I wouldn’t want to make Suga-san wait.”

***

“Anyways, how did you know? That Noya and Tsukishima…”

“I kinda walked in on them,” Ennoshita says, pulling up his shoulders in defense, “while they were making out in the club room.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“They were making out, huh.”

“What?”

“I want to do that, too.”

[sophisticated-angel]

The Fledgling - Part 5

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel

Warning: None

Word Count: 1,135

Summary: A hitch in the Winchesters’ aim to keep the baby angel protected puts them on the run, and Castiel has a run-in with Kerubiel and his followers.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Story

   Sam enters the motel room much too rushed for Dean’s liking. It’s not the way he moves that Dean doesn’t like, but rather how he has the fledgling clutched to his shoulder and nearly smothered by his jacket. Now, Dean doesn’t claim to know much about parenting, but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to hold a baby like that. He’s handed the fledgling quickly, however, and his discomfort is alleviated.

   “Have you heard from Cass yet?” asks Sam.

   “Not a word. Same thing as every day for the past two weeks.” Dean nestles the infant in his lap and lets her dig her feet into his stomach. “Did you scare him off? Hm? Two days with you, and he runs away. What’re you hiding, huh?”

   Waving her arms, the fledgling blows a razzberry. She makes Dean smile. Lately, she’s been developing at an astonishing rate. Only yesterday, it seems, her eyes were barely open, and now she’s wide-eyed and substantially more aware of her surroundings. If she had a name, she might recognize it by now. Sam and Dean have tried out a few names, but nothing seemed to fit. They gave up and decided that they don’t have the authority to name an angel. That job should go to Castiel if it goes to anyone.

   Now Cass . . . there’s a walking conundrum. While his infant kin has been doing some growing, the angel has been entirely absent. He’s uncharacteristically quiet about the whole affair and hasn’t brought up finding her a permanent home since leaving her with them. From Dean’s perspective, it’s like his friend is ashamed, and to a degree he understands why. If Sam had a kid knowing it would be in danger of execution its whole life, Dean would be ashamed of him too. He would do what could be done to protect the child as Cass has done, but shame and anger would be with him forever. Yes, Dean understands Castiel, but when he looks at the baby, at her deep blue eyes and head of recently grown dark fuzz, he can’t shake the feeling that there’s information he’s missing.

   “Dean!” barks Sam.

   “Huh?” Dean looks up. “Why are you packing your stuff?”

   Sam rolls his eyes. “I just told you. We need to leave town.”

   “What? Why? We just got here. What’d you do this time?”

   “Someone saw me and the baby in the park.”

   “Well, it is a park.”

   “Pretty sure it was an angel, Dean. Call Cass and let him know we’re leaving.”

   “He won’t answer.”

   “Then leave a message. Just do it quickly because we have to go.”

*    *    *    *    *

   There are no less than thirty-six missed calls in Castiel’s inbox. A little less than one third of these calls are from Sam, and the rest are from Dean. Many of them have voicemails attached, and the angel has listened to a few.

   “Cass? Hey, um, she won’t eat. Keeps whining every time I give her the bottle. Don’t know if something’s wrong. Call me back.”

   “Cass” —this one had screaming in the background— “she’s so loud, I can’t find her pacifier – wait, never mind. It’s good. Call me back.”

   “Cass? Could use a little help. Sam’s out for a run, and I ran out of diapers. Oh my God, there’s so much poop. Help me, Cass.”

   “Cass? It’s me. How many times a day do babies spit up? Don’t know if this is normal or if we need a different formula. She puked all over my last clean shirt. Call me back.”

   “Cass, it’s been more than a week. You’re supposed to be helping, remember? You can’t vanish like this. If there’s something wrong, tell us. Call me back.”

   In Castiel’s opinion, Dean is acting like a helpless parent, and, well he is one, but he’s overreacting. As far as Cass is concerned, the fledgling’s needs are the same as any human baby’s with the added bonus of never getting sick. Maybe she can be injured at this young age, but she should become invulnerable with time. Really, the Winchesters needn’t worry about her physical health.

   Meanwhile, the angel has immersed himself in Heaven’s inner workings. With so much still broken, there’s more than enough to keep him busy. He purposefully stays close to Kerubiel and the others while trying to not attract their attention. Harut is with him for many of his jobs, so it’s inevitable that she picks up on his pattern.

   “Why do they concern you so much?” she finally asks him.

   “They intend to kill, Harut.”

   “There’s nothing to kill. There’s no fledgling. Castiel, our sister may have committed suicide, but there is no fledgling.”

   “I have seen worse acts committed for false beliefs.”

