#if he relapsed after two years then maybe he feels he really is broken

[cringefailvox]

where would alastor fit into the staticbelle au, :0 ?

staticbelle au

OKAY IT REALLY DEPENDS BC!! we still don't know exactly why alastor is at the hotel! it could be because he's there on orders from someone else, or he's there to entertain himself, or to manipulate charlie for reasons unknown, or something else entirely—and the reason will really impact whether or not he'd choose to try and get involved with charlie if she was already supported by vox. a lot of his sway over the hotel comes from the fact that it was crumbling into disrepair when he arrived and he fairy godmother'd it into a somewhat functional project, therefore winning him a ton of emotional brownie points with charlie, but he wouldn't have that opportunity at all here because i really don't think there's anything he could offer charlie that vox isn't already providing (or wouldn't be willing to START providing if it meant spiting alastor).

however. presuming instead that alastor is not at the hotel to protect or look after charlie, or help her project succeed (since these would already be satisfied by vox), it'd be fascinating if instead alastor comes back after seven years and immediately antagonizes vox into losing his shit and making charlie go "ooookay! i'm gonna have to put my therapy techniques in action because vox is clearly not over his situationship." and that's how her and alastor meet. i think she knows about the alastor thing but hadn't really seen what the problem was before he came back; everyone in hell has enemies after all, and a little healthy rivalry never hurt anyone, but seeing it in action is totally different. after the third time vox plunges the city into darkness because alastor called him an insecure freak on air she's like umm. we might need to talk about this.

she's super worried about vox because she's never seen him this upset about anything before. vox is relapsing hard into his paranoid-obsessive shit that he'd worked on really hard in the seven years alastor has been away, and now it's all rushing back and threatening to ruin everything he's built—but also, his sorta girlfriend princess independent contractor person (???) is now insisting he try to "make amends" and "practice healthy emotional regulation" and "please stop brooding over your pit of sharks with a bottle of tequila i'm really nervous about you falling in and electrocuting yourself even though i know you're waterproof, come watch a movie with me instead?" and he can't decide whether he resents it or appreciates it (both. it's both).

maybe having charlie around to redirect him and encourage healthier outlets for his anger, unlike how val and vel normally handle his radio demon bullshit, DOES actually get him to calm down a little bit. maybe even enough to reluctantly agree to supervised counseling sessions with alastor, because fucking dammit charlie has gone behind his back to talk to al about repairing their broken friendship and he was so excited, vox, you should've seen him, he practically insisted on having me arrange a meeting, i think he really regrets how things ended between you two and wants to do better, please just give it a chance?? cue the worst couple's counseling session in the universe with vox stiff as a board and shaking with repressed rage in his seat while alastor sips tea demurely across from him and asks oh-so-politely how him and charlie met, and isn't this such a charming little affair, and ooh, redemption? how interesting! charlie is eating this the fuck up, overjoyed at the thought of meeting TWO overlords interested in her plan while vox can't do anything about it but seethe and fantasize about shooting alastor in the face when charlie's back is turned.

this actually sort of turns into vox feeling protective over charlie completely without meaning to, because he knows alastor isn't being genuine, he knows he has ill intentions, and vox has invested too much time and energy and honest commitment into both charlie and her dreams to let fucking alastor destroy it all by taking advantage of her desperate need for validation. only vox gets to capitalize on her daddy issues, dammit. but there's real affection there too, reluctant and uncomfortable as he is with its existence, and it's making it extremely difficult for him to handle alastor's Everything without betraying the fact that he's become emotionally compromised and isn't just looking out for his business interests.

charlie, meanwhile, thinks she's going to get to kill two birds with one stone here: she can help vox get over / assuage a broken relationship that's clearly causing him a lot of distress, and she can rope another influential overlord into endorsing her project, which prods the door open that much further for her to enact real change in hell. but alastor isn't the same kind of monster as vox, and she might be a little in over her head this time—because she just can't stop herself from having faith in people's better natures, even when every indication is pointing the other way. it's a kind of earnest and willful naivete that's like blood in the water to people like alastor and vox. at least she knows—she hopes—vox would hesitate now. she can't really say the same for al. either way, she's going to keep trying, and it's really a race between charlie's ability to infect people with soft mushy friendship emotions by double-bluffing their manipulative plots and alastor's ability to pry people open like clamshells and inflict horrifyingly intimate betrayals on them.

(hint: charlie always wins the long-game. there's only so many times you can sarcastically banter about your feelings over scones with your archrival and your girlfriend supervising before you start actually making breakthroughs and unwillingly understanding each other. charlie has weaponized "ironically committing to the bit too hard" in her favor and it works everyyy time)

[i-didnt-do-1t]

Day 24 of @ailesswhumptober

Reconditioning/relapse- “it’s normal that you need some more time”

- modern au (Katherine, Morris and Oscar are housemates)

cw. Domestic abuse mentions. alcoholism.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Oscar got drunk, properly drunk, he'd been seven years old and da just wanted him to shut up. he knew because he'd told him as much.

It was the glass of amber liquid to keep him quiet or a beating and Oscar's back still hurt from a few days previous so he took the glass offered with small hands, and pulled a face when he took a gulp of it, warm and burning and disgusting and he swallowed and coughed and spluttered and da laughed. Told him to finish it or he'd hold Oscar's nose shut and make him drink it. He wasn't gonna let him waste the good whiskey. So for once, being good, Oscar had done as he was told.

He didn't remember much after that. He choked down the rest under da's watchful gaze, alight with vague amusement, and then woke up the next morning with a headache and a dry mouth and a feeling nausea that did laps from his stomach to his throat. But it was the deepest he'd ever remembered sleeping, even if he didn't remember getting to bed.

A bottle of whiskey, the same brand da used to waste all their money on, sat atop the kitchen fridge now. It was almost cute, that Katherine had put it there in an attempt to hide it and keep it out of the way, but useless. He had to admit he almost didn't see it behind the advent calandor propped up against it, far more days opened than had passed in the month, but the flickering glow of the kitchen overhead light had bounced off the glass. Had him check to see what the fuck was up there.

It had been maybe three days since he'd last had a drink, and he could feel it missing, the slow long buzz of alcohol in his veins and the way it smoothed everything out, the way it stilled his hands and made thinking so much fucking easier. and if he didn't want to, he didn't have to think at all.

It wasn't the first time he'd tried to get sober. An endless cycle of promising to Morris and Katherine that he'd be fucking better this time, and then needing the neck of the bottle tipped up his throat the same way he needed water.

This last week had been bad, there was a reason he had tried to stop again, but it was hard to remember when he reached the bottle down and unscrewed the metal cap. It smelt like home, like being back on the farm and not in the kitchen of his flat, as shit and ramshackle as it was; morris's left over microwave pasta left half eaten in the container on the counter and Kath's calander stuck to the fridge with magnets, dates drawn on in messy blue pen that he couldn't decipher.

The whiskey smelt like da.

He meant to grab a glass. He really fuckin' did. But then his hand was knuckle white around the neck of the bottle and it burned like smoke when he swallowed a swig of it. Just one. Just enough so he wasn't thinking about it all fucking day like this constant drum beat in the base of his skull telling him he needs a drink-

"Oscar?"

He would've dropped the bottle if he weren't holding it so tight. He felt like a kid again, for a second, caught doing something he wasn't meant to and the fear seized his chest the same way it had since he was small till his brain properly registered it was only Pulitzer; near half his size, in sweats and a jumper, hair haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail, the ghost of a bruise on her jaw from where she'd got caught up in the argument between him and Morris earlier that week.

At least that's what they'd told him the next morning when he'd stumbled off the couch, skull pounding, knuckles aching, and the two of them refusing to even look at him. Katherine's eyes rimmed red like she'd been crying, Morris glaring at the wall and the rings under his eyes darker and deeper than usual, like he hadn't slept, like one of them was bruising to a black eye. He almost split his foot open on the broken glass on the floor, the sharp remenant shards of a glass he didn't remember throwing.

He'd told them then, shakily, that he didn't remember what happened. That he'd stop drinking, and that he meant it this time. Properly meant it.

He got like da when he drank. Morris had always said it.

"It's just a drink Kath. Swear."

It felt useless to try and defend himself as she stood there, not willing to step any further into the kitchen beyond the doorway, soft emerald green slippers toeing the line that seperated the tile from the hall carpet.

"Isn't that what it was last time?”

It probably was. It was how it always started.

"I was angry, last time. Was why I was drinkin' at all. You know work fucked me over."

The excuse felt bitter on his tongue but it wasn't a lie. It was as easy as breathing to repeat, to try and defend himself.

"So what is it this time? God, I tried to hide that from you osc-"

"Hid it in my fuckin' line of sight-"

"You said you would stop-“

"Christ I'm trying-“

"Are you?”

He felt his teeth grind together, jaw hardening, that familiar anger beating at the base of his skull.

His hand tightened around the neck of the bottle. He could still taste the bitter smoke of it. The warmth of it that coursed through his body.

"I fuckin'- it ain't fuckin' easy, Kath."

The bruise on her cheek could be disguised with make up, he knew. Had seen her earlier today before she headed out to her office and it blended well with whatever dark shit she put on her cheeks to make cheekbones look better. But her face was clean now, freckled and shiny with whatever face oils she put on before she went to bed.

The bruise was a bluish purple. Oscar was sure if he pressed on it, it'd hurt, she'd wince.

"I know it's not easy. But it's- you can't keep doing this forever. Has Morris even talked to you since the other night."

"Ain't seen him." His voice was rough, from the back of his throat. And it was true, Morris had been in his room and out god knows where, anywhere that wasn't around Oscar. Morris was their father’s son too, could hold a grudge till he was in the ground.

Katherine hesitated, like she wanted to say something. “Look, I know you’ve been drinking since you were little-"

"-the fuck do you know-"

"And it's bad enough for alcoholics-"

Oscar's neck twitched slightly at the word,

"-that started drinking in adulthood, it's normal that you need more time. But you've got to at least want to be better, Oscar."

Anger felt comforting the way the warmth of whiskey did. Better than the twisting in the base of his stomach and the sick feeling of guilt that crept up the back of his throat and through the base of his spin every time he saw Morris's black eye.

"Said I'm fuckin' trying'. Jesus. Course that ain't good enough for you-"

"You're drinking-"

"Shoulda hid the bottle better then! Christ Pulitzer. Stop fuckin' acting like you wanna help and then talkin' bullshit. Ain’t some fuckin’ pet project for you to try an’ fix like mo!”

He gestured widely with the hand holding the whiskey and she flinched and Oscar felt powerful all over again. Felt like how he imagined da to feel, and maybe understood him a little better

Her eyes were glassy, but her jaw was set in a firm line, shoulders tense and Oscar recognised the fury in her gaze. Had had it directed at him on countless occasions since they'd moved in. He'd always managed to come back from it before.

He met her gaze as he raised the bottle to his mouth again.

The whiskey burned on the way down.

[altbite]

Little Victories *Konig x Reader*

Summary: You have struggled with self h@rm before. You are almost a year clean and Konig surprises you.

Konig x GN!Reader

TW: A LITTLE BIT GRAPHIC AND DETAILED, BLADE AND BLOOD TW

_

It has been almost a year since you last took a blade to your skin. It almost feels unreal. It was hard at first, and although it got easier, you occasionally thought about it. You thought about doing it again, feeling the edge of the blade slice your skin, feel the blood drip down slowly. You wanted to relapse but you also didn’t need to anymore. Sometimes it was boredom that brought you back to it, sometimes a bad day. But the bad days began to wither away. You kept a little journal of dates of when you relapsed. You used to check it often but forgot about it after a while. You only really remembered when you thought about how long has it been since your last. Turns out, almost a year ago. It will be a year tomorrow.

You couldn’t help but feel but proud and sad at the same time. After struggling for so long, you finally made it. It wasn’t the longest you’ve gone but it was still a victory.

You had been sitting on your bed, door wide open as you had walked in a couple minutes ago to grab something, but ended up deep in thought. Konig had walked by, glanced into your room before stopping himself. He stood in front of the door way, and proceeded to knock on the door to get your attention. He could see you were entranced by something. You zoned by in and diverted your attention to him.

“All good, Socks?”, he gently asked, continuing to stay in his spot.

You had told him a few months ago about your struggles. He was the first and only person you told. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t scare you, not knowing how he would react to. But he was very sweet about it. Even gave you a hug to say how proud he is of you and how hard it can be. He never made you feel broken or fragile for it, never treated you differently. He didn’t pry either. He waited for you to tell him what you wanted.

“Yeah, sorry I just remembered something”, you smiled at him, signalling him to come in.

He walks towards you, “Care to share?”.

You briefly thought about how to tell him. You didn’t want to make it dramatic or too casual. “I’ll be a year clean tomorrow”.

“Hell yeah! That’s awesome”, he raised his hand for a high five, in which you complied to. “We should do something. We should celebrate!”, Konig spoke with excitement that you could see him shaking in his boots.

“Dude, that is kind of a morbid thing to celebrate”, you chuckled as you stood up and started to leave your room. You stood at the door, swinging your arm, gesturing for him to leave the room first.

“Well maybe but its a big achievement”, he walked out and you followed, shutting the door behind you.

“I know but I don’t know. How exactly do you celebrate something like this?”, you asked, hoping for a genuine answer.

Konig brain cogs were turning but he was speechless, and just shrugged. You two walked to the kitchen, and the topic was dropped once you saw the rest of the team.

_

The following morning was an easy one. It was a Saturday and one of the few days you get a lie in. To be fair, you only got out of bed after 10 but now you didn’t have to feel guilty for it. Weekends were quiet. Everyone did their own thing, gone out for the weekend: drinking, partying or fishing if you’re Price, and Gaz occasionally, although you weren’t sure Gaz actually liked fishing. You think Price just dragged him along for whatever reason.

You do a big stretch in bed before sitting up, and contemplating why you sat up. You’re body acted before your mind did, and in this case, you had dragged your fingers over your scars, feeling them one by one. You did it most mornings. It gave you comfort of sorts.

You hear a knock on your door, and groan because that meant you had to get out of bed. Finally you did make your way to your door, but not before sliding into a hoodie. You open the door to Konig standing with a diy cake in front of you. You take a couple seconds to comprehend what is happening.

The cake was, although greatly attempted, badly covered in frosting and sprinkles, and in the middle, one green candle like the ones you see on birthday cakes.

“Happy Birthday!!”, Konig practically yelled out, the biggest smile on his face. You looked at him in shock, amusement and confusion and fell into a fit of giggles.

“You said you didn’t know how to celebrate yesterday and I spent all day thinking about it. Its almost like a birthday so I baked you a cake. Its not perfect but i hope you like it”, he was very forward until the last sentence when he whispered, clearly getting shy about his baking skills.

“That- That is so fucking adorable oh my god”. Despite being in a fit of giggles, you were actually really touched.

“Well, make a wish”, he said as he held up the cake higher.

You stared into his eyes, appreciating him and this moment. You looked down, took the plate and blew out the candle. Once you did, Konig clapped for you.

“Well what did you wish for?”, curiously asking.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true!”

Maybe it was cheesy, but you wish that he would always be by your side.

