#it’s a boulder weighing on my back

[hotfunyunsz]

How do I completely obliterate my need for love because I can’t go on like this.

[tojikai]

Permanent Mark⁺ : FORLORN

Grateful to @mikeyslvrr for commissioning and for the support~♡

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Permanent Mark Masterlist

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, death, mentions of pregnancy, implied suicide

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this alternate storyline imagines what could have happened if Y/N had faced a different fate.

He's merely a ghost, beseeching to be haunted by your echoes.

I’ll make things right. I shouldn’t be too late, right? My Y/N and I will be fine. The moment she wakes up, I will apologize. I’ll tell her I messed things up. That I made the wrong decision. That I’m coming home with her. That I’ll never leave again. 

We’re gonna make it. 

We’re gonna make it. 

We’re gonna make it. 

“She didn’t make it.” 

Satoru’s steps halted. The world halted. He's been pacing back and forth in the hospital corridor. Despite the chaos of the people coming in and out of the hospital, the voices bouncing on the white walls, and the cries of families who want nothing but to go home with their loved ones, the ticking of Satoru’s wristwatch is still the loudest. 

It felt like every second added another boulder on his shoulder, making it harder to drag his feet on the tiled walls. Rie looked like she’d been awake all night when they’d only been here for a couple of minutes. Satoru could almost feel the blood behind his eyes, his nerves waiting to burst and he would be covered in it. 

Covered in blood, drenched in guilt, weighed down by regrets.

The doctor’s words reverberated inside his head. The roof of his mouth felt strangely hot as he heard cries behind him. Then, he was tackled to the ground. He didn’t even try to fight back, he just welcomed each blow that his best friend threw on his face, growling “You fucking bastard,” He could hear Rie screaming and his vision blurring as he struggled to stand up, “Y/N, let me see my Y/N.” It was an incoherent murmur as he tried to get to her door.

He was a bit dizzy from the blow and his knees were too weak to fight back. He felt like a bird with tied wings as two people restrained him from going to the room. Satoru could tell that his nose was bleeding but this is nothing compared to losing you. 

The irreversibility of his mistakes is now staring him right in the face and he has no choice but to stare back.

He can hear Suguru cursing him out while his tears bring forth realizations: Your parents were inside, after a long time of absence and months of separation from you, this is the first time that they’re seeing you again, not even breathing. The last thing you’d remember of them was how they never cared, neglecting you until you lost colors.

And Satoru… the last thing you'll remember of him will be his anger, his hatred, and the pain he caused you by turning your years of love into dust. The last thing you'll remember of him will be how he put someone else above you, even though he was the summit of your world.

The last thing you’ll remember is being unloved. By your family. By the man you love. 

Satoru tried to claw his way past the arms that were holding him back, begging for just a glimpse. He cannot believe that it’s true unless he sees you. But even if he does…his brain and his heart wouldn’t allow him to believe it too. The next thing made everything impossible for him as he lost strength in all of his limbs and eventually blacked out.

“Y/N.” He called out one last time before closing his eyes. 

—---------------------------------

Earlier

You can hear your sobs, and your heartbeats are like loud knocks in your ears. You sped up, vision spinning but this is nothing compared to the throbbing pain in your chest. You want to go as fast as you can, believing that maybe then your wheels would burn and dry all the tears that are running down your face. Everything around you was softened by the pools in your eyes.

Even the setting sun looked like a watercolor painting before you, the second brightest thing in your world.

You bit your lip to control your sadness from spilling out. You want to block out the words he said to you, you want to forget how he looked at you there. How those eyes you still love so much now look at you with such reproach, almost disdainful. Even at that moment, they still look so vibrant, enough to color a town. You let out a strained gasp, grasping your shirt as you come to a realization:

You will be stuck in this monochrome box as he paints someone else’s home. 

Before you knew it, the sun had disappeared and there was only darkness in front of you. You blinked away your tears but it didn’t work. Where am I driving? You asked yourself but it was too late to hit the brakes. For a very short moment—a split second even—your flesh trembled before you heard a loud crash. 