   Actually, it doesn’t surprise him when Kerubiel, his followers with him, corner him and Harut in a young forest. The leader of this band folds his arms and squares his shoulders. He and Castiel are evenly matched in strength and power, but Kerubiel has always needed to be bigger than anyone else, and his six-foot-six vessel – a well-trained army soldier with a buzz of dark hair – provides that illusion. Mebehiah, Nithael, and Nuriel, two male vessels of African descent and one female of Japanese, respectively, spread out in a half circle like obedient dogs.

   “I hear you’ve been following us, brother,” Kerubiel says. “You think we mean harm.”

   “Let us pass, Kerubiel. You have no quarrel with us.”

   “I don’t appreciate being the subject of such whispers. We do not intend to murder our kin.”

   “Then what are your intentions?”

   “We mean to serve justice. A sacred law has been broken, and punishment must be given. We would kill only to make things right.”

   “You mean to hunt down an innocent angel and an infant and slaughter them both. Broken laws or not, in what world is that not murder?” As he speaks, Castiel draws slowly closer to his taller brother until he is mere inches away, close enough to stare him down in an attempt to assert dominance.

   “But you believe there is no infant, do you not?” Kerubiel replies calmly. “There is no reason to defend something that doesn’t exist.”

   “What happens when your search fails? Will you falsely accuse one of our brothers and kill them to avoid looking the fool? I for one will not allow you to bring harm to any of us. Take your followers and leave the matter alone.”

   Kerubiel narrows his eyes, saying slowly, “Do you have something to hide, brother?” Then he snaps his fingers, and all four angels vanish.

   Castiel relaxes, shoulders sagging, and glances back at his sister. Harut is watching him with a mix of awe and fear.

   Shaking her head, she mutters, “Sometimes I question your sanity, Castiel.”

PART SIX

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg @little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho @olympianbeagles

[tonystarktogo]

Tiny Tony Overlord Part 7

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Read on AO3

Betaed by the amazing @folklejend. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Summary: In which Natasha has a plan (and no, getting suspended wasn't part of it), HYDRA is as uncreative and predictable as always, and Tony meets someone who is either completely crazy or very dangerous. Or both.

.Somewhere in New York.

Watching Dead-Eyes cut a tracking device out of his left shoulder without so much as a twitch in his blank expression makes Tony feel sick. It’s for the man’s own good, technically. They can’t be found now, it wouldn’t end well for either of them. But commanding another man to cut himself open—and having said command followed without a moment’s hesitation—is a disturbing experience.

There’s a rush to it too, Tony can’t quite deny that. There lies a heady power in that kind of unquestioning obedience. But it’s a power that corrupts, no, stains your soul, to the point where Tony wants to throw up just to get the crawling sensation out of his system.

Dead-Eyes is in no position to consent to such a measure. He’s in no position to save himself either. Until that changes—and Tony will have to look into that as soon as he finds the time, seriously, something about that blankness is just wrong—Tony will have to make the choices for them both.

Hopefully that will be enough.

Twenty minutes later, after both Dead-Eyes and Tony have been properly stitched up—and in Tony’s case, have their bandages exchanged for clean ones that were most definitely lifted from a convenience store down the street—Tony turns towards his companion with a fake-cheerful smile. “Let’s get those papers and get the hell out of here.”

And that’s exactly what they do.

[continues under the cut]

.On the helicarrier.

Reading through the missing Agent Bianca White’s file leaves Natasha with an uncomfortable sense of déjà-vu. The picture of a fairly attractive woman in her mid-twenties with bleach-blonde hair and hazel eyes looks back at her, a hint of a smile on her lips that makes her look approachable but not eager.

Flipping through the pictures, logs, mission reports, and notes of superiors only intensifies the sinking sensation in Natasha’s gut. White wears little makeup and well-cut clothes, enough to accentuate but not enough to be memorable. Passes tests and exams satisfactorily, but never excels. Finishes her missions successfully, but never above expectations. Shows up at work neither too early nor too late. White appears to be, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly average employee.

Except for how people are rarely that fundamentally average in every aspect of their life. Natasha has seen files like this before, more often than she cares to count. She’s been files like these. It’s the standard profile of any sleeper agent—because nobody gets overlooked like an average agent.

Natasha doesn’t know why it catches her by surprise. SHIELD is a high-ranking government organisation; of course there are moles. No organisation is made of fully devout members. If you find the right hook, almost everyone can be turned. Natasha should know.

“You think it’s a coincidence her entire team ended up dead today?” Barton asks sarcastically, eyes fixed on a picture of a traffic cam that proves White has been leaving the three-mile blackout radius the day Iron Man disappeared.

“There is no such thing as coincidences,” Natasha shoots back.