[nescaveckwriter]

Bundles, Broken, Maybe Healed? (Part Three)

Prompt: Bundled up in blankets - will be in bold,😱

A/N: YAY! My third one for @badthingshappenbingo 🤭, Okay y'all, this chapter is intense, I'm not kidding.. we find more out about Meredith's past and its traumatic okay... So good luck...😱💓❤️

Warnings: 18+ Only! Some language, blood and gore, normal Criminal Minds stuff, going into depth off crime scenes etc, drug use,torture, anything else I missed let me know💕

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Dr. Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, Meredith Lang.

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:3000ish 😅

Chapter Name: Bundled, Broken, Maybe Healed? (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Today was our last in hospital session, she’d go too stay with her parents, I’m thankful Jason Gideon took her under his wing, and she said she was ready, and I did sign off, but in my professional opinion, she’s in danger, of her own build up emotions bursting one day, but I will still see her every week for the time being, until then I hug my own kids a little tighter. Signed Olivia Walters.

He sat there, feeling like he’d cross a line if he ever caught ‘the collector’, he wouldn’t send him to prison, now… he’ll, he’ll kill him. The knocking on the door tore him away from his thoughts, his voice lower, rougher than normal “WHAT?” she stood there with a smile on her face, her forest green eyes piercing  his “I’m sorry about earlier!” clearing her throat “you took me a little off guard, and uhm” she stayed silent “agh nevermind, the point is, it's inappropriate of me, to punch you and…” he stopped her mid sentence “okay I get it, close the door behind you” and without saying another word she left his office. Running a hand over his face, he knew that was unquestioned for, but he didn’t want to deal with that right now, hell he wasn’t even sure how’d he look her in the eye after reading through her file, but he started reading over it again…

 She did the missed years of school in one year, studying hard, taking various self defence classes, even more advance martial arts classes, Jason Gideon became a second father to her, training her, guiding her, she did everything she could to become part of the FBI, coming through various obstacles, one of those her parents, but she pushed herself, her drive, her motivation ‘Finding Hope’ and despite everything she did, but before they could send her in the field it was time for her psych eval, she passed with flying colours, but we’ll soon learn, she had a bit problem with authority, someone tugging or grabbing her, she’ll punch first, apologise later, Hotch left out a chuckle, he knows how that feels. She is really impulsive, she’s not concerned about her own safety, she’ll get into any situation, as long as someone doesn’t need to go through it. But she’s a damn great profiler, so Jason Gideon was happy about the progress. She was one of the most skilled agents he’s ever seen, he was proud.

She flourished, she loved her job, she and her family were close again, but one night she called me, I could hear it in her voice, ‘Gideon he’s gone, some weak bastard shot him’ I was shocked but more worried about her, he had a significant role in life. ‘I relapsed’ she said ‘I bought ecstasy, the spiders are back’ I realised she was high as she spoke to me, so I made my way over to her apartment, by now I cared about her like she was my own daughter, I found her sitting on the floor, tear stained cheeks, her service weapon in hand, loaded, high out of her mind, ‘I’ve been doing this job for what 3-4 years? And I still haven’t found Hope or the collector and now Gideon is gone’  I saw it etched on her face, the look in her eyes, she was ready to leave everything behind. 

It’s been a few months, she threw herself back into her work, but she seems to be doing better now. I saw her again today, she looked good. But she’s a complex person, not that I blame her with the trauma she’s gone through.

Hotch sat back in his chair, thinking about all the red flags she’s got, yet he was intrigued by her strength, she doesn’t carry around the whole victim badge, he couldn’t help to think maybe she healed. But at the back of his mind he knew, deep down in this 30 year old woman, that 16 year old girl is still stuck inside her. With one click, he closed the file, almost a silent wish, that he’d never started reading it in the first place.

She walked into her apartment, exhausted of the day, still pretty sore, she kicked off her shoes, poured herself a glass of wine, moved the box ‘childhood memories’ over to her bedroom, opening her closet starting to unpack the box, placing the evidence against the doors, over these 13 years she gathered so much of the bone collector, she could never catch him so far, and as she pinned the pencil sketch, of him, that she sketched over and over, remembering every detail, she sat against the bed, knees drawn to her chest, chin resting on her kneecaps, muttering “I’ll get you, and when I do, you’d wish you never abducted me that day” it was a ritual by now. Almost a sort of mantra and she meant every word. She’ll never speak off all the things he did to them, but she’ll never forget it, NEVER!.

[odd-lyin-ryan]

Okay I went ahead and watched it despite spoiling myself. Overall, not a satisfying season…at all. I say this almost purely from a writing/pacing perspective.

-The Lila/Five thing isn’t upsetting me really (I mean after the first season with Allison and Luther this is the kind of crazy that falls within those bounds so it’s fine.) I think a lot of people are skimming over the fact that seven years is a very very long time to only have one person. After Five’s track record with the original apocalypse it seems par for the course. It just seems like the Lila/Diego dynamic was just added to have this drama and they only actual purpose of the subway system was to further a romance that a) goes nowhere and b) fucks over five so hard. I mean…WHAT!? This guy has broken his fucking back to protect his family and keep them together and there is nothing for him in the end besides throwing away all that work!? The whole thing could’ve been better if maybe it wasn’t Lila, but someone else he could form this bond with and not abandon him in the end. So many people are crying home wrecker which I feel is unfair after seven years and no more hope. The notebook thing kinda allows this perspective however. Still I felt like the way it played out was out of character (where’s the badass that fights head on for what he wants? For his family!?) (This all is divorced from the reality of the actors and their positions. I would not have a problem with the two if they didn’t meet and work these parts when Aiden was younger. It feels kind of icky even without the age gap. Props to their abilities though.)

-The Allison shit…oh lord. She betrayed them all and her husband left her in the end. Her saying she wasn’t going to be the bad guy of the family anymore…girl you assaulted your brother. You earned that position.

-Gene and Jean, not very threatening at all or super impressive. More than 6 eps I feel would’ve fixed this. (This may be because of how I watched the last episode first before realizing my mistake🙃)

-Klaus, oh this poor kid. Totally got fucked over. I understand that relapse was always a huge risk but I don’t think they showed anything to make it feel like he needed drugs/alcohol after he was saved. Like no gruesome hauntings to push him over the edge. I would’ve preferred he not have relapsed at all if possible. The Diego and Klaus dynamic should’ve come into play here. They tried to say Allison always picked him up but that’s not what they’ve showed us in the past. Diego was there for all that in season one.

-I feel like I know so little about Ben as a character. I feel like we’ve been floundering since season 3 to actually get to the center of him but all that’s been shown is he is a villain, no matter where. He betrays the mission in the original, he attacks them as a sparrow, and gets arrested/starts an apocalypse in the reboot universe?

God it just needed more time to flush things out. They worked themselves into knots trying to make it all make sense but nothing was cohesive and so much was rushed that it all of it felt disappointing. A LOT fell through the cracks. And they all died so what was the point of any of it?! To try and then fail to be happy? Claire literally went from living with her father and occasionally seeing her mom (rightfully so) to now be left in the charge of nameless extended family members? I just need a moment to think upon this and grieve.

[2o3dinge]

Hi got to say I love keeping up with the blog from time to time, like the previous ask I also agree with the whole FL situation and how it fizzled out, most of it's there in the lyrics, I'm not a huge fan of the recent record but the connections are so significant like I can't believe he's still referencing a beautiful lie in two of those songs, we know the importance of that album where it was made, who was in his presence, a modern myth, etc 'how beautiful a myth (ahem lie) it was' .But I've been breaking down those songs on the new album, get up kid 'you had to be there, had to see it' as in you would never believe what happened between us on that set cause you weren't there 'you won't believe it' cause who could? 'god broke my heart' reminded me of honest to god (nice col reference) i will break your heart and then seasons is like just so in your face 'you're the one Colin...' yeah he probably was but you refused to grow up and kept him dangling for a lifetime, honestly he's become so insufferable since around 2015 (interstingly), and 'you slipped a couple of times' clearly a reference to someones struggles with sobriety,think C had a bit of a relapse in 2018, which happened to coincide with Js album America, thats basically just a sloppy rehash of a beautiful lie with its references to was it a dream? Another battle in Babylon (please 😂)and live like a dream was just a blatant remake of a modern myth (last night to say goodbye/tonights the last to say goodbye)what got me was the correlation or denial to acceptance between up in the air (is this the end I feel?) hail to the Victor (its not the end my friend)and never not love you (it was the end but my love what beautiful lie)oh and 'I'll never not die inside each time I hear your name' meaning he hears their name alot and it kills him so clearly quite famous is the ex, and looking lost, searching for what you found, meaning you found yourself and I'm still searching for myself, personally I think they agreed on space I'd say Colin is doing quite brilliantly and Jared, not so much maybe, don't know it's so tragic the whole thing when you dissect it, I remember how J kind of derailed a lot in 2015/2016 his posts were very sad and he talked of his cold broken heart in Dec of 2015 he was acting up big time, according to onlookers at coachella he appeared high as a kite , in Jan 2016 I remembered reading an interview with C where the interviewer asked him when the last time he cried was he said last week (so he was crying around the time J was bitching about his broken hear 💔)and C's answer felt genuine and he's a total sensitive soul, after reading Emma's book about their breakup which he initialized, she mentioned he kept wiping his tears away 😢 , there was one interview he did for the Lobster , early 2016 where he looked so sad and he talked about why we stay with people longer than we should and how much you can compromise yourself and get nothing in return, that was clearly personal experience he was speaking from and also J started spontaneously rock climbing around that time and 'reached the border...now I'm climbing up the walls'... sounds like a convenient fit. Lyrically the one link I found really interesting was how in up in the air he says 'I wouldn't trade an eye for your lies, your lust for my life' and then in the new album he says 'living the life I live, I couldn't hold you down' a complete u-turn, I took that to mean yeah you're not about the life I live anymore, I can't keep you interested in me cause you have real responsibilities and have grown. Sorry for the lengthy rant but every now and then I go down the rabbit hole with these two, so many twists and turns it's so intriguing 😂

Ooh sorry I haven't been on here for some time. Thank you for that ask! It's long, could've used a few paragraphs ;), but I love to read long rants about FL. It's gotten so rare. This strange rabbit hole has been following me for 13 years now (whut?!) I still feel the pull.

2015/2016 was when I needed a timeout from them... C was parading his much younger on-and-off amour around for several years without ever getting somewhere. But J was really starting to get on my nerves. This acting out, midlife crisis. With this barely-legal gf by his side, I don't know, he looked like an idiot. This really took off in summer 2014, but he knew her longer. Yuck. But you know, the way he treated her really put me off. Everything about it was a little loathsome.

So she won the lottery and good for her, but he? He's still tripping somehow, all mememe, and his conservative billionaire consort is insufferable, and I fear they don't have a good influence on each other. Or maybe they are good for each other, because they match their freaks as money hungry self-involved middle-aged bimbos/nerds. Gosh, I'm ranting without knowing where it comes from, but knowing he's constantly spending time with that man and his self-important thoughts, but never rekindled his connection with C is unfathomable to me. That guy has nothing on C, never had, never will! But he's the perfect mirror for J. I seriously doubt J's judgment.

I used to give him the benefit of doubt back then, but nowadays, I don't know, there's hardly anything authentic about him anymore. He's perfected his public persona and that's probably a wise thing to do, when you're always just one step away from pr disaster because of questionable behavior in your past, but I don't find him relatable or interesting at all anymore. He's bland and self-involved and moody, still craving attention, not even fighting it any longer. He's at peace with being like that? And I could see why C probably hasn't much in common with him at this point, what is there that would still connect them? I want to believe there's still some common ground...

Not the greatest fan of the last album either, mediocre, overproduced result for an album that was in the making for so long and allegedly had hundreds of songs written for it. All this hyperbole all the time. But yeah, the beautiful lie is still present. You mentioning Live like a dream is good ... this song is pure, unfiltered FL. I love it. The feelings expressed in his songs are conflicted, especially when one sees it over this 20 year period since Alexander: is it the end or not?, rejecting lies but living them yourself - all that makes it so realistic and plausible.

[viceandmen]

Dear friends,

There’s also something so cathartic being able to talk with y’all. It’s such a reciprocal relationship. I gab; you listen. I don’t ask for advice and you don’t give it.

Muah, truly chef’s kiss 🤌🏽

If I remember correctly my writing entails sharing about the revolving door of men and female friends in my life. Sometimes I sprinkle in my professional woes. No more drunk shenanigans as I’m coming up on 5.5 years no booze tomorrow.

I still get my kicks from trying to fix my world with relationships. Currently I’m involved with the boy across the street. After my two and half year relationship dismantled, I found a boy in AA to wipe away my tears but sadly his pen15 couldn’t get hard. Oopsies I suck at anonymity. Sue me.

And then the text came:

He had texted me about a year earlier which I not-so-politely ignored. This boy was my kryptonite and I was dating my ex. The last time I opened a dialogue with The Neighbor I ended up cheating on my first boyfriend. Another oopsie.

I was single and not really ready to mingle. The Broken Dick Boy cutting things off prematurely hurt my heart. Which goes to show how desperate I am for companionship. Willing to be with a boy who couldn’t pleasure me properly ooof.

But The Neighbor texted me and it felt like the clouds parted and the sun was shining on what I was searching for. We had met in 2016 and bonded over our mutual attempt at sobriety. I fell in lust or premature love, there was something that pulled me in. Sorry first ex boyfriend you were absolutely collateral damage in my quest for love. It’s not that yours wasn’t enough, I wanted more.

We both relapsed and found sobriety a few different times between 2016 and now. We both had separate relationships that ended. And here we were, both single, living across the street from one and other, and trying to remain drug and alcohol free.

So imagine how heartbroken I was after hanging out a few times to find out he had taken to drinking once more. And I’m a classic I-can-fix-it gal, I didn’t run, I got sucked in even further. I wasn’t about to let a six pack of hard ciders a night ruin my love story.

Oh how my heart fluttered when I got this text. THIS WAS IT. He wanted to get healthy with me by his side. GOD WAS DOING IT!

It was my pleasure escorting him to detox, receiving phone calls each night he was gone, and to pick him up with the widest of open arms. So fuck us both that a month later we’re back in this shitty threesome of me, him, and the booze.

I don’t want to leave him, I don’t want to take my sponsor’s suggestion and run, I want to stay. But boy am I uncomfortable. The change in his attitude, the way he nonchalantly makes digs at me, the spotlight on my defects. I want to hate him. I just hate this goddamn disease.

I’ve got 18 minutes left of my shift and I need to pee and make a coffee because afterwards I need to go across the street and grovel. When I found out yesterday he had maybe plans to go to the beach with a girl from high school, I let my jealous/insecurity send me into a reactionary rage of silence and tears.

My words escaped me and I pulled up a text thread from my girlfriend earlier. I wanted to text her to see if I was overreacting or reacting normally. But before I could, he came behind me to hug me. Instead of swiping the text away, I scrolled letting him see that I made plans to possible trip shrooms with her after achieving a year of sobriety from marijuana.