And then there was nothing. The sun was eaten up by that darkness in front of you and engulfed you along with it. Your body doesn’t feel like it belongs to you. You hear voices but the sound is distorted when they reach your ears. You couldn’t move. Slowly, you felt like you were sinking to the ground. The noises were getting faint and you could barely feel your heartbeat in your chest.

You slipped in and out of your consciousness, each time more chaotic than the last. There was the sound of the siren and a white dancing light pointing directly into your eyes. You can barely feel the air entering your lungs. Am I dying? You wanted to ask but your body was too numb. 

If you are, this is going to be your second death today. 

—---------------------------------

“Just let me be with her for a bit, Ma'am. Please,” Satoru didn't stop the tears from coming as he begged your mother. He knows he doesn't deserve it; he doesn't deserve to mourn you but there's nothing he wouldn't do. After everything that happened at the party, it all felt like a nightmare to him; something so unreal that up until now he still refuses to believe it.

His mother was with him during the burial, as he begged on his knees for a last moment. But your parents weren’t as soft as you. Even as he looked into your kind father’s eyes, he couldn’t find an ounce of pity. Why would he feel sorry for the man who tore his daughter apart? Out of all the hurtful things your mother has said, your father’s last words to Satoru are the ones that scarred him the deepest. It will haunt his ghost til its next life:

“I hope your guilt doesn’t consume you as completely as my daughter’s love for you did to her.”

Finding out about your pregnancy was another knife, twisting in his chest. The fact that you never found out was another bullet to his heart. So, you weren’t the only one he abandoned that day. Your heart wasn’t the only one he broke. It wasn’t just your own sadness you were carrying inside you but the unborn future’s lamentation too. 

Til the very end, the people looked at him as nothing but a man with clean hands and a blood-stained shirt. “Come to think of it, even in her last moments she saved you.” Suguru spat at his face when they ran into each other during the funeral. The main reason for the accident was your alcohol intoxication. But Suguru knows too damn well why it all happened.

The only one that wept with him was the sky. The thunders screamed the same accusations at him. The people will see his cries as tears of guilt but no one will understand how his heart died with you in that hospital bed. No one will know how the things he did will forever sleep with him under his pillows, hammering words into his head.

Rie is a strong woman, watching him on his knees, bawling his eyes out as he screamed his love for you to nothingness. She’s a tough woman, entering his room only to hear him label his relationship with her as a mistake, wailing for a do-over. She’s a brave woman who holds him in her arms, whispering her love for him only to be answered with murmurs of I’m sorry’s.

Rie is strong, but a month is too long to stay with someone who will forever yearn for another.

She was hoping for him to stop her, maybe just ask her to give him time, it wouldn’t have mattered how long but he never did. “I’m sorry.” He said, nodding as he traced the mouth of his cup. “Will you be fine?” She asked, first, out of concern and second, to allow a bit of time in hopes that he’d change his mind.

“No, but it’s alright.” He spoke, eyes void of emotion. They almost looked more grey rather than blue now. “Whatever that has happened is on me. I shouldn't have even let it happen.” She knows that he’s not just referring to the accident. His blunt confession of how his relationship with her was a mistake sends a chill down her spine and an ache in her entire being.

How could he so openly tell her that he regrets being with her? 

She guessed it was a small price to pay for taking part in breaking someone’s heart. And the larger bill was outside, lurking as she was faced with whispers in every company she tried working on, the continuous ringing of the numbers she called, and the neverending hours of one-sided conversations with her friends.

The rust of guilt will eat away at her bones as she tries to crawl back to where she came from.

Shoko was never the one to hold grudges. But for the longest time, she couldn’t talk to Satoru. She’d find herself spending most of her free time with you, even if she never got answers. Then she’d leave again like she always did before. If she regrets something, it’d be not being to be with you as much as she should be as a friend. Her job doesn’t allow for much time for rest.