“Alright, let’s say White is a mole,” Hill states. “Could this woman really kill her entire team without sustaining any injuries serious enough to keep her down until the police arrived? Eleven against one aren’t odds you bet your life on lightly.”

Natasha turns towards Fury’s second, her expression frozen over with the arctic cold of a Russian winter. She still remembers little girls with pretty bows in their hair, thin elbows as sharp as the knives they wielded. “You’d be surprised what some women are capable of,” she states, words heavy with the unsaid, what some children are capable of.

Thankfully, Barton’s pointed interruption keeps her thoughts from walking down a dangerous path they rarely come back from. “We think there were at least two of them,” he explains. “There was a sniper on the rooftop of the gas station across the street. The location was a solid choice; he knew exactly where the STRIKE team would be. Of course, with an inside source, that would have been easy to anticipate—and if White is as good as we suspect, the whole confrontation was over in minutes.

“Of course, that’s all guesswork on our part right now.” Barton shrugs, a small grin on his lips that makes him look like a school boy who knows he’s just gotten away with a prank. “But I’m confident ballistics will support our theory.”

“Not complete guesswork,” Hill disagrees. Her frown has deepened with every word of Barton’s report, and in the shadows of the warm afternoon light, she looks decades older than she really is.

It’s the job, Natasha supposes. The job, and the people who choose it.

“I just got the report from one of the agents who questioned the owner, didn’t think it would be of much importance until now. Apparently, besides two families and a couple of backpacking tourists, he’s only rented out one room—to a man he described as ‘shady’ but refused to explain why.” Hill’s scowl says very clearly what she thinks of that. “He swears the guy was alone but rented a double. The agent checked the room but it was clean. And by clean, I mean completely clean. No sign that anyone ever stayed there.”

Which meant professionals. Unsurprising—you don’t send grunts after an elite strike force if you mean to put them down for real—but always good to have it confirmed.

“Alright.” Hill rubs her temples with a sign. A gesture Natasha recognises as a useless attempt to stave off an oncoming migraine. She sympathises. Sleep deprivation, dead agents, moles, and a mysteriously vanished Iron Man is not a combination anyone enjoys. Especially not Stark once she’s through with him for pulling a fucking disappearance act on her.

But as fast as Hill seems to sink into herself, she pulls herself together again. “Rhyston, Cole, get me everything on White. And I mean everything, not this little press file we’ve got here. If she’s dirty, I want to know it and I want to know it yesterday! Summer, the intel on the STRIKE team! Barton, drop the fucking smirk before I drop you! Fury wants to kill you in person, I wouldn’t let him wait much longer. That goes for you too, Romanov!”

That at least gets rid of Barton’s smirk. Only for it to be replaced by a pout. “Me?” he exclaims dramatically, “what did I do?”

Hill raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Besides running off with Romanov without having been cleared for active duty or been assigned a mission to investigate the slaughter of a STRIKE team?”

Barton waves the clear accusation off like he always does. It’s… comfortable. This banter between them, the easy with which Barton pisses off everyone around him. Ever since Loki—Well. Suffice to say, it’s taken a while for Natasha to see this side of him again. She’s missed it.

Still, even Barton has enough sense not to leave Fury waiting for long.

Right as they’ve reached the door of the conference room, Hill stops them one last time. And by the gleeful smirk on her lips, Natasha knows exactly what she’s going to say.

“By the way,” if possible, the smirk on Hill’s lips widens, “you’re both off active duty until the psych department clears you, what with your emotional investment and all. Don’t forget to hand in your badges and your weapons before you leave. And I mean weapons, not just the guns, Romanov!”

Slamming the door into her face would be immature, so Natasha lets Barton do it for her.

* * * * *

.Very high up in the air.

Flying an airplane with an emotionless killing machine playing your father is an experience alright, Tony concludes forty-five minutes into the flight. How they made it through security, he’ll never know. Well, he knows how he did it, Tony just doesn’t know how Dead-Eyes accomplished the same. One minute he was by Tony’s side, the next he was on the other side of the security lane.

Tony wisely chose not to question it—better than being taken into custody for a freaking metal arm, that’s for sure.

Really, the whole plan hinges on nobody paying them any attention whatsoever, because from what Tony has seen of Dead-Eye’s acting skills, he doubts they could fool a first grader. As it turns out though, his worry is unfounded.

Sure, Dead-Eyes looks like he’s been cut out of an ice block, but he’s still handsome—maybe even more so for it—and that helps a lot. Tony mentally pats himself on the back for having decided the guy needed a shave. Then pats himself literally on the back because he’s a kid, nobody’s gonna care. Except the nice lady next to him, who appears a little frightened by Dead-Eyes—clearly she’s got good instincts—and keeps asking him if everything is alright. But all it takes is a teary-eyed explanation about how his mom just died and how daddy is just sad but trying not to be, and that’s taken care of too.