That was a mistake. He has mentioned weeks ago the idea of us doing them together on a mountain top and he thought because I felt hurt about him going to the beach I purposely pulled up the convo to hurt him back.

Maybe I subconsciously did. I bite back quickly and hard when I feel threatened. Not my favorite trait. Usually I’m so polite and perfect (sarcasm).

So I’m gonna go piss and plot how to make him feel safe when the irony of him drinking again makes me feel the opposite.

It’s the moments like this where I think everything will be alright. And we’ll be alright. That we’re just soulmates going through some soul problems.

Fuck me and my delusional romantic heart.

Until next time,

Yours truly.

[call-sign-shark]

I KNOW RIGHT??? ARE YOU OKAY, DARL?

If you allow me to play the Devil's advocate, I must say that Tommy really thought about changing during the short time they were closely interlocked together. In truth, this fleeting moment suspended in time was genuine and I am glad you found it beautiful because I did too. This was such an emotional moment between the two of them. And I love your thinking process during reading because this is exactly what I wanted to convey, like, okay he's vulnerable, probably attracted to her, maybe we can forgive him for the kiss despite being awful when considering she's his brother's wife...

AND THEN HE BLAMED HER. Mostly because his little man's ego had been wounded. This was definitely a low blow, in spite of being gratuitous and cruel, taking into account how deep her love for John was. And he knows it. At this point, he just wants to hurt her because she has rejected him. Also, your analysis is on point: this is a God complex. As you said, being jealous can be understandable, but in his mind he thinks that Arthur is far too broken and unworthy of having a woman like her, contrary to him. See the dysfunctional logic here? He genuinely feels better than his brother.

Heaven's powers are terrifying right? It's kinda similar to what heartrender can do in the Grisha Verse -- even though I have been fond of bloodbender /body-related power from years. For sure she has scared the shit out of Tommy.. But she also undisclosed her abilities, and as you said, he might want to use them for his own benefits now.

Regarding Arthur, his grief is not a reason to lash out at his wife -- completely agree with you. I must admit that I nearly CHOKE at the line "One because is an asshole and the other because he's an idiot." THIS IS SO TRUE. Arthur is just an idiot, really. Stupid as fuck. 😂

I hated to write this argument scene, it broke my heart because yeah, they love each other so much and they are so close, literally soul mates, that it was utterly painful for them. And part of the escalation of their argument came from both the drug but also their overwhelming emotions. But despite her never ending love for Arthur, she cannot forgive him right away after the awful things he said and after his relapse. He'll have to prove he's worthy of her trust if he wants to be forgiven.

Thank you for your wonderful comment Flor. I was so excited to hear about your thought. Your support is one of the most important for me here. And THANK YOUUU for the gif, I downloaded because this is so Heaven-coded!! This would be exactly what she would do to calm her mind. Thank you again I love it!🖤

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  John is dead. Your whole world crumbles. Arthur and you are facing your first real argument, and everything grows out of control -- featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.8k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, domestic violence, mention of drug use, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, self-harm, guilt trip, co-dependent relationship.

Notes:

✞ Read the notes at the end.

Previous || Masterlist || NEXT

The creaking which resounded in the whole morgue when the door opened sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. The infamous Peaky Blinders’ boss was standing next to the mortuary table, staring at the ashen face of his little brother, frozen in a peaceful expression. Although Tommy tried his best to remain neutral, the way his enchanting turquoise eyes gleamed belied his profound sorrow. A sorrow so distressing that he was not even able to express it – instead, his negative thoughts piled up inside of his already decaying heart. First Grace, then John… Tommy let out a long exhale from his nostrils while going on with his morbid contemplation. How many more deaths would he have to endure before his hunger for power was sated? “Fuck, I’m sorry John.” He whispered, softly pressing his large hand on his brother’s muscular shoulder. The sensation of John was cold and hard, even above the fabric of his blood-stained shirt, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” His hand then reached for the funeral shroud and pulled it over his brother’s chest, which had been riddled with bullets. He did not want John to look weak, even in death. He wished for people to recall his joy and strength, not his troubled last moments. “I’m sorry.” He reiterated, offering a last apologetic look at his little brother before turning around at the sound of someone’s heels beating the cold tiled floor. Tommy’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows: he had not been expecting anyone now that Arthur and Esme had left.

“Tommy.”

The hypnotizing and melodious voice that called him led him to briefly open his eyes wide in surprise — especially when he recognized its owner. And when he did, his face immediately hardened. It was only seconds later that he saw you walking towards him with hastened steps, rivers of tears still streaming down your angelic face. He didn’t know what surprised him the most though, to see you here in this morgue, to hear you calling him “Tommy” and not “Thomas” for the very first time, or maybe the unexpected way you threw yourself into his arms. In fact, it was certainly a bit of the three at once. As soon as your body collapsed with his, the gangster’s muscles tensed, and his placid expression shifted into a stunned one: your affection had taken him aback.

“Oh my God, Tommy…”  You were crying your eyes out, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He could even feel the warm wetness of your tears on his skin, the little salty drops running down his chest and dying under his shirt. Esme had told him everything. Tommy blinked a few times to chase away the surprise and, gradually, his body relaxed as he felt your frail being snuggling against him, the freezing sensation of your dainty frame meeting the warm temperature of his skin even separated by the clothes you were wearing. He gave you a quick glance from above your head to check if what was happening was true and, finally, he sighed. As his arms wrapped around you softly, you felt like you were falling apart and, ironically, the only thing that held you together at this very moment was Thomas Shelby. The man you hated since day one.

“I’m here.”  His quiet and deep voice simply stated, soon followed by his arms tightening around you and his fingers gently diving into your waist, not willing to let you go anymore. To hell with your mutual hatred, you thought, Tommy had just lost a brother and you wanted to be here for him too. Surely, all the ice of his heart couldn’t shield him from grieving a loved one.

What started as an awkward hug soon turned into a powerful embrace when Tommy indulged in your love. All the resent, all your past arguments, all the fear… The more you were pressing together, the more they were turned into dust, “I’m fuckin’ here.” One of his hands ran up your body only to rest on the back of your head, inviting you to nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck even more – which was what you did, desperately looking for comfort.

“I can’t… I can’t let him go. I don’t want to.” Your voice was merely a desperate whimper, for the uncontrollable sobbing and the ball of sorrow in your throat wouldn’t allow you to align more words. Another hiccup — The excruciating sadness almost suffocated you when you realized that John’s dry blood was still stuck under your nails.

“He’s gone, Heaven.” His words, stone cold, made you shake like a leaf, to the extent that Tommy was now certain you would shatter if he were not holding you. He started rubbing your back with his powserful free hand, the other clenching its fingers on the back of your head, “Listen to me.” He started, holding you firmly against his strong body: he was not going to let you all apart.

“They fucking shot him! Ces enculés lui ont tiré dessus!” You repeated in French, and of course he understood. He tried to hush your worries down but it didn’t work. Deaf to his attempt to comfort you, you gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated and painful cry. John was dead and your whole world felt like it was collapsing. Your little fists hit Tommy’s strong chest in a weak blow, anger taking over sadness as seconds passed. You were angry at him, at you, at Changretta, at the whole damn world. In truth, your mind didn’t know how to cope with grief anymore, and rather let you experience various emotions to test which one hurt the less. In response, the gangster restrained your movements by hugging you tighter and then, he brought his lips near your ear to keep you focused on him and only him.

“Hey, listen to me now.” He said with a firmer tone, catching your attention. You glanced at him and froze, realizing how dangerously close his face was, “I want you to calm down. You’re a fucking Shelby.” Despite his harsh words, Tommy’s tender caresses made amends for his toughness and managed to dry your tears up. His palms, then, wandered on your back and shoulders, stimulating every nerve of your quivering body to anchor you to reality, “There. Better.” He finally praised you, warming up your body with the sole power of his touch and rubs. Feeling calmer, you sniffed a little bit and tried to focus on the musky yet delicate fragrances of his cologne rather than on John’s corpse that was lying a bit further from you.

“Better.” You softly replied, surprisingly lulled by little King Shelby’s presence. A real miracle. Once comforted, you decided it was time for you to move your body from him and break the embrace though. After all, Tommy and you had never got along. Plus, you were pretty sure he wanted this to end as quickly as possible now that he had done his in-law duty. But, somehow, a little part of you still hope for this moment to improve your relationship from now. Maybe things wasn’t that hopeless? You were about to move but the gangster didn’t let you leave him. Quite the contrary, he pulled you closer until your breasts flattened against his chest and your cheek rested on his collarbone. Surprised, your lips parted but no sound came out.

“Stay.” Even though he did not mean it, his tone sounded like an order more than a request. Truth was, he couldn’t control it – the way his heart had quickened at the physical contact he was sharing with you unsettled him. As much as the thought that you came to him for comfort, not to your husband. Under the crushing weight of something he couldn’t name, Tommy delicately rubbed his perfectly shaven cheek against yours and buried his nose in your long white hair to get himself drunk with your spring-like perfume, “I’ll keep you out of sorrow, if you ask me,” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight and deepening his embrace again, until it became slightly painful. His thoughts swirled in his restless mind, and between plans for the Vendetta and the grief of John’s death, there was you. You and your intoxicating perfume. With his breath quickening and his lower lip trembling, Tommy allowed himself to sink into your softness, “And you’ll keep me out of it.” His husky voice was merely a murmur only you could hear. A soft whisper even the Grim Reaper, who was leaning over John and contemplating about where he was going to send him, did not catch.

“What do you mean?” You bated your doe lashes, confused at this sudden passionate demonstration of affection. But Tommy didn’t reply. In fact, he did not even hear a word you said for his mind was trying to cope with the overwhelming feelings and sensations that were drowning him. He felt like a sailor thrown into a raging see, desperately trying to keep his head above the water, and the only hope for him to survive was to cling onto you as hard as he could. The truth was it felt so good to have you in his arms, blessed with your holy and calming aura, that he had momentarily forgot what pain was like. For a split second, colors came back in his black and white life – something he hadn’t experience since Grace’s death. Letting out a relieved sigh, Tommy gently pulled his face away from you only for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes to dive into your celeste iris.

“It’s going to be alright, Tommy. It’s not your fault.” You stuttered, trying to comfort him too despite being slightly confused by his intense stare. Nevertheless, you could not help but commiserate with him, grief being one of the most universal human feelings to share. United in pain, you offered him a faint smile. The fearful gangster replied with utter silence – struck by the fact that he loved how his nickname sounded in your mouth. Only his brows frowned slightly as he watched you for the very first time: your big fair eyes, your long lashes, your plumped lips, the way your snow-white hair reflected the dull lights of the morgue… Last time he recalled having stared at you like this was during your first meeting, when his hand was wrapped around your throat. Worried by the unfamiliar ways he was looking at you, your little cold fingers grazed one of his hollow cheeks as softly as a feather’s caress to bring him back to his senses. A surge of electricity ran through his soul at the skin-to-skin contact. You touched him and, all of sudden, Tommy understood Arthur. He understood what he meant when he told him you were an angel. And after the epiphany came a moment of madness.

“No, it won’t.” He admitted with a sad tone you never suspected he was capable of. At his words, he finally gave in and broke the distance between your lips. Life flashed before your eyes, your brain momentarily ceasing to function at the soft press of his mouth. Tommy’s hand had wrapped itself around the back of your neck, keeping you from moving your face with one thick and strong palm. His kiss, eager but indescribably sensual, made your heart miss a small beat. It took you two solid seconds to realize what was happening, and one extra to push him away from you as he started to make it slow and deep with the wet stroke of his tongue. Forced to take a few steps back, his chest vibrated with a low groan of disappointment.

“No, Tommy.” You stuttered in a whisper, astounded by his bold and senseless move. Your fingertips grazed your swollen lips, still tingling with the sensation of his lips against yours, all the while your otherworldly pale eyes gawked at him wide open.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered, then he slightly shook his head to chase away the sweet torpor that had overtaken him for a short while. Regaining his composure, he clenched his jaws and tried to cope with your rejection. Admittedly, it had been a bit too much for him to handle. Why did he do that? What did happen in his goddamn mind? And how the hell could a woman say no to him? Unfortunately, Tommy couldn’t find any answer to these questions. All he found was frustration and anger, fueled by his unsufferable heartache of John’s death.

“No.” Tommy’s face closed up, going placid again while the blue of his iris turned two shades darker, “No” he repeated, trying his best to keep his emotions how he always did: hidden behind coolness, “So why did you come here and throw yourself in my arms?”

His question had taken you aback, for you didn’t expect him to wonder about such a trivial thing. Somehow, you wondered if he ever knew what the definition of platonic love was, or if all his interactions with women, except the ones from his family, always led him to their bed. “I just wanted someone to talk to...” Your eyes fled his, and you folded your arms to hug yourself, feeling suddenly freezing, “And I thought you’d maybe need someone too? I mean… I wanted to comfort you too. Just not—like this.” In truth, you were left agape by the whole misunderstanding. And by Tommy’s unfathomable mind.

Not minding that he was in a morgue, the King of Small Heath took of a cigarette from his pocket and rubbed it nervously on his lower lip before lighting it. Thoughts were now racing in his mind, along with your words. He could have dismissed the topic with a simple wave from his hand, but he couldn’t come to terms with how good you had made him felt for a few fleeting but intense minutes. Tommy’s chest rose and fell with rapid breath, for both shame and anger had crept into his bones. Why? He thought. Why did his brother had been allowed to meet you before he could? Why did Arthur, broken and fragile Arthur, had been allowed to have a loving woman by his side and not him? After all, he was the one who needed it the most. No, he was the one who deserved it the most. But now Grace was dead, all women he shared his bed with tended to leave him an unpleasant after taste of ashes in his mouth, and the one he thought who could heal him didn’t want him. What kind of freaking curse was that? But in his inner turmoil and feeling of unfairness, Tommy forgot to take into account the real problem: you could do nothing for his heart. No one could.

“Alright then, you wanna talk? We gonna talk, ey. I wanna know something, Heaven. Why didn’t you save him ey?” A cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, leaving you wondering if it was due to the cigarette or to his rage.

“Sorry?” You asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

He threw his cigarette further away before squinting his eyes as he talked to you “You resurrected a damn bird. Polly talked y’know. She told me you had the great power of healing, something that’s fucking rare. So why?”

“Why?! Why what?! What the hell are you implying?” You were starting to lose your patience, already fed up with his mean games. Moreover, your emotions was already all messed up with all the earliest events.

“Why the fuck didn’t you save John?! Why the fuck didn’t you bring him back to life?” His voice rose, resounding in the morgue so loudly that John probably heard it from where he was.

You blinked, astonished. “Because it doesn’t work like that, you fucking idiot!” You replied to his screams with louder ones, now troubling the dead’s final rest.

“Of course, it doesn’t. Isn’t it a bit ironic? I mean… For everyone, you’re a saint. For Arthur you’re a fucking angel, ey, even a divine being. But now that you have the occasion to use your wicked powers for something useful you can’t even do it!” His prose had turned into poison, seeping through your veins and contaminating soul.

“Thomas, stop it.” You begged, trying to remain calm. Surely, you didn’t want to argue right after John’s death. Especially not when he was there… You took a quick glance at his motionless body and your heart sank. Was it your fault?