Just like how it doesn’t allow enough time for mourning. 

“You need to start continuing your life. You’re just insulting Y/N being like that now.” She looked away as she lit a cigarette. She called Satoru over to her clinic today, worried about how his mother called her crying when he wouldn’t answer his phone. It’s almost been a year since your passing and she could barely recognize him. 

“Do you know where Suguru is?” He asked, voice hoarse as he licked his cracked lips. Shoko was grateful that his mother chose to take over his business. It’ll only fall down with him like this. He was breathing but barely alive. “Do not try to talk to him.” That’s the only thing she said, but Satoru already understands.

Suguru didn’t want to blame his friend when he was obviously devastated too. But hearing the doctor’s words that day, the first thing he thought of was that if Satoru hadn’t provoked it, you wouldn’t have left and driven drunk. He’d sound selfish if he said he was the most crushed of them all but how else does he cope with a loss of a love that never began?

The last time he’s been to your grave was on the burial day. He never went back again. He thought that maybe if he didn’t see it as much, his mind wouldn’t think of it like that. Maybe his mind wouldn’t remember your death. Maybe he can fool himself into thinking you’re just somewhere far away, working at your mother’s company.

“You don’t get to feel sad. You don’t get to feel sad as much as I do. Not when you already killed her before she even died in that accident.” He pulled at his friend's collar as tears streamed down their faces. “You don’t get to feel sad after what you’ve done, Satoru.” Suguru fears that even after years, he’d still feel resentment for his friend.

“If you weren’t planning on treating her well, you should’ve just let me love her instead, Satoru.” He let his shirt go along with the emotions he was hiding. “If you weren’t planning on keeping her, you should’ve just left her alone.” He whispered, stepping away as he turned his back to him, regaining his composure. This man is grieving too, he reminded himself.

The grief was heavier than the sea of blue in his eyes.

He looked so drained, like he died along with you and maybe he did, because staring into his eyes, Suguru couldn’t find his best friend anymore. When confronted by the uncontrollable materialization of the consequences of their actions, humans deteriorate from the inside.

He wanted to hug him, to cry with him, and let him put some of his heaviest feelings on him but he couldn't. “Live well, Satoru. Y/N wouldn’t want you like this,” He sniffed, running a hand down his face as he turned to his friend again, tapping his shoulder before stepping out. 

It’s so hard to feel bad for someone who brought the tragedy upon themselves.

Years will pass and Satoru remains the same, an empty skeleton of who he was before, a vessel of memories and the love you generously left, a cage of regret, guilt, and suffering that he harvested from bad seeds that he planted. “It shall pass,” The doctor said, passing him a blister pack, “You’ll feel better with time.” It just makes him want to laugh. The man doesn’t understand that what he needs can’t be found in this world.

He would lie awake for hours, with exhaustion gnawing at him but still his eyes remained stubbornly open. Reality was punishing him by keeping him awake, blocking out his only means of escape and portal to you. Drinking wasn’t a solution, it was more of a problem. There was this one time that he drank so much, he thought he was seeing you. 

His mother found him on his knees, his forehead touching the floor as he begged you to come back, apologizing to the air as his tears hit the tiles of his house. It’s no use, you will never come back and even then, his hallucinations of you were inanimate, unmoving, and cold. 

He gazed at a jar filled with wilting flowers on the table—some had lost their color, while others were on the verge of fading. Standing up, he fetched a new one in his jacket’s pocket and cut off its stem before carefully placing it with the others.

These flowers came from the bouquets that he left on your grave. Each time he’d visit, he’d take one flower with him and keep it in this jar. It’s his way of coping, thinking that he still has a piece of you with him. It felt both comforting and painfully inadequate. Satoru doubts that anything will ever change in his life. Even if each person on Earth introduces someone or something new to him, nothing will fill the void.