It also gets him chocolate from the soft-hearted flight assistant. Being a child is awesome.

* * * * *

.Secret Research Facility.

For the first time since the mission to take down Stark went off the rails, the commander is silent. It’s a deadly, all-encompassing silence nobody around him is suicidal enough to break. The agents present are hyper-aware of the fact that someone is about to die. And in his current mood, the commander is unlikely to care about silly particularities like friendly fire.

On the screen, five dots blink steadily as they move further and further away—from their own location and each other. Which, considering four of them are supposed to be in the same body, isn’t very reassuring.

The commander takes a deep breath, causing the minions closest to him to wince in anticipation. But he doesn’t yell. His voice, when he speaks, is low and hoarse. “Get a team to each place but have them prepared for a trap. Recapturing the Asset has utmost priority, do you hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir,” the minions chorus obediently.

“Er-,” under the force of the commander’s glare, the inexperienced minion who’s dared to speak up falls silent immediately.

“What?” the commander snarls.

“I-I was just—wondering about White, sir,” the terrified minion stutters.

The commander blinks, surprised. Then, slowly, a grin spreads over his face. “Dispatch a team for her too. I want her body spread all over whatever hole the useless rat’s trying to hide in.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

* * * * *

.On a small island.

Despite his being a recognised genius, Tony hadn’t actually thought their grand escape plan through. If he had—instead of, say, point at the next flight possible and demand tickets—he might not have chosen the Bahamas.

Amidst all the tourists in their t-shirts and shorts, Dead-Eyes and Tony in their black, long-sleeved clothes stick out like two sore thumbs. Besides, the Bahamas are—well. Objectively speaking, they’re nice, probably. Tony mostly sees sun, a bright blue sky, and sand, which, yay. Not like he hasn’t stared at the same fucking sand for nine eternal years. Granted, the air hurt to breathe and the sky looked a lot less natural. It’s not really the same at all, rationally Tony knows that. Too bad rationality has little to do with it.

It’s the feeling of the light breeze against his skin, the way tiny corns of sand dance in it, the heavy warmth that makes his clothes stick to his skin, how Dead-Eyes lingers by his side, slightly towards the left—because the right is reserved, a place that may not be currently filled but has always been, will always be, taken—it’s familiar, so much so the weight of it settles into his bones, builds up the pressure on each and every one of them.

“The position is not secure,” Dead-Eyes hisses, the first words he’s spoken since they got on the plane.

His warning, though helpful, comes too late. By the time Tony makes out a thin, elderly woman who is watching them with narrowed eyes, they are too close to make a clean getaway without arousing suspicion. Especially considering the airport is really just landing field with one small building next to it.

“We’re gonna have to steal a boat,” Tony thinks hysterically as the woman approaches them with small but determined steps. Her gaze doesn’t waver once, and, frankly, it’s starting to creep him out.

She doesn’t pull a machine gun on them at least, but then Tony might have preferred that. Instead she smiles, slow and easy, like a mother welcoming her son after years of absence. Her teeth are a brilliant white, and when she hugs Tony— hugs him, what the hell?!—she smells of the sea and wet wood and something spicy he can’t identify.

“You have been missed,” the woman says when she finally pulls back. Though she still refuses to let go of his shoulders. “You are missed.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes that reminds Tony of the adoration on the faces of little kids when they got to meet Iron Man, for a time. It’s tempered by shrewdness and wisdom that only comes with experience, but the core, the core remains the same.

“I-“ For once in his life Tony has absolutely no idea what to say. He doesn’t know this woman, doesn’t have any memory of her. Yet he doesn’t remember SHIELD trying to kill him either, does he? And what about that thought is bothering him so much?

“Do not worry, young warrior, I shall keep my silence.” The woman’s smile twists, just a little, an edge of cunning that sharpens her appearance into something beautiful. “Your search shall soon find its end.”

Perfect. Just perfect. Ominous warnings from a strange woman playing oracle. Just what Tony needs to make this bloody mess any more complicated.

“Thank you?” he tries to say, though it comes out more as a question.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to place a depth on you!” the woman exclaims, startled. “Your sacrifice cannot be repaid nor will it be forgotten. We will ensure as much; it is the least we can do.”