“I told you what it is. You’ve bewitched all of them. You’ve bewitched me,” His eyes darkened, “All your so-called gifts come from the Devil... So come on! Bring John back to life, you fucking witch!”  He was now pointing John with his index finger, “Bring him back now!”

“HIS HEART HAD STOPPED BEATING!” You howled, self-control breaking down.

“It doesn’t matter, you had let him die!”

“I didn’t!” You shook your head, rage taking over you, “It’s the blood. My witchcraft doesn’t come from the Devil, it comes from the fucking blood. From the human body. That’s what I manipulate. I could have done something if his heart had been still beating the slightest, or if it had just stopped. But it wasn’t the fucking case!” Tears of wrath left a moist trail on your skin as you wiped them away quickly with the palm of your hand, “He was dead for too long when I found him!” A short silence fell in the morgue after your attempt to justify yourself – Tommy didn’t buy it.

“It’s your fault.” He concluded in a quiet and low tone, desperately trying to both find someone to blame for his brother’s death, and wanting to make you pay for rejecting him.

“W-What?” His words had stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’s your fault if John is now lying in a fucking morgue, dead and cold. You have let him die.”

“I didn’t!” Your voice broke.

“You fucking did! Look at him now, look at his fucking corpse riddled with bullet! Look at the fuck you did, ey!” Tommy had stepped aside and pulled the shroud from John’s body. Doing so, he gave you full sight on his bloody chest, whose round bullet wounds were already darkening. Such a macabre spectacle momentarily broke the last bit of sanity you had left.

John, Oh John, your soul lamented.

“ENOUGH!” You yelled. The way your usually sweet voice screeched was so powerful, so inhumane that all the lights of the morgue flickered, rendering the place even more ominous than it already was. On top of the dancing lights, whose glow had been undermined by your own darkness, the atmosphere around Tommy thickened. The gangster swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly overtaken by an unpleasant and eerie feeling of unease. In other circumstances your brother-in-law’s change in behavior would have appease you. Especially when considering that shutting up was not in Tommy’s habits. Nevertheless, far too hurtful words and years of restrained spite got the best of you: from the moment you met to this one, Tommy had been nothing but bane. Anger rippled through you, hardening your maimed heart and blurring every notion of decorum you’d usually try to respect of Arthur’s sake, “You wanna make me your villain?” You had stopped screaming. Quite the contrary, your tone had turned from a bawling banshee to the quiet and sinister sigh of Death. With that last question posed, you extended one of your arms, palm facing Tommy, and spread your fingers, “I’ll give you a reason to fear me!”

At first, Tommy raised a brow wondering what the goal behind your move was. Then, the fact you dared to scream at him and insult him – certainly combined with your rejection – made rage coiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth, about to reply to your arrogance when words choked in his throat. Hit by a sudden and obliterating pain in the chest,  Tommy pressed his hand were his heart was and looked up in terror as a thin trickle of blood started to run down one of his nostrils, dying his thin lips with a crimson color, “What—What are you doing to me?!” He stuttered, barely hearing his voice because of the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster echoed in his skull far too loudly. However, you didn’t answer him, far too consumed by the flames of your rage, licking though your delicate bones and dainty frame. With your hand still facing him, you started to close your fingers very slowly. Tommy coughed for each inch your fingers moved, his lungs were crushed harder in his tight chest. He wanted to scream – scream to let out the pain, scream to stop you, but the only noise he could make was muffled squeals, similar to an agonizing prey.

“Here is what I can do, Tommy! This is the pain I am capable to cause with my delicate and fragile little being! See? If I can heal, I can also make one sick and destroy them.”

“S—St—Stop...” He tried to beg, bloody mouth gaping, desperate for air. But this time he was not only met by your silence, but by the worsening of his pain to the extent that his legs were about to collapse. No, you didn’t want to stop. In fact, you wanted him to pay for everything. You wanted him to kneel.

“Beg.” Your voice echoed in the morgue and your eyes were staring coldly at Tommy Shelby who, crushed by the extreme pain you were exerting on his body, had no other choice than to rest one of his knees on the ground, right in front of you. The metallic taste of blood that kept running down his throat, thick and hot, enhanced his suffocating and labored attempt to breath. At this point Tommy had one certitude; you were going to kill him. Whether by a heart attack or by smashing his lungs to a pulp, it did not matter. What mattered was that, for the very first time since you met, he was at your mercy. Far too well he understood that all you had to do was to close your fist, and then he would end up lying down on the table next to John’s.

The shovels, the dirt in his mouth, everything came back to his mind as he fought to breath.

“Heaven!”

“Listen closely to what I’m about to say,” You spoke calmly, “I think I’ve had enough of your hypocritic ways and your unjustified battle against me, whose only goal is to tear me down. I am not going to kill you, Thomas Shelby. But if I spare you, it’s only because, first I don’t want to murder you in front of John, and then, because Arthur loves you. I don’t fucking know how he still does after every mean thing you’ve said and done to him, but the facts remain that he does.” You paused, finally reopening your hand, and lowering your arm. It didn’t take more for Tommy’s lungs to finally be able to stock air again and for his heart to return to a normal pace. The gangster immediately inhaled, still under the shock of what had just happened. Hands on the cold tiled floor, eyes wide open, he was shaking like a leaf in a raging storm, “So for Arthur’s sake and John’s memory, I want you to wear your most beautiful smile next time you’ll see me. Just like you told me the first time we met ey?”

By the time you’ve stopped stabbing him with your murderous and poisoned words, Tommy had managed to stand up on his quivering legs. Yet, he was still catching his breath and pressing one hand on his chest to alleviate the soreness of his lungs. He licked his lips to clean the blood off them, the taste of his own crimson essence reminding him of what he was: not a God. Much less the Devil. Just one simple mortal man. At this very moment, Tommy Shelby had lost his splendor. Still shaken and utterly terrified by your wicked abilities, little King Shelby looked at you, his face contorted in pure horror and disgust. “You…”  His enchanting turquoise eyes, whose color made women’s head spin, were now glazed with an almost primal fear, “You’re a fucking monster.”

“At least we have something in common.” You retorted, before turning your heels and leaving the morgue. John’s spirit wasn’t there anyway.

Following your quarrel with your brother-in-law, all you wanted was to go back home and hide from this cruel world in Arthur’s arms; the only place in which you could find a bit of inner peace. Moreover, you knew he would certainly need you after his visit at the morgue.  Your holy tears had flown from your eyes all the way home, only chased away by your delicate hands. The only thing that kept you from collapsing in the midst of the streets, weeping on the ground like a fallen angel, was thought of finding your husband. It has always been you against the rest of the world anyway. So, what was your disappointment when hours flew and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. 

A little sigh escaped from your lips as you poured the rest of the red wine bottle you had opened earlier in your glass. Once refilled with alcohol, you simply dragged your exhausted body to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, looking blankly at the dancing flames in the hearth. Before panic settled in, you thought that Arthur needed time for himself after being informed of his little brother’s death — which was perfectly fine and understandable. He had every right to stay with his family, grieving the loss of his own blood. But the more time passed, the more his absence was weighing on you. Feeling your sorrow, Kaiser woke up from his nap, stretched his muscular body, and came closer to rest his large head on your thighs. The dog’s cropped ears were flattened, and his large hazel eyes were looking at you with sincere worry.

“That’s okay big boy, that’s okay.” You gently stroke his head, but despite loving your caresses the Cane Corso let out a sad whining sound, “I know…” You simply replied, knowing that Kaiser missed Arthur too on top of hating to see you that mournful. Suddenly, the mutt’s ears raised again, and he turned his head towards the door, sensing someone’s coming. Trusting his shape senses, your eyes looked up at the entrance too. When your instincts weren’t working, you knew you could always count on Kaiser and tonight was no exception: only seconds later the door opened, revealing Arthur’s lanky silhouette. You got up from the sofa, putting your glass of red wine on the coffee table, and watched him carefully. 

“Cheri?”

“Hm.” The only reply you got was a grunt, followed by his staggering frame walking passed you without stopping for a hug nor a kiss. In fact, you wondered if he even saw you. The strong scents of alcohol and tobacco floated in the air at his passage, leaving no doubt on his intoxicated state. You sighed, watching him walking towards the furniture and pouring himself another whiskey. Not the first of the evening for sure.

“Arthur, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” You said quietly, with care and sincere worry. Losing John had broken him, obviously, so you knew you had to be delicate with him. A lecture was definitely not what he needed at this aching moment, which was why you suggested rather than ordering.  Nevertheless, your husband remained deaf to your gentle advice and gulped down the alcohol in one mouthful, right before pouring himself another one. You shook your head and walked to him, for you could not let Arthur drink his pain until he passed out – because that was what he was trying to do. Somehow, he only acknowledged your existence when he felt your hand gently touching his arms, right above the thin texture of his shirt, “I’m going to run you a bath and we’ll go to bed, alright?” You finally said, knowing that no words would ease the tormenting grief he was experiencing. Why? Because you did too. John Shelby was your best friend. No. He was more than that, he was like another part of you. But as you weren’t blood-related, you’d rather leave your own pain on the back burner and take care of your husband, who hadn’t lost a friend but a baby brother. A loss whose ache you knew far too well. Taking this into account, you didn’t want to ask him if he was okay nor if he wanted to talk because you knew that no he wasn’t and no he didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Arthur drank the second glass of whiskey and put it on the furniture a bit bluntly, his reflexes numbed by alcohol, “Yeah…” He sniffed, tears flooding his vision for the umpteenth time today – he had lost count. He didn’t think he had some left but here he was, crying again, unlike Tommy who could hold it well. “Heaven…” He moaned in pain, his suffering coming from the deepest part of his soul. You opened your lips to reassure him but you stopped: there was something unusual in his voice, “I need ye to save me …” He begged, turning around to face you even if his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“I’m here.” One of your hands reached his waist with an indescribable tenderness, “Look at me Arthur.” The other slipped under his chin and gently forced him to look at you — which he ultimately did. Yet, the moment your eyes dived in his iris your heart stopped beating for a micro-while. His pupils were so dilated that the blue of his eyes was barely visible, reduced to small rings around two soul-sucking black holes. From then, you were quick to react: you slipped your hand in the pocket of his trouser and, when you did, your fingertips were met with th cold surface of a little vial. “No…” You whispered, pulling the object from his pocket and observing it with genuine disgust and disappointment. In truth, you could recognize the object  from miles for those blue and small vials usually contained cocaine, “What the fuck, Arthur!” you exclaimed, stepping back from him and showing him the small bottle you were holding between your index finger and your thumb.

“What?” He straight off hissed, eyes half closed and his body slightly reeling back and forth due to his state of inebriation.

“Did you take it?!” The answer was obvious, but you still wanted to hear it from him. You wanted him to admit it and assume the consequences of his relapse.

“Yes I did eh!” He finally exclaimed after one long second of staring at your eyes, searching for any kind of excuses he could find. But the disappointment in your frozen iris kept him from lying – He definitely could not do this to you, even drunk and high. You closed your eyelids a brief moment, for his words felt like a stab in the chest despite you already knew the undeniable truth.

“No Arthur that’s not going to be possible. You made promise,” You tried to remain calm but red wine, your fight with Tommy, and the mess of your emotions had destroyed your diplomacy, “You’ve promised me! That’s… Thats not going to help you cope with John’s death!” One of your bare feet was nervously tapping the wooden floor.

“AND HOW AM I GOING TO COPE WITH IT EH? FOOKIN’ HOW?” He burst in anger, your words fueling the raging fire that was burning inside of him. Carried away by his emotional turmoil and the drug, Arthur swept the furniture with one violent movement of his arms, knocking the bottle and the glass over. The cacophony of broken glass made you jump a little as they crashed on the floor, exploding in dozens of shards.

You looked at him, shocked to the core, for he had never really yelled at you before. Each time his voice would rise in your presence it was always because of external factors, never because of you. In truth, Arthur had never got mad at you. The more he could do in your presence was being grumpy. However, tonight you were the source of his sudden anger, and such a revelation hurt like hell. For a fraction of a second, your angry expression flickered into an aching one. Still, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and answered him with a cool, almost placid tone.

“Don’t yell at me. Understand?” You warned him, jaw clenched and every muscle of your tiny body tense,  “I don’t want you to take drug except on very, very rare occasions and I must be here– It was part of the deal.” You punctuated you sentence by throwing the vial into the fire, which burn brighter for a short while. Arthur scoffed, his lips stretching in a sarcastic and irked grin.

“Isn’t it a fookin’ rare occasion? My brother’s dead. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that needs to be celebrated properly eh.” His bitter smirk disappeared as he winced with pain, bringing his trembling hands in his hair to pull it. “I need to numb the pain. To numb everything. Oh God, John is dead. Dead. He’s fookin’ dead!”  Each time he repeated the last word, Arthur hit his head with his fists. The dancing flames reflected in his teary eyes, and lit his face with an orange hue. It was getting hard to tell if such an effect came from the fire in the hearth, or if he was burning from inside.

“Stop it Arthur!” You grabbed his wrists with your little hands, trying your best to keep him from hurting himself, “I know alright? I know you’re suffering and I’m deeply sorry for it. I swear I’d love to take your pain away, but I can’t. I can’t,” You forced him to look at you by squeezing his wrists, “Thing is, I don’t want to watch you destroying yourself with cocaine or God knows what other kind of drugs! That’s out of fucking question!” Despite your attempt to remain calm, your emotions got the best of you. The betrayal of him breaking his promise was more painful than a bullet shot through your chest. Maybe more painful than losing John itself. Tears began to stream down your face as you let go of Arthur and observed his enraged and dilated pupils.

“What the hell do ye know, eh.” Arthur stumbled, closing the distance between you a second time and leaning over until his face and yours were only a few inches away. His whiskey breath fanned over your skin. “What the hell do ye knew about pain, little angel? You have no idea what I’m going through. If ye did you’d be the first to snort snow ey.”  

“Listen,” You sniffed, swallowing back a sob. Okay, maybe yelling at him wasn’t the best way to react so, in a desperate attempt of not aggravating the situation, you forced yourself to regain your calm  “I’ve lost my family, I know what it—”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY!” He cuts you, yelling so loud your ears buzzed, “THEY’VE BEEN SIX FEET UNDER FOR A FOOKIN’ WHILE! WE’RE TALKING ABOUT JOHN! MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Arthur’s eyes darkened and his teeth were bare, as a wounded wolf trying his best to scare someone away, “They’ve riddled him with bullets, those mops. Those bastards! We’re in a fookin’ war and here you are scolding me like a kid because I took drugs! That’s fookin’ ridicu—”

The sound of flesh snapping echoed in the living room when your hand slapped him, followed by a heavy silence only the fire’s cracks broke. Arthur backed up at the blow, eyes wide open. Slowly, his shaking fingers brushed his reddened cheek, right where his skin was tingling. At this well-deserved reality check, the tall gangster blinked several times and finally noticed the heart-wrenching pain in your glistening eyes. You who had tried to hold back your tears and be strong for Arthur could not keep your tears for yourself anymore. They flowed from your holy eyes, salty waterfall of sorrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. It was not really the fact you had hit him that petrified his whole soul, but rather the realization that he had hurt you, his beloved angel. The woman of his life.