Satoru wondered if you saw him as others do: merely guilty, not genuinely in love. It’d be another blow to his already beaten-up heart. Listening to the ticking of the clock, his shadow cast on the wall of his room. The quiet was eerie; it had been for years. This house had lost its colors long ago. 

It is during these times when he remembers how you’d spent sleepless nights together, just soaking in the presence of one another. Maybe if he sleeps, he’d dream of how you used to rest your head on his chest. Taking the last of his pill, Satoru stared at his ceiling one last time.

As he closed his eyes, he prayed to wake up beside you. 

Permanent Mark Masterlist

[romanoffsbish]

Easy to Love

Natasha Romanoff x Pregnant!R

Natasha can’t get enough of her pregnant wife 😋🍽️ | WC: 2,958

Smut: Lactation | Oral (R)

18+ | Minors DNI

Natasha walked through the front door of your cottage with a heavy sigh, her body ached but she somehow managed to take a shower before she came to find her comfort. You were turned away from the door, putting away her laundry as you listened to your favorite song on repeat.

Your hips slightly swayed along, but there was a stiffness as you moved to indicate you were in back pain but persevering for her nonetheless.

——

The aching pain she felt faded into static as she waltzed up to aide you with yours, clearing her throat so as to not startle you with her touch alone. Her thumbs dug into the small dips in your back that made you fade into submission. She softly grinned against your neck as she felt the full lean of your body, and the vibrations of your moans against the imprint of her teeth.

Then she was back to the problems at hand, "What did the doctor say about resting detka?"

You hummed a playful tune, "That doesn't apply here my dearest one, because you see, I never tire of being your doting housewife."

"Pregnant housewife," Natasha pleads, and you sigh softly, "Who can do more than sit down, I promise you I'm not overdoing it my beloved."

Natasha's hot breath fluttered over the sensitive skin of your enlarged breasts and you felt her gently nod, she was waving her white flag, and then staking all of her green ones in your field of dandelions as she adjusted her stance, making your breath catch in your throat as you felt pure relief as your wife lifted up your baby bump. Holding up the boulder as if it weighed nothing and her muscles weren't already strained to the max as it was.

"Nattt," you went to weakly protest, worried about her own physical state, but she gently pecked your cheek and cut you off, "This is a partnership, so if you can take a load off of my back then so can I for you. Just relax honey."

Natasha chuckled as she saw her shirt crumble in a heap on the floor and heard your soft snoring only a few moments later. She knew it wouldn't last long, you'd likely wake with a start in seconds. So she cherished the moment and gazed down upon your smiling face, and admired the glow pregnancy gave to you.

"Let me see you," you grumbled tiredly, and she complied by lowering your bump, and holding you steady as you groaned in misery.

Then she stepped back to strip off her pjs, and you both gazed at the others exposed body. Worry filled yours as you took in all the nasty bruising overtaking her skin, but your wife saw the sidled relief when you let out a shaky breath as you saw she remained puncture free.

While you worried for her, she admired you.

Natasha knew it was borderline psychotic that all she could think about was how she wanted to have you spread open for her. Your bump was hanging low, layered with the stretched straps of your maternity panties and your nipples were covered by sticky nursing pads.

"You are so beautiful moya lyubov," Natasha coo'd as she looked you up and down, you rolled your eyes at her, but didn't try to refute knowing full well Natasha would argue back. The woman adored you just as you came, and would love to show you how much. You were the picture of undeniable beauty in her eyes, even if you didn't believe it, she'd show you.

Starting with moisturizing her face with your slick before she went to sleep, it'd been six days too many since she last had. You were apart of her post mission meal plan, and she's starved. She swore it's because you tasted different pregnant, not that you weren't heavenly before, but she just grew rather insatiable as of late.

"Detka," she purred and you quirked a brow knowingly. "Will you be gentle?" Natasha's darkened eyes softened, "Of course angel."