Tony smiles awkwardly, a shallow imitation of what used to be his press smile. Like a jacket he’s grown out of—hasn’t grown into yet. “I appreciate the gesture,” is what he settles on—instead of the What the freaking hell are you talking about? he desperately wants to ask. But he can’t. Not if this strange lady actually knows—no. The thought alone sends shivers of dread down Tony’s spine. It’s not possible. Whoever she is, whatever she is, she can’t know what Tony’s done. It’s impossible. You can’t know a future that never happened.

Can you?

The woman takes one of his small hands between hers. Tony has to give it to her; she’s got a stronger grip than he would have expected. And she’s still looking at him like that. “Don’t worry, you will find the answers you seek on the grounds of the bloodless children,” she says gently, like that’s supposed to calm Tony down.

“O-kay,” he accentuates. Maybe for once this doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe this woman is just—a nutcase. Or a very talented grifter. If only he could be so lucky. “I’ll just, err, go there then, I guess.”

Tony carefully but decisively detangles himself from the woman’s grip. Screw suspicions, he’s gonna run the second he gets her off him, Dead-Eyes in tow. They’re gonna steal a boat, hide on one of the islands and figure out a new plan, far, far away from this creepy woman and her damn knowing eyes.

Just as he’s finally freed himself and given the woman one last nod of acknowledgement, she reaches out lightening fast and grasps his forearm. “Do not let the darkness destroy you again,” the woman warns, her voice deeper now, and all the more damning for it. “There will be no other chance.”

Tony swallows, caught in the woman’s bottomless gaze. Suddenly he is uncomfortably aware that she hasn’t spared Dead-Eyes a glance, not even once looked into his direction. Has been pointedly ignoring him. You wouldn’t be the first one I killed myself, he remembers, the echo of a man he used to know.

“I won’t,” Tony agrees and wishes he’d know what exactly it is he’s promising.

It seems to be enough to convince the woman at least, because finally she lets him go, and with one last glance towards her, Tony gestures for Dead-Eyes to follow him and high-tails it as far away from the woman as he can manage. With any luck, he’ll be able to lose her in the crowd around the bus stops. Tony doesn’t look back, but he feels the weight of her eyes on him for a long time afterwards.

* * * * *

.New York.

Natasha can tell Barton wants to say something, but he keeps his silence until they’ve exited the rental car and walk towards the entrance of Avengers Tower.

“You’re not as furious about the suspension as I thought you’d be.” He doesn’t turn his head towards her and his lips are barely moving. Both are habits designed to make her feel more comfortable, less put on the spot. It still still strikes her out of nowhere sometimes, the knowledge how well Barton knows her.

Natasha looks straight ahead as she responds, eyes focusing on the guards and hidden cameras Stark has once pointed out to her—and she is sure there are more than she’s aware of; she’s already found four of them. “You know me,” Natasha retorts with a lightness she doesn’t feel. “I know how to keep myself busy. Without driving my teammates insane.”

Barton rolls his eyes at the half-hearted dig.

“Besides,” she continues after only a brief moment of hesitation, “Fury can handle dead agents. I don’t need to get caught up in the bloodshed.”

At that, Barton whistles. “There’s a first for everything.”

It earns him a punch against his upper arm, hard enough to almost make him lose his balance.

“I checked the agents’ reports from the B&B,” Natasha mutters, quieter now. It’s unlikely they have any eyes or ears on them, SHIELD is overworked as it is, but she hasn’t survived as long as she has by taking unnecessary chances. “There’s no way Stark was kept there; they lack the equipment to keep him down. Only way he was in that building is if he’s already dead, and why drag a body across the city?”

“So you’re saying an Avenger gets kidnapped and a STRIKE team is taken out within the same twenty-four hours, and those incidents are entirely unrelated?” Barton doesn’t even try to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

They cross the lobby and enter one of the private elevators before Natasha turns towards him with a scowl. “Of course not. There’s no such thing as coincidences. All I’m saying is Stark wasn’t held there. Now, there might be a connection or there might not be, but we don’t have time to play the guessing game. Whoever has him, we need to find him fast, and chasing a traitor isn’t gonna cut it.”

Barton nods, like they’ve been on the same page all along. Maybe they have. “In other words, let Fury worry about White while we use our newly acquired free time to save Tony’s ass before he has the chance to blow everything up. I like it.”

Natasha snorts. “You just like the thought of getting to blow things up yourself.”

Barton smirks and tellingly makes no move to deny it. But then, she didn’t expect him to.

“Welcome at Avengers’ Tower, Miss Romanov, Agent Barton,” the cool voice of JARVIS interrupts them. He still hasn’t forgiven Natasha for her subterfuge whilst she played Pott’s assistant. “Captain Rogers is expecting you in the common room.”

“Let’s go find our wayward genius!” Barton cheers and takes off as soon as the elevator doors open. “Last one in the common room doesn’t get any laser guns!”