Your face contorted with a caustic combination of pain, sorrow and anger. In truth, you didn’t want to hit him. You really didn’t. But he had been barking at you like a rabid dog, almost spitting at your face as he screamed. And then, he had the stupid idea of talking about your family while knowing what had happened to them. All brutally murdered in a matter of hours. Guided with rage, your blood had boiled, and your hand slapped him even before you truly realized it. “Don’t talk about my family like this anymore.” You hissed through gritted teeth, your cold voice seeping through him and turning his blood into liquid nitrogen.

“Heaven…” Arthur said, feeling himself breaking down at your hateful gaze. He quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully about the next words that were about to come from his mouth but you didn’t let him the time you speak. You had heard enough.

“Shut up. Seriously Arthur, just… Shut up.” Your eyes, who always looked at him with indescribable love and tenderness, were now filled with Hell’s fury and it tore his soul. All of sudden, he felt very small despite towering you with his height.

“You think I’m not suffering from John’s death? You have no idea how much he meant to me. Of course, he wasn’t my brother! Of course, his blood doesn’t run through my veins. But still, he mattered like no one else did, except you.” Each sentence had a bitter taste. Then, you turned away from him and walked to the smashed bottle to take one huge shard between your fragile fingers, “You wanna know how it makes me feel when you’re high? We’ll that’s easy.” Now you were determined to make him understand, no matter what it took. You showed him your forearm, “I’m not Linda, right? I didn’t put a leash around your neck because I trusted you. Now, I want you to look at me carefully. When you take drug, it’s as if I was doing this to myself.” Turning your words into deeds, you suddenly slashed your skin with the glass fragment in one quick motion. The sharp surface cut your skin just like butter, and it crimson blood quickly filled the gash, overflowing from it and dripping down your skin to your elbow under Arthur’s astounded eyes.

“No, angel!” Suddenly sobering up at the sight of of blood on your porcelain skin, he almost pounced on you and took the shard from your hand to threw it away, “The fook ye did eh?! Bloody hell…” Arthur tried to take you arm to examine the depth of your wound but you pushed him away with a stern “Don’t touch me”.

Don’t touch me. Surely, you didn’t mean it right?

You didn’t – Arthur’s heart ached.

“Now just imagine that all you can do is watch me cutting myself until, one day, I bleed to death. How fucking bad it would make you feel? How powerless?!”

“Gosh Heaven, you’re bleeding. Oh God!” Arthur started to panic, tears filling his eyes and shoulder jolting with dawning sob. His whole being ached at the sight of you wounded. It was stronger than him: he couldn’t bear the idea of your being hurt, even less when it was because of him. Whether he was the direct cause or not. “I’m sorry love. Fuck, I’m so sorry…” He begged, trying to approach you again but each step he made caused you to step back. Arthur’s hand slowly squeezed his own arm, for he could almost feel the pain of your cut on his own unwounded. Everything was starting to spin around him as he realized how stupid he had been, “Please, love…”

“Keep your apologies for yourself, Arthur. Let’s make things clear:  I’d rather burn at the stake than watch you slowly killing yourself with this shit.” You retorted, turning your heels and heading to the door not minding the fact you were not wearing shoes. It didn’t matter, you needed so fresh air and, more than anything, you needed to be away from Arthur for a little while. Meeting his eyes had become far too painful for you to bear anymore. You had almost reached the door when the gangster’s long and calloused fingers closed grabbed your hands to hold you back.

“No! Don’t leave me! Please, please I fookin’ beg ye but don’t… Just don’t leave me Heaven.” He kept repeating over and over again, the gravel in his voice rising from one octave under the weight of despair and utter fear. The way his menacing traits had turned into the facial expression of a panicking child was truly heart wrenching – But Arthur could not live without you, and it wasn’t a euphemism. Yet, you snatched your hand from his and, as you did, his very soul crumbled. As painful as it was to see him like this, you just couldn’t let this pass – he had to understand how serious you were about the whole drug issue, and how deep he had maimed your heart. You took a last look at him, shaking your head in disapproval, and stormed out of the house, letting the darkness of Watery Lane swallowing you whole.

At first, he had wanted to pin you against the wall and forced you to stay. His desperate mind, seeking for any way to keep you by his side, had even thought about threatening to kill himself with his gun right in front of you if you left, but he had been frozen by the disappointed look on your face. Petrified by your gaze, as a poor unfortunate traveler meeting Medusa’s deadly eyes. Following your departure, Arthur had screamed until his throat hurt and his voice broke. The drowning misery he was experiencing, far worst than suffocating in French tunnels, led him to destroy everything he could in the living room. Maddened by the thought of losing you, the flip in his brain switched and nothing made sense anymore. You had left him alone here, and his felt his mental health getting worse and worse as minutes passed, until he was completely out of his mind. He had done all he could to alleviate his guilt and sadness: from throwing in the fire all the cocaine he kept to hitting a furniture until his knuckles’ skin cracked open. God, he even threw his lanky frame at the wall several times in a frenzied attempt to knock himself up and get a break from the pain of your absence but nothing worked. He was now sitting on the rug, rocking himself back and forth in front of the dying fire. If if you didn’t want him anymore, all was left for him was to blow his damn brains with his gun for if you’d rather burn than witness his fall, he'd rather die than existing one sole second without your heavenly presence by his side. He could afford to lose Linda, John, hell even Tommy, but he couldn’t do it without you.

Arthur looked at his wedding ring, jaw clenched and heart in bits.

He had fucked up. And he had fucked up really bad.

As he always did.

✞ Readers are left to interpret/choose what the characters feel for the reader. By no means it wants to make Reader/Heaven a Mary Sue everyone loves. Nevertheless, fanfiction should remain fun for readers so that's why I leave most of the things open to interpretation.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @shelbydelrey @peakyswritings @helen06dreamer

[smoochkooks]

—chapter four: white lies

this is a part of my an ode to a broken heart drabble series.

pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

genre: unrequited love, best friends to (?), heavy angst, future smut

word count: 1.5k

summary: it came easy to you to lie. but with every untold truth, you were hurting more on the inside.

previous || next

one year and 6 months ago

April was exceptionally moody that year.  

Every day you woke up to either heavy rainfall or a beautiful, cloudless sky. Alternatively, it could also snow for a couple of hours just to have it all vanish once the sun reappeared. As much as you loved Spring, you hated the capricious weather with passion.  

It was a normal, peaceful, Saturday afternoon. Saturday meant no classes to attend, no work to do on the side. It was just you in your small, cozy apartment, tucked underneath the blanket and binge-watching Attack On Titan.  

You were never an anime enthusiast per se, but you happened to befriend a doe-eyed weeb all those years ago. Your current occupation was just a part of the aftermath. It wasn’t like Jungkook was obsessed, not at all. He was actually far from it. Now, at the tender age of twenty-three, his old hobby was like a relapse. His love for anime was coming in waves every once in a while, gradually transforming into a two-months-long hyperfixation and then, it was nothing. And the cicle continued.

He was currently in the stage of re-watching Attack On Titan, hence why you had been forced to finally give the damned anime a try as well. Hell, he was even coming over tonight to have a marathon with you.

(He’d said that season three, his favourite, you had to watch alongside him.)

You: eren's annoying little shit  

Jungkook: told you so

You: but levi? damn I’d sell my soul for him  

Jungkook: for a 5’2 emotionally unavailable man?  

You: yep. that’s my type

It was far from truth. As much as you liked Captain Levi, he wasn’t Jungkook. You are my type, you wanted to write instead. There hadn’t been a man in my life who managed to even come close to you. But, as always, you kept those confessions to yourself.  

Right when you were about to play another episode, your phone buzzed again.  

Jungkook: I have a weird question  

You: I’m used to that  

You: shoot your shot.  

Jungkook: what’s your finger size?  

Confused, you read his last message once again. That was indeed a weird fucking question to ask, you thought. You had never really been a fan of rings. You only owed one - a gift from your grandmother she gave you for your sixteenth birthday. Rummaging thorough your drawer, you found it in a separate, black case.  

It still fit just right, so you took a ruler, measured the size and googled the results.  

You: it’s 7.5 I guess

You: why do you ask tho?  

Jungkook: I need you to go somewhere with me before our marathon if that’s okay

You: you didn’t answer my question  

You: but okay. what time?

Jungkook: ill pick you up at 5pm  

Jungkook: you’ll see  

Maybe it was for the better he hadn’t told you where he was taking you. If you had know, you would have backed away last minute. Come up with so lame excuse, blame it all on a headache or period cramps.

If you had known Jungkook was taking you to pick up an engagement ring for Soojin, you would have never come with him.  

When you parked in front of one of the most high-ranking jewellery stores dowtown, the solemnity of the situation hit you like a whiplash. You took a deep, shuddering breath. Jungkook was thinking about marrying Soojin. Jungkook was going to propose to her, soon. He was ready to spent the rest of his life with her. 

Jeon Jungkook, the love of your life, was about to slip out of your reach for good. 

You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. You clenched your fists so tight the knuckles turned white.  

“I figured out you could help me,” Jungkook said, breaking the silence and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I checked Soojin's finger size once when she was showering and then I found out that your’s the same and well, you’re a girl so you obviously know more about jewellery than me and–”

“Jungkook,” you cut him off with a dry chuckle. You didn’t want him to speak. You didn’t want to see him. You wanted to jumped off his car and ran away from that place as far as possible. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it.”  

You smiled at him with reassurance. It was actually hilarious, how you mastered the art of feigning your real feelings when you were with him. It came easy to you to lie but with every untold truth, you were hurting more on the inside.  

“I’m here, so you don’t have to worry about chosing something horrible.”  

He grinned and you noticed a dust of pink covering the apples his cheeks. It was hard, so fucking hard seeing him happy because that was all you ever wanted and yet it pained you not to be the main source of it. Jungkook was twenty-three and already so in love he wanted to get married. You were going to see him in a black tux, a prince charming waiting in front of the altar for his princess.  

It ached. Why did it ache to see him happy?

The lady who worked at the jewellery store greeted you politely with a bow. “What can I do for you?” she asked.  

“We are looking for engagement rings.” Jungkook answered.

You could tell she was a bit astounded but her professional smile never faltered when she responded with, “Oh, that’s still quite unusual to see the couple chosing an engagement ring together.”  

You were about to protest but then, Jungkook did something you would never expect him to do.  

He grasped your hand.

(It was warm. His touch was soothing. Comforting. Then why did it hurt so bad?)  

“My girlfriend wants to chose the ring herself but she doesn’t know when she will get it.”  

To make matters worse, he sent you a wink. The store’s clerk cooed at the scene and clasped a hand over her chest. For her it was yet another day at work, yet another pair of adults who had decided to get marry.  

“You make a really beautiful couple.” she said. 

Even Jungkook’s hand squeezing yours couldn’t ease the sting you felt hearing her speak those words to you. You smiled lightly for good measure. She then pointed at the display and gave you some time and space too look at the options.

Your whole face felt hot. Jungkook was still holding your hand, still playing the role of a perfect boyfriend. He didn’t seem to notice what kind of effect it had on you. He didn’t know how fast your heart was beating, how warm his touch felt on your skin. It was all just a silly joke to him.

He leaned closer to you, so the store's clerk couldn’t hear him. His breath tickled your skin. “You’re blushing.” he whispered.  

“Shut up.”  

He chuckled and let go of your hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”  

(No matter how much it hurt you on the inside, you already missed his touch.)

“It’s okay. Let’s chose my damned ring, shall we?” you proposed, mustering a nonchalant tone.  

Dodging uneasiness with humor always worked out, it seemed.

You felt odd and out of place standing next to him and staring at all those glimmering jewels. In the corner of the eye you saw the lady who worked there glancing at you from time to time and that was when you remembered you were supposed to act like a soon-to-be fiancée. 

“They’re all pretty.” you said to Jungkook. 

“Which one you like the most then?”  

You didn’t have to think long about the answer. The ring with an emerald stone caught your eye from the beginning. It was different than the others, definitely not a standard choice for engagement but something about its peculiarity made you want it to have it shinning on your finger one day.  

Except, you weren’t here for yourself. Jungkook wasn’t your boyfriend. You were helping him chose a ring for Soojin. And you knew exactly what she would like.  

So you pointed at the number thirty-two. A sparkling, white-gold ring with an oval-shaped diamond.  

Jungkook let out a hum. “It’s really pretty, yeah. Excuse me,” he called. “My girlfriend would like to try out this one.”  

You ignored the phantom pain you felt as you put the ring on. You flexed your fingers and just for a moment, you pretended it wasn’t a farce your best friend came up with. The diamond shone brightly just like the glimmers of happiness in Jungkook's eyes. He didn’t have to worry about Soojin's answer. He knew it would be thousand times yes.

You were good at pretending. After all, you had been practicing the art of it almost your entire life.  

So you drove with Jungkook to your apartment and listened to him babbling about his newest project at work. You made snacks, sat in front of your TV and spent the next couple of hours watching Attack On Titan. You cursed him for spoiling you a few bits of the show and Jungkook, like the petty Virgo he was, reminded you how you accidentally revealed him Little Women's ending because you had read the book years before.

As you laughed and bickered with him, you still remembered about the crimson box tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket, but you didn’t allow yourself to break. Not yet.  

It was only when Jungkook fell asleep around 1am that you stepped into the shower and let the tears flow.  

And a week later, when the dreaded became real–

Jungkook: she said yes!!!

A white lie was told to avoid hurting someone’s feelings.

You: I’m so happy for you, Jungkook!  

After all, the best you could do was give up your happiness for the sake of his own.

[d6rkroom]

— ‘𝗻𝗼𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼.’

finn mcnamara x top!male reader. (wc; 1.7k)

#a/n: this took way longer than it should've, my apologies fer’ that! BUT THANK YOU ELIAN FOR GIVIN’ ME THE GENERAL IDEA FOR THIS, I HAD A TON OF FUN WRITIN’ IT! YER’ BIG BRAIN AS HELL!

warnings. forced breeding, dubcon, mentions of cheating, possessive behavior, degrading k., dumbification, brat taming, sex infront of a mirror, manhandling, belly bulge, cum inflation, implied mpreg.

it was expected, it was only a matter of time before his olden behavior caved in on him and he relapsed right back into those sickly habits from nothing more than a year prior.

finn mcnamara was a slut. a dirty, good for nothing cheater. you knew his loyalty was short lived— his drive for exploration and choas secured that lucid notion in your brain ever since the two of you had started your dating journey.

how naive were you to untrust your heart with him, so utterly idiotic.

there you were, fingers curled around the doorknob as you lay in wait for your boyfriend to take note of the new presence clouding the room. your face was sheathed in coats of not shock, nor distaste— just inflicted with an expressionless disappointment. whatever bit of rage that fogged your mind swiftly dissolved along with his sexual mate that accompanied your spot on the bed.

nonchalant as ever, he sent a sloppy smile your direction; probably as a result of whatever poor pounding he just received from the rather small looking guy who was just in your room. pathetic, he couldn't even wait a few hours for your attention so he tossed aside his pride and let his greedy hole get creamed by someone at least half your size.

“satisfied with yourself, whore?” a satirical snear contorted your lips. one he knew a little to well, one he could tell apart from your usual one. the one you would often flicker as the two of you conversed. he knew you loved him, as did he; yet, the outcome of pushing your buttons was one he couldn't shake the craving for.

“hah, as satisfied as ever— sweetheart.” his first mistake was underestimating your tolerance for his bullshit. the second was letting that sour chuckle rip past his throat.

he was already exposed, clothes abandoned along side his dignity. letting such a inexperienced and second option hook-up ruin his beautifully stretched hole was baffling to you. was he really that desperate to have his ass filled and feel full for the remainder of the evening? you already knew the answer to your own inquiry.

he sputtered out a few words that glazed past your ears and straight out the back of your head. you had no care to hear any other soft attempts to convey how what he committed was mistake or how his body was now yours for the night. you had tunnel-vision set on his spend, plump ass that was already wiggling in the air— contrast from his cheek, which was pressed into the matress.

you give a harsh smack on the milky flesh, making finn’s lower half jolt in retaliation; halting his train of thought and stopping his tongue mid monologue. his hands instinctively sink into the pillow beneath his neck. you shift your weight, prying his thighs apart and spreading his cheeks wide open; the perfect view. the head of your cock, flushed red and throbbing gives a few pokes at his pulsating rim which is already venting around nothing.

you give his hole a few, firm slaps from the length of your shaft. beckoning that bratty inclination from out from beneath him— you wanted to hear those lips bark out your name. persuading you to rock in and out of his useless body.

“you want that? my cock to just slip right inside you without need for an apology? without regard for what i just caught you doing in, our bed?”

you almost give in, but you're smarter than to let finn get what he so desperately wants, that easily. rubbing your palm into his hips, small pats connecting with the side of his abdomen insinuate he fetches the mirror from the corner of the bedroom. no words were required in the exchange, he knew his place— plain and simple. and he sure as hell knew what you silently commanded he do.

an exasperated groan grumbles from the depths of his chest, his tongue clicked in annoyance at the sudden expectation for him to remove himself from his lewd position. so stupid, he throws away your years of love to get fucked by some stranger and then complains as you whisk him away from the sheets. he had driven you to your witt's end.

“excuse you, cunt? did i just hear you protest, after cheating in my bed, in my house? don't forget who owns you.”

his blood ran cold and the hairs on the back of his neck sprung to life with an accompanying chill that relished up his spine. his shoulders visibly cringed at your tone as he wasted no time flipping over and hoisting the mirror slowly to the foot of the bed. with the reflective piece of glass now fitted nicely as it leaned against the bedframe— finn crawled atop the messy array of sheets.

“y/n look.. m’sorry don't-” he wasn't allowed to finish, at least not anymore he wasn't. you weren't going to let him disrespect your authority under your roof any longer.

without thinking your hand reaches to unbuckle your belt, fingers toying with the zipper and button respectively. tugging your pants and boxers down without caution— you carded a few free fingers into his messy, mop of hair. digging into and only making it a much more noticable mess than before as you yanked his face to meet yours.

you felt a guley glob of spit collect under your tongue, shooting the wad right between his eyes; saliva leaking down the bridge of his nose and bleeding onto his upperlip. you knew how he adorded being tossed around like trash, better yet, treated as such. he was getting off to this, his eyes pooling wide with lust everytime a vulgar insult leaped from behind your teeth.

he tries not to let his words slur as you play with his still, very tender asshole. breath hitching every step of the way as you spin him to face the direction of the mirror. his hole was still lubed and wet from his previous visitor, giving you very easy access with little push or resistance.

his eyes roll back, you keep your gaze attentive on his decoy on the other side of the glass. your fat cock streaching him out has his lips parting to release a squeal of appreciation, a lavish burn following close suit as you sink deeper inside of him. he's not regretting his choice to unturn his devotion towards you; not yet at least.

“getting off to this slut? look at yourself, i haven't even started to really fuck you yet. pathetic.”

finn’s eyes are trained on his reflection, the look of tragedy curling over his spit-slicked lips. he could feel how deep you were, reaching spots he didn't even know were there. he can also make out the veins on your cock dragging along his walls and you're right; he is getting off to this. it felt so good— he felt so good— it all was good.

you rut into his ass like a feral animal, grunting cocktailed with sour remarks to keep the tension rising. instinctively he clings onto the fabric beneath him for dear life, knuckles fading from bright red to a pale white. through the fog of pleasure clogging his mind, he can only keen out an audible ‘yes’ to all of the questions and words that jumbled from your mouth.

with your eyes fixated on the way his skin ripples and jiggles against your hips, the fat riding up onto yer’ waist with the brutal pace you keep. he attempts to protest with how close he feels himself getting, only to be cut off by one hard slam after another— cock drilling into his tight little hole with intentions to impregnate him.

concepts of his usualy flat tummy growing round and bloated as you fucked it full of your little swimmers now press into your mind. each seed racing to see which will be the one to knock up your boyfriend; rendering him yours forever. your vigor prevails, motivated by the sole image of your slut giving birth to one, maybe two of your genetic creations. your offspring.

finn wonders if the cheating scandal really has your stamina skyrocketing, that is until through the intoxication of your speed— he realizes. fuck, you don't have a condom. he can't get pregnant, as much as he'd want to settle down with you he has way to many jobs that would release him from employment if they found out he had a baby in his belly. you wouldn't do that to him, would you? you knew how near and dear traveling from place to place, job to job was to him. was this punishment?

“sweeti- ah! y/n c-condom!”

even with his tongue tripping over ever other word, you could decipher the clutter of gibberish all too well. he had figured out your plan to breed his tiny body.

“oh? that silly thing? i gotta make you my wife, remember? just a stupid little whore who can only work from home. nobody wants to fuck a pregnant bitch. maybe that'll teach you to keep it in your pants.”

“n-no— ah-! fuck..”

your words sent tingles over his scalp, squelching noises resonate through the air mingled with your bitter laughter. drool starts to seep from the corners of his mouth and tears begin to well up in his eyes as he watches his mirror double get impailed by the outline of your cock. he knows soon that a small child will fill the roll of your shaft, he can't do anything but try to resist as the idea of your warm, stick love flooding his womb only grows on him.

at this point, all finn is doing is whimpering on your cock, degrading making the pressure behind his thighs hotter and his ass tighter. that familiar knot twisting in his lower stomach begging to snap as you roll into his prostate with a hunger glistening in your eyes. you flip finn on his back and catch his bottom, wet lip between your teeth and tug with the push of your hips. eye contact is never broken as your hot load spurts long and sticky ropes through his ass and into his belly. so full, he's so positively full as he feels your genes enter his boy womb— effectively impregnating and painting his gummy walls with white fluid.

soon a bunch of mini you’s will roam the empty spaces in your home and you'll start the perfect family together. you had planned to make him your bitch for quite some time, but the cheating only sped up the inevitable. finn sobbed into the crook of your neck; protruding tummy poking at your abdomen as he loosely attached to you.

the whole ordeal would be burned into his brain and yours, the mirror serving his eyes a sick reminder that he was now tasked with carrying your kid. forever.

[asset35-maya]

Reed900 meet-cute: disciplinary action (3/3)

“Be yourself.”

“What?”

“Just be yourself now.”

Gavin and Nines exchanged incredulous looks. They were approaching the end of the disciplinary workshop. Wasn’t the whole point to not be themselves?

Simon smiled in his usual mild manner. By now they had learnt it could only mean trouble.

“I’ve read your files. Neither of you know how to mince words. Neither of you are gentle.

Your Homicide colleagues consistently complain about your hostility and lack of respect, Detective Reed. And you, Agent Nines. You have a history of being rough with everyone you encounter on the field. Even civilians.

I can see you’ve both been on your best behaviour the past three days. Not sure who you’re trying to impress...”

Simon glanced between them, still smiling sweetly.

“But you can be yourself now.”

He took a step back and waved at the group to begin the last activity:

Jenga.

Giant Jenga.

Pairs vs pairs, with one person blindfolded and the other giving instructions.

Gavin groaned as they found themselves facing Allen and Sixty. The two grinned back, well aware of their competitive advantage. Who could be better coordinated than two SWAT teammates turned lovers?

Definitely not Gavin and Nines.

After a twisted ankle and three fallen jenga towers, Gavin ripped off his blindfold and rounded on Nines. 

“Your directions suck.”

“My directions are fine. It’s not my fault you can’t comprehend them.”

“It’s literally your fault I’m picking the wrong blocks!”

“My communications modules are the most advanced-”

“Shut up and switch with me. I’ll give the instructions. I outrank you anyway.”

Nines took the blindfold coolly.

“I don’t need your instructions. My perception and cognition software is more than enough.”

He shoved past Gavin to get to the tower of blocks. Sixty was waiting for him, smirking.

Nines proceeded to ignore all of Gavin’s barked commands… and fared just as badly as the human had. When their opponents decided to indulge in a makeout session after a particularly spectacular collapse, Nines faced him angrily.

“Stop distracting me!”

“Not that advanced, huh? This is why you should listen to your superiors.”

“Superior? How insecure do you have to be to pull rank in the middle of a bar game?”

Easily inflamed as ever, Gavin barged up to the android.

“The fuck you say to me, plastic? INSECURE? I’ll show you insecure!”

Nines’ LED went bright red. He put his hands on Gavin’s chest and shoved the human out of his personal space.

A scuffle began.

A much needed adrenaline surge after three days of inane indoor activities.

An outlet.

An irrational sense of relief.

A heavy blow to a steel midsection. An uppercut that only narrowly missed a jaw that was broken twice before. A mechanical hand catching a calloused fist.

It ended with Gavin pinned to a wall. There was silence as the other cops stopped tinkering with their block towers. Allen sat down with a sigh and Sixty climbed into his lap to watch the fun.

“Whatcha gonna do, big guy? Snap my neck? They’ll have you shut down in no time.”

There was only a deep growl in response. Gavin struggled against the iron grip.

“That all you got? Try showing off with something you weren’t built with!”

Nines released him immediately and slackened against the wall beside him. He stared at his own hands in shock.

With the return of blood flow to his wrists, Gavin released that he had just put himself in very grave danger. For the second time in his stupid life, he had tried to fight a military grade android. His head suddenly felt sore where Connor had given him a concussion a year ago. It started to sink in that his volatility was a serious problem. He was a danger to himself. Feeling faint, Gavin leaned against the wall.

LED spinning a calm blue, Simon strolled over from where he had been mentoring another group.

“Oh good. That’s what I was waiting for.”

The two merely looked at the blond android, eyes unfocused, chests heaving.

“I honestly thought the SWAT lovebirds would be the pair to implode first, but no matter, this is still a teachable moment. Gather round, everyone.”

The others approached cautiously. The pair looked like they would relapse into violence any second.

“You must have all realised that my activities have little material value themselves. You must be wondering what any part of my workshop has to do with police discipline… Allow me to explain.

Day One served to profile each officer beyond the complaints made against them. I then matched pairs based on the closest personality dysfunctions. Day Two was used to build a working relationship within each pair, and Day Three, today, was the stress test. The intent… was definitely to give everyone a taste of their own medicine… but also to let you all see how exactly your toxic behaviours could have developed… using your partner as a mirror.

Detective Reed and Agent Nines. Let’s unpack what happened here. You’ve gotten to know each other fairly well by now. You recognise each other’s competence and drive. You’ve shared laughs at other people’s expense. You even empathise with each other’s seeming lack of emotional intelligence. I think you might even have taken a liking to each other, no?”

Gavin and Nines chanced a glance at each other. There was a mutual feeling of foolishness. Simon went on.

“You both were on your best behaviour… until you succumbed to your superiority complexes and quick tempers. The only thing different from what usually happens at work was the person on the receiving end. This time, it was someone who could take it… and maybe even someone who deserved it. Detective, it’s been long since someone gave back insults as good your own, no? And Agent Nines, isn’t this is the first time a human has even tried to resist your use of force?”

Sixty had stopped listening and was trying to move Allen’s attention back to himself. The older man had the audacity to shush the android in his lap… and then the second squabble of the day begun. Simon smiled indulgently and held up a finger.

“I’ll be with you two in a moment, gentlemen. Let me wrap things up for this pair.

My point to the both of you is… you might go around thinking you’re the big bad wolf, but there’s always another wolf just around the corner. He might even be bigger. So there’s no pride to be taken in putting down the sheep around you. It’s embarrassing, really. So stop it. My sincere hope is that you will both remember what happened here the next time an impulse to terrorise an innocent colleague arises.

But if you simply must be a wolf… I suggest that you find your pack, for a lone wolf is a danger to himself and everyone around.”

Simon turned away and reached for Sixty’s hand to interface. He then began to break down the reasons for the mutual over-dependence between the SWAT android and his captain.

Gavin and Nines remained slumped against the wall. Even the RK900 seemed exhausted after the emotional rollercoaster they’d been on… from irritation and anger, to shock and bewilderment. Several moments passed and then Gavin suddenly reached within his jacket pocket and produced his phone. He held it out sideways to Nines.

“What?”

“He said to form a pack.”

Nines hesitated, but then quickly touched a finger to the device. Gavin glanced down at the new contact. It was saved as “Alpha 9Z”.

He looked up with a half-smirk, half-snarl on his face and found the same expression mirrored on the android’s face.

[kevindayscrown]

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 11

Weight

[TW: Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Alcohol, Mentions of Violence, Riko Moriyama]

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Head over to the directory to find the previous parts.

The winter holidays were a nightmare.

Maybe Kevin had the tendency to exaggerate things. Though, who could really blame him?

The Foxes – before they all departed for their holiday destinations – were approaching Kevin in extremes. Either as if he was a wild, caged animal ready to snap at everyone, or as if messing with him was the highlight of their day.

“If you miss him so much, call him,” Nicky had said, ever so casually.

The thing was, that Kevin knew he had messed everything up. There was no chance he was going to call or text Eric after what had happened during the winter banquet.

Partially because he thought Eric wanted nothing to do with him.

Another part of him, of course, simply wanted to punish himself. He had something in his grasp, something other than Exy, and he let it go, just like that.

If no one would bat an eyelash at Andrew and Neil, or at Jean and Jeremy, maybe Kevin could for once, do something for himself.

Disgusting.

Even after his death, Riko’s ghost would not let Kevin be happy. It was all so much, that he hardly thought he had the spine to actually call and apologize to Eric on his own volition.

Coward.

Kevin just knew Christmas would not be pleasant. It should be; it was the first Christmas when he was really free.

It didn’t really feel like that.

He’d thought that perhaps going to Columbia with Andrew, Neil and Aaron would help him forget.

Alcohol would help.

Apparently, however, those plans were ruined too, when Wymack told Kevin it would be a good idea for them to spend Christmas together.

“Abby said it- it might be a good idea. We have a lot to talk about,” Wymack had said, the night before they were to leave for Columbia. “The Foxes will be gone. We will have some fucking peace and quiet.”