Natasha watches him run off with a blank expression. “One day, I’m going to kill that man.”

I'm honestly in awe of the response I've been getting for this story. Thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving me kudos - you're support helps me continue this project! There was a little less Tony and Bucky in this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed SHIELD's perspective in things - and I promise, the next chapter will have a lot of Tony :)

Also, while a lot of this story is about Tony and Bucky running around, they will have allies, some of whom will soon-ish (within the next 10 chapters) join the regular chast. Now some roles have already been cast, but there are still slots I haven't filled, and I'd like to hear your opinion on them :)

Who would you like to see as one of Tony's (possibly reluctant) allies? -Brock Rumlow -Wanda Maximoff -Pietro Maximoff -Loki -Tiberius Stone -Someone else (tell me in a comment!)

Alright, that's enough babbling from me for now. I hope you liked this chapter, and feel free to leave your thoughts and feedback as a comment or in my ask box! Thank you for being awesome readers :)

[winchesters-favorite-girl]

I’m Falling Apart-Part Four

A/N: Jensen’s youngest sister is going through a tough time with depression and Jensen is determined to help her. This fic features many things that may cause triggers. There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of every part.

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: Depression, angst, suicide

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Jensen felt his eyes begin to close for what seemed like the nth time but he refused to let them; he wanted to be awake when you woke up. Your shared mother was passed out on the couch while your father was in search of some decent coffee. Earlier it seemed like the entire family was in your room but the doctor had convinced everyone else to go home; stating that you would be overwhelmed when you first woke up and being surrounded by so many people might add to your agitation.

Letting out a shaky breath Jensen looked up at your face; if it wasn’t for the oxygen tubes in your nose it would look like you were just resting. Inhaling deeply, Jensen scooted his chair closer to the bed and grabbed your hand.

“I really wish you’d hurry up and wake up kid.” He said with a nervous chuckle, “God you really scared the shit outta me.”

“Y/N?” Jensen said with worry in his tone while he held you, gripping onto whatever you put in his hand. Safely lowering you down so that you were half on the ground-half on his lap, he began to gently shake you, “Hey, Y/N, wake up! What’s going-” Jensen looked down at what was in his hand and felt a rush of denial, “No.” He murmured, “No.”

“Sir? Is she okay?” An older gentleman asked as he cautiously approached you and Jensen.

“No she’s, she collapsed and-and-” Jensen stuttered out with fear.

“Alright, I’ll call 911 okay? She’s gonna be fine. Check to make sure she’s still breathing.” The man told your brother while he pulled out his cell phone and began to dial.

Jensen put his hand on your chest but didn’t feel any movement, “No. No. No. No.” He said in a panicked tone.

“Is she breathing?” The man questioned.

“No.” Jensen breathed out, “She’s not breathing!”

Shaking his head Jensen tried to get the image of you laying lifeless on his lap. He had felt fear before. When JJ was running and slipped into the pool he had never run so fast to get her, but she was fine, just scared and coughing up water she had swallowed.

One time Danneel called him saying she had been in a car accident and right then he swore his heart was going to jump out of his chest; but she fine, just a little burned from where her seat belt rubbed against her shoulder.

When he was twelve, Josh and him had bet Mackenzie that she was too chicken to ride her bike down the hill without using her breaks. She went flying down the street and her bike slid out from underneath her, resulting her in landing on the concrete; but she only had a few scrapes and bruises.

This was different though.

You were dying and it was Jensen’s responsibility to save you.

“Does she still have a pulse?” The man asked as gently as he could.

Jensen quickly moved his hand to your neck, checking for your pulse, “Come on Y/N, come on Y/N, please, please.” Jensen begged while he waited to feel a thump, but nothing came.

“Do you know CPR?” The man questioned Jensen again, thankfully this man was thinking clearly while Jensen was panicking.

It took Jensen a moment but he nodded his head, Danneel had insisted that they take a CPR class when she was pregnant with the twins. ‘Just in case’ she had said, little did she know it was going to be needed.

Gently laying you on the concrete Jensen lifted your chin so that it was in the proper position before he breathed twice for you. He then placed his hands over each other on your chest and began to give you compressions, quietly counting aloud while praying you would breath on your own.

He continued to do this for five minutes while he waited for the ambulance to arrive.

The doctor told Jensen that he saved his sister’s life by giving you CPR, however it didn’t feel like it to him. He should have noticed you were in trouble sooner. He should have saved you before it got to this point.

If you didn’t wake up he knew he’d never be able to forgive himself.

“Jay!” Jared shouted as he walked into the emergency room and spotted his friend standing outside of a trauma room as he intently stared inside. “Jensen what the hell happ-” He began but stopped himself as he took in the scene inside of the room.

You were surrounded by a medical team, all communicating and working together to save your life. There was a tube down your throat and someone was standing near your head squeezing on a pouch on the other end. You were being injected with a shot while someone else was securing an IV to your arm.

“Oh god.” Jensen said quietly as tears began to fall from his eyes.

Jared glanced over at Jensen but returned his gaze to what was happening in the room where the doctors had cut open your shirt and placed paddles on your chest. Jared looked away when your body lifted up from the electricity running in your body, trying to restart your heart but Jensen couldn’t stop watching.

“Y/N WAKE UP!” Jensen shouted before he pounded his fist on the glass. Jared reached over for his friend as someone from the medical team shut the curtain so that they could no longer look into the room, but that didn’t stop Jensen from yelling, “YOU HAVE TO FIGHT Y/N! YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THIS! YOU PROMISED!”

“Jensen come here, stop, JENSEN!” Jared said in a loud tone, capturing his friend’s attention. “You have to stop.”

Jensen broke then but Jared was ready for it. He helped his friend walk to the waiting room while he tried his hardest to stay positive.

“She promised Jared.” Jensen said in a devastated voice, “She promised.”

“Any change.” Your mother asked from the couch, effectively grabbing Jensen’s attention.

Jensen shook his head, “No. Should be any time now though, the doctor said the sedative should be wearing off soon.”

Donna nodded her head, “Where’s your dad?” She asked.

“Went to get some coffee, probably got lost.” Jensen joked.

Your mom let out a small laugh, “Sounds like him. I’m going to go look for him, you need anything sweetie?” She questioned while placing her hand on Jensen’s shoulder.

“Na, I’m good. Thanks though Mom.” He replied with a small smile.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, Donna walked out of the room leaving Jensen alone with you. As he stared at you his mind began to drift to yesterday afternoon.

“When are they gonna tell us something?” Your dad questioned angrily, it had been over an hour and a half since you arrived with Jensen but no one had given them an update.

It seemed like your entire family was there waiting on the news. Both your parents, Josh, Mackenzie, and Jared were there, as well Danneel and Jensen. All the kids were with Gen who was constantly texting Jared begging for updates.

A few moments later two doctors in navy scrubs came walking up to the large group, “Are you the family of Y/N Ackles?” One of the women asked.

“We are.” Alan responded as he stood up, prompting the others to do the same.

“My name is Dr. Wright and this is Dr. Cooper. I’ve been working on Y/N since she came in and Dr. Cooper is a psychologist.” She introduced herself.

“Is my sister okay?” Jensen asked, cutting right to the chase.

Dr. Cooper looked at the family with a tight smile, “Dr. Wright was able to resuscitate and pump her stomach.”

“She’s currently on a ventilator, to help her breathe while the rest of her body recovers. She seems to be doing well, however we won’t know for sure until she wakes up.” Dr. Wright explained.

“Why not?” Danneel questioned, gripping onto Jensen’s hand tighter.

“She wasn’t breathing for a while and with that there are complications. Her brain might not have gotten the oxygen it needed.” Dr. Wright informed the family.

“But my son did CPR, she-she’s gonna be fine right? Her blood was circulating and, she’s gonna be fine.” Your mother begged the doctors for good news.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Ackles there’s just no way to know until she wakes up.” Dr. Wright said, “I am very optimistic, her vitals are strong, you have a fighter in your family.” Your mother nodded her head but was quick to hug onto your father for support.

“Dr. Wright asked me to come talk to you so that I might get some information about Y/N so if she wakes up I’ll be able to begin my treatment right away. Plus I can answer any questions you might have and I wanted to prepare you for what you will be facing down the road with Y/N.” Dr. Cooper explained as gently as she could.

“What do you mean?” Josh asked, confused about what the psychologist was saying.

Dr. Cooper looked at Josh and took a breath, she hated this part of her job, having to explain to family’s that because a loved one survived a suicide attempt didn’t mean the battle was over, most of the time it meant it just began.

“Mr. Ackles, your sister tried to kill herself and was almost successful. If your brother hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have survived. When she wakes up she’s going to be very confused and disoriented. We never know how a person is going to react emotionally; some are angry, others feel like they’ve been given a new chance, while others are numb. I’m here to try and prepare you to interact with a sister you might not recognize.”

Jensen let out a scoff thinking back at Dr. Cooper’s words from yesterday, ‘someone you might not recognize’ understatement of the year. He thought to himself when he remembered how you reacted to waking up this morning.

It was like you were someone he didn’t know.

It scared him.