Kevin knew he couldn’t say no. He’d kept the truth from Wymack for so long.

Selfish.

Kevin had agreed. He didn’t wake up as Andrew and Neil left; Aaron apparently, had arranged to retreat somewhere with Katelyn.

The dorm room was empty. It was unusual. The quiet was unsettling. No matter how much Kevin wouldn’t admit it, the voices, the bodies moving to an everyday routine, helped him focus.

Thankfully, Wymack had arrived early to pick him up from the dorms. They wouldn’t do anything special; just spend the holidays at the Coach’s apartment.

The first days were calm. Due to the awkwardness however, no talking was done. Not the kind of talking Wymack had implied at first, at least. The two men simply coexisted. The quiet became deafening in Kevin’s ears. Nights were the worst.

His fingers itched to be wrapped around the neck of a bottle. He didn’t like the way his thoughts – intrusive, nasty things – would fill in the silence when he was sober.

Relapsing however, would be yet another sign of cowardice. Kevin hadn’t drunk in months. He hadn’t felt like he needed it. The high of their victory, the busy start of the semester, training the new recruits, had all distracted him from the aftermath of everything that had happened in the span of a year.

Facing an identity crisis was not exactly what he needed.

Not when he blinked and saw Riko’s face during the night. Heard Jean’s screaming.

Christmas Eve was when it all reached its peak.

Homosexuality is disgusting, Kevin. Aren’t you happy you have Thea? Oh, don’t think I’ve not seen you sneak out at night to meet her. That’s why you will always be number two. You are so vulnerable.

Riko’s knife felt way too real, even as Kevin’s eyes snapped open and he jolted up from the couch. The lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest were definitely real.

“Kevin?”

Kevin had not realized that he had been screaming until he saw Wymack standing there, until he tried to speak but his voice was too hoarse.

“I- I-,”

Vulnerable.

He hadn’t had a panic attack in months. Almost half a year. He was aware it was happening at that moment, but he was too numb from shock to do any of the exercises Bee had shown him.

From shock or from the shortness of breath.

“Breathe with me, Day.” He felt hands on his shoulders, holding onto him, managing to only keep him grounded. He tried to match the pace of Wymack’s breathing but his own breaths would come out short and sharp.

“He is dead, Kevin. He is fucking dead. He can’t touch you.”

Kevin knew that. Knew he could be whoever he wanted to be now; he’d almost achieved that. He’d gone from Number 2, to Queen of the Exy court. He was no longer in Riko’s shadow.

Then why was it so hard to let the fuck go?

Kevin half expected Wymack to hand him a bottle of alcohol, like he’d done so many times in the past. Kevin wanted it as Wymack stood up, apparently to do just that. He clenched his left hand, waiting to feel the reassuring weight of a bottle as it started going numb.

Of course, that’s when he had to remember about Eric.

Stop clenching your fist like that. It’s better to have something to hold onto.

We all have our own weights. The question is whether you’ll allow someone to help you carry them.

Kevin rushed to the duffel bag he’d brought with him. He searched inside, making a curious Wymack halt when he noticed Kevin’s weird behaviour.

He found the puck and gripped it in his hand, as he sat down on the cold floor and threw his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and, with something to fiddle, he finally had the chance to do the breathing exercises.

Breathe, one, two.

Hold, one, two.

Release, one, two.

It took Kevin at least ten repetitions to calm his pounding heart and rapid breathing. When he opened his eyes, Wymack was still there, alert and clearly unsure of what to do.

“Kevin?”

You can’t lie and pretend you didn’t feel anything.

It was because Kevin felt too much, that he became numb. But finally, as he sobbed, he let himself lean against his father and let it all out, allowing someone else to help carry the weight.

Wymack gripped his shoulder and held on for as long as Kevin needed it. He wasn’t exactly one to comfort people with soothing words, but he’d faced enough broken kids to know how to hold on.

It took Kevin until morning to finally calm down and fall asleep again. The bottle of vodka was left forgotten on the coffee table and neither of them touched it.

Christmas Day was a bundle of mixed feelings. Kevin felt lighter, having faced something like that and letting everything out. He wasn’t sure though how he felt about having trusted someone with this.

As days went by, he realized that carrying the weight, not only helped preserve that feeling of lightness, but also brought him a bit closer with his father.

It was only after New Year’s, three days prior to the start of the semester, that things had settled enough to help him make a decision.

The Foxes had come back, and Kevin greeted them with:

“Drive me to Atlanta.”

Nicky was ecstatic, though Kevin was mostly irritated by Allison’s smug grin as she turned on her heel and went to find the hockey team and get them to give her Eric’s address.

“Finally came to your senses?” Matt asked with a fond smile.

Kevin said nothing.

Next morning, as Kevin got in the car, he looked at Neil through the rearview mirror. Neil gave him only a nod as Andrew finally started the car.

Kevin was still filled with doubt.

But at the same time, he felt the same sense of certainty as when he had held a racquet on his left hand and strode to face Riko.

[naomana]

Hello, could I request "You don't have to hide your tears from me." for salie?

Full prompt list here

"You don't have to hide your tears from me." Sam/Paulie

Follow up on this and this story

TW: mention of drug missues and selfharm

Almost a year have passed. And it was difficult year. Sammy fell into addiction quickly, but getting out of it took a long time. He had Paulie by his side almost all the times, but when Paulie had to leave him alone, that was the time Sammy relapsed. And they both hated it, but couldn't do anything about it. Just pick up the pieces and start again.

Like falling of a bike. Brush of your knees, or prodded arms in Sammy's case, and get on the bike again.

The first time Paulie came back to Sammy in state of blissful nothingness, just laying on the bed looking like shit, he was upset. And maybe disappointed. But helped him up without a word and cared for him, because he was all he had left. Nothing was, and nothing ever will be, the same without Tommy.

It was like somebody turned off the lights. It was bearable during the day, all the noise and daylight. But nights. Awful. Couldn't see anything.

Paulie opened the door and caught a glimpse of Sammy walking towards the bedroom. Was he holding something? Paulie panicked, dropping everything he was holding, rushing after him.

"Sammy?!"

"Paulie? You're back early." Sammy was surprised to see him. He was squeezing something in his hands and Paulie forcefully made him open them. His eyes landed on little pocket watch Tommy gave him for his birthday. His shoulders dropped and he sighed in relief.

"Sorry. I thought.."

"What? That I'm about to snort something?"

Sammy squeezed the watch again and Paulie rubbed his upper arms, before pulling him for hug.

"I'm sorry. I know you're trying your best. I'm just too worried for you."

"I did think about it." Sammy admitted and buried his face into the embrace. He bit his bottom lip, holding his tears.

Paulie pulled away from him to see his face. He looked just like a year ago, hurt and broken. And he hated the fact there was little to nothing he could do about it. Just being there and keeping him in line. Ironic that Paulie, the good old party animal, was the more responsible one this time.

He noticed the tears gathering in his eyes and how Sammy tried to stop them from coming. He just caressed his cheek and kissed his forehead.

"You don't have to hide your tears from me Sammy. I'm not mad. You thought about it but didn't do it, right?"

Sammy stopped trying and let the tears roll down his cheeks. The closer to the anniversary of Tommy's death it was, the worse he felt. The more he wanted to use everything at once and just not feel or think anything.

Paulie was wiping off tear after tear, before he pressed his forehead against Sammy's.

"You're doing really good sweatheart. Tommy would be really proud of you, you know that?"

"He'd be disgusted.. disappointed." Corrected him Sammy through his sobbs and Paulie placed firm kiss on his lips, stopping him from talking any more nonsense.

"No. He would look at the good things, like he always did. He'd be happy for you trying."

"Am I dead already? Tommy's gone and you are being sensible, sober and right?" Sammy chuckled softly through his sobs, making the smile on Paulie's lips grow like a mushrooms after rain.

"That's my old Sammy. Picking on me just because.. Look we will get Tommy some nice flowers tomorrow and have a bottle or two with him."

"He'll be thrilled. Two guys, sitting on his grave with bouquet and booze." Sammy shook his head, little smile playing with his lips.

"Oh you know he will fucking love it." Paulie smooched him with giggle and went back to the door, picking up all the things he just dropped. Nothing was broken and he just carried on while Sammy was holding the pocket watch, looking at little picture of Tommy inside.

Maybe he'll see him again one day. And sure as hell he didn't want to tell him how fucking misserable he was after his death, even though he was. No, his sweet good Tom would love to know he was able to move on and carry on living. And so he was doing just that, just for him. And maybe Paulie. Because that idiot would surely jump of the closest bridge if Sammy was gone too.

[lunarkittens]

supernatural fanfic rec list

hiii :) 

GEN: 90% Sam-focused, no Character Death unless otherwise stated, mostly very angsty

Somewhere From Ashes by pixel_0 -  Dean has always measured time by Sam until the day comes that Sam changes that measurement. (Warnings: Character Death) Time travel fic!

Sammyverse! by shangrilada - The link is not to one work, but to a masterpost for all the works in this ‘verse! It’s a light AU, pretty close to canon but has works pre-series and post-Season 4 that are different (Sam more or less peacefully goes to Stanford, for instance). Sam has very severe asthma and him and Dean deal with this pretty well. Feels like a warm hug and also makes you want to cry in that hot soup when you’re sick kind of way. Depends on which specific work you’re reading! Absolutely delightful.

Culpability by fascra -  Sam knew his mother was killed by something evil, but he hadn't known it was his fault. Pre-series!

Some Peace of Mind by authoressnebula - Sam falls ill after a hunt in a marsh. Sick enough that Dean decides serious downtime is needed, not just two days rest in a motel room.And if he gets the chance to keep his little brother and kid in sight and taken care of, after Gordon, after Dad's secret, well. He could use some rest, too. (This author has like over 80 fics, all Gen AFAIK, would recommend!)

Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees by Lise -  Hunting wears you down. John gives the ultimatum. Sam makes a different choice. (Warning: Suicide TW for the entire verse)

Everything Dies, Given Time by Lise -  AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional. (Warning: Temporary Character Death)

Devil’s in the House by glorious_spoon -  In which Sam hustles pool to pay for his textbooks, and an unexpected opponent turns up. Pre-series, outside POV.

Lost Highway by killabeez -  This time, he's going to get it right. (Time Travel fic)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile - Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't. (Warning: Suicide TW.) Pre-series

Unthinkable by Glass Shoe -  After a week of riding shotgun inside his own body, Sam needs to know that he’s the one at the wheel. This story takes place following the episode Born Under a Bad Sign. (Warning: Suicide TW)

Voice for a Soul by authoressjean - Sam manages to break Dean's deal and save him from Hell...at a cost. With no voice, he doesn't know if he can hunt anymore, but he gave his voice up for his brother and he'd do it again. No matter what that means for him. Fortunately, he's not the only one willing to do whatever it takes to stay by his brother's side.

The Day’s Running Down (Like a Tired Clock) by The_Bookkeeper -  “What was that play that you did? That – what was it, uh, Our Town. Yeah, you were good; it was cute.” The Our Town fic! (Remember in Shadow when Dean commented on Sam’s theatre nerd past? This is about that) (I rec some of this author’s other fics too!)

All Work and No Play by ScrollingKingfisher - Jack might be only four and a half days old but he already knows a lot of useful things, like the way nougat sticks in your teeth, and what it feels like to be stabbed, and the way Sam’s forehead scrunches up when he’s trying to solve a problem.Sam tries to teach Jack how to lift a pencil. They both end up learning.

two basic motivating forces by sahwen - He can’t cry, it’s not allowed; even as a child he was hushed into silence, whether his tears were from a long car ride or a late night or a raging fever. It’s never been an option, it’s never been an available outlet, and it’s not about to start being one just because he’s having an emotional breakdown on the bathroom floor.Sam isn't only afraid of clowns. (Sick!fic/Warning: EMETOPHOBIA) (I personally like a lot of this author’s works)

bleed confusion by sahwen -  Sometimes Sam's visions really screw him up. And sometimes Dean has to pretend to know what to do. (Warning: EMETOPHOBIA)

We As Human by inkandpaperqwerty - Sam has been struggling with depression since Stanford. Well, not really struggling. Excelling. He's been excelling at depression since Stanford, and it's only gotten worse since he started hunting again. Unfortunately, the relapses from John's death and Dean's trip to Hell were bad, but they had nothing on the downward spiral triggered by Sam starting the Apocalypse.But Sam has never come clean before, and he isn't about to start. He's self-medicating, he's suppressing, and he's handling things in the Trademark Winchester Way. He can do this. He can totally do this. Spoiler: No, he can't. (Warnings: Self Harm/Suicide)

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper -  Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already. (A voicemail fix-it!)

Time Out by ratherastory -  Sam kind of maybe has a little meltdown after the events of "Simon Said," courtesy of an ill-timed migraine. Dean helps, because that's what big brothers are for.

Days and Counting by ratherastory -  What with Dean going with Dad on more hunts and Sam having to keep their absence and their work a secret, Sam's getting more lonely and disconnected. Pre-series

One Saved Message by ratherastory -  After a hunting accident puts Sam out of commission for a couple of days, Dean decides to surprise his brother with a new phone, since his old one is toast. Even better is when he finds that he’s been able to save all of Sam’s old information and restore it to his cell. That’s when he discovers an old voicemail that Sam has kept saved for the last two and a half years

Last Resort by Rirren -  Dean keeps dying and Sam can't change that. But Sam's last resort might just be the last thing he ever does. (Warning: Suicide TW) Tag to Mystery Spot.

[morganaspendragonss]

holly, for sad angst prompts: “ do you know how hard it was to let you go? ”

tarlos, maybe one of them has to rush into danger? >.>

crack and crumble, it's all too much

so...not exactly what you asked for. i hope you like it anyway my love 💚

@911lonestarangstweek day 3 - j is for...jump

thanks to @noxsoulmate for the beta

title from humpty by mitski

ao3 | 2k | suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, canon divergence, hurt tk, worried carlos, hopeful ending

TK used to be afraid of heights.

No, not heights.

Falling.

As a kid, he was terrified of falling, even if it was only off the playground equipment in the local park. He’d have no problem climbing up; the issue came when he got to the top, when he would freeze up as he stared down the two metre drop to the sawdust ground. The other kids would get annoyed, pushing at him until he almost, almost, fell—but then, at the last second, when TK was tilting on the edge, his dad would be there to catch him, lifting him up before he ever had a chance to fall.

His dad was always there, never failing to scoop him up in his arms, never failing to save him.

Until he did.

And, oh, how TK fell.

He learned to love the rush of it, that swooping sensation in his stomach as he took just enough pills to push him off the edge into oblivion. It was...beautiful.

TK didn’t know what he was ever afraid of.

And then, he fell too far. And he learned.

Heights haven’t bothered him for years now—no more than the healthy amount, anyway. He’s even managed to find some kind of pleasure in them, in the feeling of his feet leaving solid ground, always with the knowledge that he’ll touch down safely soon enough.

The team call him crazy for enjoying it, but TK has so little happiness in life these days. He’ll take whatever he can get, artificial and temporary though it may be.

He wishes he was feeling something now. He’d give anything to not be feeling the overwhelming empty that’s slowly been consuming him for months—even fear would do at this point.

But he’s staring down a drop that will kill him if he lets it, and he feels nothing.

Idly, he wonders what brought him here. Nothing had happened tonight—or, nothing out of the ordinary—but, somehow, he’d known. Known that it was time; that tonight was the night.

That, if he didn’t do it now, he never would, and he can’t just keep existing like this.

So.

A rooftop. An unknown fall. And a choice.

Fight or flight; stay or go. Legs swinging over the ledge, TK’s hands tighten on the edge of the roof, and he doesn’t know if it’s to push himself over or hold himself back.

(and, does it even count as jumping if he just...lets it happen? if he just leans a little too far forward and lets gravity do the rest? tk thinks it probably shouldn’t, but that’s what they'll call it anyway when they find his broken body splayed on the concrete below.

he jumped, they’ll say, which is wrong because that implies that tk was an active participant in all of this. really, he’s just too tired to try anymore, and if his body is going to slip off the edge of a building, then who’s tk to stop it?

but it’s semantics, nothing more. it’s not like he’s going to be around to correct them anyway, and maybe it’s better for them to think he chose this. that he wanted this, instead of just not wanting to exist. maybe)

Either way, he’s a coward. The only difference is that, if he jumps, he’ll be a dead one and everyone will know it; if he stays, he’ll be a living one, and holding the shame of it all inside him.

He already knows which idea he prefers.

TK has lived with his own cowardice for too long already—ever since he got shot, it’s been festering in him, growing and twisting with each passing day.

It’s jumping every time a car backfires or a damn plate shatters.

It’s telling Carlos that, if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll never contact TK again.

It’s putting on his firefighter’s uniform day after day after day, despite how ill it now seems to fit.

TK hasn’t been brave a day in his life, and he knows that it’s time to put an end to it.

His hands, still resting on the edge of the roof, press into the brick a little harder, and his body inches forward. He’s barely holding on now; shifting so his grip, latched onto the roof side of the ledge, is the only thing keeping him up here.

And— There it is.

The swooping in his gut that used to scare him, and now thrills him.

TK closes his eyes, taking a moment to bask in it. After all, it’s going to be the last thing he ever feels.

Except he takes too long.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him is lit up with flashing blue and red, and when TK opens his eyes, he can just about make out the numbers 126 on the responding fire engine. It makes him recoil, sliding back to relative safety on the ledge as panic flares up in his chest.

Nonononononononononono—

It’s not supposed to be like this.

They’re not—fuck.

And TK really must be a coward, because the knowledge that his family is waiting at the bottom for him to come down—whether that’s by the fast way or the slow one—brings all his forgotten fears roaring back.

Do they even know? Do they know it’s him who’s sitting on the edge of life and death? TK can’t figure out which one would be worse—not knowing and finding out when his body breaks in front of them, or knowing and watching him fall anyway.

Working it out is a lost cause, he figures. Maybe they’re equally as bad, but he shouldn’t care. He can’t, if he’s going to do this, and he was so sure that he was, but that was before the 126 showed up, before—

“TK?”

The universe must have it out for him, because TK knows that voice. He doesn’t turn, just sighs and slumps dejectedly, wearily replying, “Hey Carlos.”

“Hey,” Carlos says after a beat, voice quiet like he’s talking to a spooked animal. There’s a scared waver to it that betrays his mask of professionalism, and TK almost can’t handle the guilt it brings. “We’re pretty high up, huh?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act all nice and innocent. You know why I’m here.”

“Actually, I don’t.” There’s no hint of accusation in Carlos’s voice, but he has dropped the soothing tone, which is something. “Maybe you could fill me in? I promise I won’t say anything—I’m just here to listen.”

TK knows what this is, too. It’s not that he’s been here before, exactly, but he’s been in similar enough positions to recognise the talk for what it is. But… The thing is, he kind of doesn’t care. He wants to talk; for some reason, he wants to tell Carlos everything that’s been piling up and up for months, and has now led him to this roof.

“I’m not moving,” he says first, in case Carlos gets any ideas about what this means.

“That’s okay.”

It’s not, but TK doesn’t bother calling him out. He drums his fingers on the ledge, staring vacantly at the drop, keeping his silence for a few minutes. It surprises him when Carlos keeps his promise, and the quiet is almost peaceful now.

“Remember I told you about my relapse? It was—It wasn’t just a relapse. I overdosed after I proposed to my boyfriend and instead found out that he was cheating on me,” he says eventually. “I should have died that night, but my dad saved me and made me move down here with him. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t fight him; I was too tired to care. It was like I told you—everything was grey and I just… I guess it never got better.

“I mean, there were moments, sure. But then I got shot and everything just fell off the rails for me. I’ve been going through the motions for months now and it’s not getting better and I’m sick of trying. It’ll be better for everyone if I’m gone, including you and including me.”

“Why’s that?” Carlos asks, the question almost startling TK.

“For me?” he starts, huffing a breathy laugh. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I barely want to get out of bed, so this is a definite improvement. My dad won’t have to keep cleaning up my messes, the team won’t have to deal with—with me. Everyone will be better off.”

“What about me?”

TK stiffens, almost turning this time. “What are you talking about?”

“I won’t be better off without you,” Carlos says, ignoring TK’s answering scoff. “I’m serious. I… After the solar storm, do you know how hard it was to let you go? It killed me, but I did it because I thought that was what you needed.

“I don’t know if you thought you needed it too, or if it was just you trying to push me away, but that doesn’t matter now, alright? There are people who love you, TK, and we all just want to help you.” He pauses and TK hears him sigh shakily. “Letting you go was damn near impossible for me the first time, but none of us want to try doing it for good. You’re wrong about us, okay? You dad, the team...me—we won’t be better off without you.”

TK squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as tears spring up in his eyes. Guilt twists uncomfortably in his gut and his head is a mess, his mind at war to work out what he wants.

“You’ve probably seen that the 126 are here,” Carlos continues. “Your dad and a couple of the team are waiting on the stairs to get you down, and if you come back with us, we’ll do whatever it takes to get you help, in whatever way you need. Please, TK. Come down.”

TK shudders, squeezing the roof again as his body wracks with sobs. He feels sick when he considers the drop, considers the fall, and it’s like his fear, newly revived, is now anchoring him to the roof. He knows what will happen if he lets himself fall, and he doesn’t want to die like this.

Not now. Not yet.

Slowly, he nods, and Carlos must understand as TK hears him talk quietly into his radio. The next few minutes are a blur, tears slipping freely down his cheeks as more people—his family—join him and Carlos on the roof.

“TK,” his dad’s voice says, steady despite everything, “I’m going to come to you now with the rescue harness, alright? Don’t worry, it’s just me, I swear.”

He hears one set of feet slowly come across towards him, and then feels the presence of a body at his back as his dad kneels behind and to the side of him.

“Hang in there,” he says softly. “I’m just going to slip the rescue harness around you.”

A wave of nausea washes over TK at the thought of being touched, and he shakes his head. “No, please, don’t.”

“I have to, TK,” his dad says. “I’ll be careful and it’ll just be for a second, then you’ll be safe. I’ve got you, son.”

TK swallows once, twice. He learned a long time ago not to trust those words, especially not when they came from his dad, but this time—this time—he wants so badly to believe. He takes a few deep breaths, then nods, squeezing his eyes shut as the harness is secured around his body.

“Good, that’s good. Now we’re just gonna scooch back a little ways and we’ll be home free.”

TK closes his eyes as they inch their way further onto solid ground, keeping going until they must be at least five feet from the edge and his dad pulls him into a crushing hug.

“We’ve got you, kid,” he’s whispering in TK’s ear. “We’ve got you.”

TK blinks through blurred vision, gaze going from his dad’s worried face, to Paul and Marjan standing a few feet away, and then to Carlos, a small, sad smile on his lips as he looks down at him.

And, just this once, TK decides to believe.

[bunnyywritings]

a good night’s sleep

katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

prompt #1- “I just love you so much...” & prompt #8- “You’re the greatest thing to ever happen to me...”

requested by @swankiifiied - can i get 1 & 8 from the fluff prompt list with bakugo please? 🥺

[a/n: I really loved writing this, thank you for the request sweetheart! I made it a little angsty but I promise it’s a fluffy ending, enjoy! -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

It wasn’t something that usually happened but as time went on, Bakugou’s ptsd and anxiety got progressively worse. He was pretty good at hiding it since everyone was so used to his sudden outbursts, no one had really noticed that they were happening more frequently. He hid it so well that not even you knew. That was until he had an outburst at your guys’ home room teacher. That had left everybody stunned. 

No matter how rude he was, he still had some semblance of respect for the teachers and other faculty on campus. After that though, he was sent back to the dorms and he had missed the second half of the day.

“Hey don’t you think Bakugou’s been acting a little, I don’t know...strange?” You asked as you sat with Denki and Shinso during lunch. 

“What do you mean? Isn’t he always like that?” Shinso quirked an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Hmm no, I think (y/n)’s right, he’s usually a handful but not like this.” The blonde took a sip of his drink, “Come to think of it, Kiri said he hasn’t been sleeping well at  night. He said he could hear how much he was tossing and turning or something. Maybe he’s just grumpy.” 

You frowned before your eyes were wide open as everything clicked for you. 

He was jumpier than usual, he snapped easier than before, not sleeping well, and he was distancing himself from you and everyone else. He was struggling. Terribly. 

Your heart ached through the last half of school, so much so that you rushed off of campus to get to the dorms. Almost tripping over your own feet as you kicked off your shoes. Stopping at your room and haphazardly tossing your bag to the floor and heading over to your boyfriend’s room. You knocked twice before slowly opening the door. “Katsu?” You called softly, eyes falling onto his figure that was slumped over his desk. Textbooks and a notebook or two sprawled over it. You frowned when he didn’t even acknowledge you. 

“Katsuki?” You called a little louder, thinking that maybe he was wearing earphones. 

“The hell do you want?” He growled as he turned to look at you, scowl ever so present on his face. 

“I- uh I just wanted to check in on you. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, now leave me alone. I’m trying to do work.” Your own frowned deepend as he turned his back to you. You noticed his textbook was open to the chapter from the lesson he missed. 

“I could help you, since you missed the-”

“I SAID TO LEAVE! Are you that dense (y/n)?!” He had turned to you once more. His glare made a shiver run down your spine. 

“I just wanted to-” 

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN!  GET OUT, YOU’RE ANNOYING ME!” Your eyes widened as his palms popped in warning. You knew he’d never use his quirk against you to cause you any harm but the gesture frightened the daylights out of you. Your eyes watering as fear filled your chest. His eyes softened the slightest when he saw that he scared you but it was too late to take it back. “What?! Are you deaf too?!” His heart broke as he saw you jump and run back into the hall. He got up, gripping the door and slamming it so hard that the wood splintered. 

Everyone heard the shout and the door slam, all frozen in their spots as you appeared in the common room with tears running down your cheeks and a protective hand over your heart. Iida and Izuku quickly moved to see if you were okay. 

After reassuring everyone that you were fine, you went up to your own room and not coming out till dinner. You thought that maybe Bakugou would've calmed down and want to join everyone for dinner but you’d be wrong. He was nowhere to be seen. 

“He hasn’t come out of his room once, just in case you were wondering.” Mina sighed as she sat across from you, a sympathetic smile on her lips. “Kiri already tried luring him out.” Said redhead sat beside you and patted your shoulder. 

As you all ate, you listened to everyone talk but your mind was still preoccupied with Bakugou. 

Did he not trust you enough with his problems? How long has he been struggling? Did he think you just didn’t care because you hadn’t realized it sooner? 

Once dinner had ended, you made a plate and took it up to his room. You stood in front of the door, contemplating on whether to leave it at the door or risk angering him by going in once more...a sudden wave of determination washes over you before you knock and open the door. You expected to be thrown out or yelled at once more but you were met with a crying boyfriend, curled up on his bed. He was frozen in his place as bloodshot and puffy eyes looked up at you. Your heart shattered at the sight of his tear stained cheeks. You closed the door behind you and put the plate down onto his desk. 

“Katsuki please tell me what’s going on.” He sat up as you approached, his knees brushing against yours as you stood in front of him. “ I can’t stand to-oof!” You were cut off by him wrapping his arms around your middle and burying his face into your stomach. His shoulders shaking as sobs wracked his body once more. 

This wasn’t the outcome you were expecting when you walked in. 

Holding in the tears that pricked your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and gently ran your fingers through his hair, fingers scratching his scalp every so often. 

“Baby please, tell me what’s going on.” You pleaded softly, feeling the way he clutched onto you even tighter. 

“I-I can’t believe I did that to you...I-” He choked back a sob, nuzzling further into your stomach. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I know you’d never hurt me like that.” 

“No! (Y/n), you don’t understand…” Your hands moved to cup his cheeks and tilt his head up so he was looking up at you. His ruby eyes looked so broken as they peered into your own eyes. “You’re the greatest thing that’s happened to me and I did that to you, I made you scared, I-I threatened you!” He was shouting but his throat was so sore that it came out as a squeaky whisper. “You’ve been with me since our first year, you stuck around when people told you I was a lost cause. Why?” 

You couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears rolled freely down your cheeks as you climbed onto his lap and properly wrapped your arms around him. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you leaned back to see his face. A small smile coming to your lips as you felt his hands supporting your lower back. 

“I, well... I just love you so much. I love you so damn much Katsuki Bakugou. Sure you have your faults but so do I. You’ve grown so much since our first year and I’m so proud of you. These little relapses and setbacks are normal and absolutely nothing to be ashamed about.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” He chuckled breathlessly. 

“I am a pretty good catch huh?” 

“Don’t make me regret it idiot.” He spoke softly. 

“Now what’s this about you not getting enough sleep?” His eyes widened in shock before he frowned. 

“Did that spiky haired bastard tell you that?” 

“No..well it was Kaminari, he heard from Kiri and told me.” You smiled sadly as your thumb smoothed over the darkened skin of the bags under his eyes. “You're usually already getting ready for bed right now and I’d watch you brush your teeth and call you an old man.” There was 5 minutes till 9pm. 

“I-yeah, I’ve just been having trouble sleeping.” He avoided looking into your eyes, clearly embarrassed about admitting his struggle. 

“Do you want me to stay the night?” You didn’t want to force him to tell you anything if he wasn’t ready.

“Yes...please.” 

So the both of you got ready for bed. You were laid back on his bed when he shut off the lights. He watched as you got comfortable and opened your arms for him. The moonlight making your eyes shine brilliantly, his heart fluttering in his chest at the thought of falling asleep in your arms. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

Grumbling about being the little spoon, he plopped down onto you, chuckling at the grunt that left your throat. He wrapped his arms around your waist as he settled in between your legs and snuggled into your chest. You slipped your hands under his shirt and lightly scratched his back, littering his face with kisses before relaxing into the pillows and closing your eyes. 

“I love you…” he muttered, pressing a kiss against the base of your neck.

“I love you too Katsuki, now go to sleep.” 

That was the best night’s sleep that Bakugou had gotten in a long time. 

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @yuiji-yuiji @ohbois-biggay-bnha