It was the following day and every one in your family was on edge. Your vitals had improved dramatically, you had normal brain activity, they had removed your breathing tube; it seemed like you were going to be fine.

Danneel had just returned from grabbing breakfast for Jensen and Josh; the family had decided it was easier to take turns staying with you. Nobody wanted to leave, but Dr. Cooper insisted that it would be best to have a lower number of people in the room when you woke up to make you less disorientated.

Jensen stayed the entire time though, never leaving your side. He refused to, everyone knew he was blaming himself so nobody fought him on it.

“Kenz and Dad should be here soon.” Josh said before biting into his breakfast sandwich.

“I’m still staying here.” Jensen mumbled before taking a bite of his own breakfast.

“Jay don’t you think you should go home and shower? Maybe take a power nap?” Danneel gently asked, “I’ll stay here and tell you the minute anything happens.”

Jensen shook his head, “I’ll shower here, bathroom has one. I’ll ask Mom to grab me some clothes before she heads over this afternoon.”

Danneel let out a sigh, knowing it was pointless to fight with her husband over it. She was about to open her mouth to ask him if he wanted her to go grab him some clothes when the sound of you moaning could be heard.

The room was silent while they all looked at each other, wondering if they were hearing things before your voice was heard again.

“Ouch.” You whined out while your head began to slowly rock from side to side.

Danneel ran out of the room to grab a doctor while Josh and Jensen rushed to your side.

“Y/N? Y/N sweetheart can you open your eyes for us?” Jensen pleaded with you.

“Y/N/N we’re here, we’re here small fry.” Josh said softly. You began to mumble something your brothers couldn’t understand before you began reaching for the oxygen tubes that were in your nose.

“You gotta keep that in kiddo.” Jensen told you before grabbing your hand to pull them away; that was when all hell broke loose in the room.

As Jensen’s touch registered in your mind you began to fight them. Pushing him off of you while your eyes were still closed. You continued to mumble words that they couldn’t understand, but the more you talked the louder you got. You were incoherent as a nurse followed by a doctor walked into the room with Danneel.

“Y/N my name is Dr. Anderson, you’re safe. You’re at Seton Medical Center. I’m here with your brothers, Jensen and Josh and your sister Danneel.” The on call doctor tried to explain to you but you weren’t having it.

Your eyes were still closed while you continued to fight and shout at the mysterious figures that were holding onto you, trying to pin you down. It sounded like someone was talking to you but you couldn’t understand what they were saying.

“Allie get a sedative.” Dr. Anderson said to the nurse who quickly nodded her head before searching for some.

“Is that really necessary?” Danneel questioned from her spot near the door, not wanting to interfere with the doctor’s work but upset with his decision.

The nurse walked back into the room with the injection and two other nurses. Dr. Anderson grabbed the shot as the other nurses held you down while Josh stood off to the side but Jensen refused to leave your side.

“It is,” Dr. Anderson stated, “She’s disorientated and it’s best we calm her down before she injures herself or someone else.” He told your family as he injected you with the sedative.

You let out a yelp when you felt the pinch and your eyes ripped open, you looked around the room in fear, surrounded by strangers holding you down.

“Get off of me!” You shouted, coherent for the first time. You felt yourself losing the will to fight as sleep began to take you unwillingly. Your eyes still wandered and you locked eyes with your older brother, Jensen.

“Jay?” You asked sleepily.

“I’m here kiddo.” Jensen said as he pushed your hair back, “Josh is too and so is Danneel. We’re here and we’re not goin’ anywhere.”

“Help me Jay.” You pleaded silently as a tear fell from your eye while you fought unconsciousness.

“I’m tryin’ to.”

Jensen’s eyes were locked onto the padded straps that were currently on both of your arms, “For her own protection” is what the doctor had said when he placed them on you once you felt asleep but Jensen wasn't okay with it. When your doctors came in he had practically begged them to take the straps off of you but they insisted they stayed.

Your grumbling is what alerted Jensen that you might be waking up.

He quickly stood and gently sat on the corner of the bed. He began to run his fingers through your hair; something your mother used to do whenever any of her children had nightmares.

If only this had been one.

You began to twitch in your sleep before your eyes slowly began to open. They were glazed over at first but you began to quickly blink, wiping away the emptiness, filling them with fear as you looked around.

“Hey, it’s okay Y/N.” Jensen said softly, causing your eyes to look up at him. He was worried about how you would react. Would you go into a panic like last time?

“Jay?” You questioned silently as you reached out for your brother but were stopped by the straps. “What’s happening?” You asked as tears filled your vision.

Jensen didn’t say anything, he just looked at you before he broke down in tears.

“We thought we lost you kid.”

Part Five