Natasha discarded her boxers, then she helped you out of your own before she guided you over to the luxury mattress. She surrounded your body with fluffy pillows, and used another more firm one to lift your hips. The redhead was at your side next, her eyes lovingly stared down into your own, then she kissed you dizzy.

Her hands caressed your breasts, and you cried out in perceived relief. The white nursing pads darkened and she obviously zeroed in on that, it was only seconds before she removed them and sucked one of your nipples into her mouth.

"Fuck," you groaned, hands flying to her hair to keep her pressed against you. Your supply was barely in, so the redhead only got a few pebbles but it was enough to drive her wild. "Mmm," her husky vibration was the cause of your increasingly dripping heat, the one she chose to explore while tending to your other breast.

Natasha's hand ventured beneath your panties to find a steaming goldmine of arousal, your pulsing entrance nearly abducted her curious fingers as she slid on by. Her curiosity was doubled, and just like that she was parting from your side with a breathless grin and an eager tongue. Natasha's hands caressed your thighs and you closed your eyes in anticipation.

You smiled more wholesomely instead as you felt her lips softly pressing onto your bump. It was a briefly repetitive gesture up until your heady scent called her lips home. Melodious moans that soon filled the room as Natasha's tongue entered you were just as glorious as the sloshing of your juices due to her lashing.

The redhead held no remorse as pleasurable tears soaked into the pillow beneath your head. Her only goal was the grand reward that came when you did, the warmth that gushed out of you and coated her throat always worth the wait, which as of late isn't long with just how sensitive you've become during pregnancy.

You were squirming, but the pillow that kept your hips raised left you unable to escape. Natasha loved every sound that left your body, whether it be the series of loud moans, or the more choked up mewls. It was all glorious, and ego-boosting enough for her to be satiated by your second orgasm that drenched her face.

"Nat," you croaked in a plea she'd already intended to answer. "I know moya lyubov'," she husked against the skin of your thigh as she was catching her breath and you hummed as her knuckles softly pressed into your sides.

The last thing she wanted was to hurt you or the growing infant, so she settled on gently massaging your bump as she continued to breathe in the sweet aroma of your cunt.

After a moment of calm the redhead slowly kissed her way up your body until she was hovering your face. "You okay?" You nodded with a dopey smile, and she met your lips with her very own after the adorable reassurance.

The kiss was sloppy, but sweet as she let you lead it, she relished in the way that you moaned at the taste of your very own essence. Then your stomach rumbled, and she was off.

"I'll be back in a minute, you need to eat too." You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, and as soon as she disappeared you wobbled off of the bed and returned to your previous task.

When the redhead reentered the room with a tray she groaned in frustration, "Detka, get back in bed, the clothes can wait for me until tomorrow." You sighed, "This was my load Nat, and you know I refuse to leave behind a mess."

"Please," she whined, and you knew then that she needed to care for you, and feel your warmth close by so that she could fall asleep.

"Fine," you sighed while dropping the folded shirt in your hand back into the bin, "Just this once I will leave a mess behind for cuddles."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she set the snacks down and once again you let her guide you into the bed, but you had already brushed away the pillow fortress so you could remain upright.

Natasha knew what you were doing, but after she made sure you were both fed she was truly too tired to intervene. Just the same as when you felt apprehensive intervening earlier.

There'd been no open wounds so you didn't push her to go to the compound. You never did, Cho and Bruce are only two blocks away, they owed you for their love, so they agreed to always be on call for her—or better yet you, Natasha was none the wiser to your intentions.

Your current ones were to read your book with your back against the hard headboard, and your lovers arm draped over your bump. Just like you always did after her missions. You watched the bruises on her body, eyes trained in on the shading to see if they're healing well, to ensure that her breaths remained even all night, and to hold her steady if she were to jolt.

It was the only way you could find peace, and you sometimes wondered if maybe she did know, but didn't want you to know she knew because then she couldn't enjoy the way in which you cared for her so freely. You knew it was true in the way she smiled at you every morning when you awoke just like this. Upper back slouched with a slipped book in your hand, and a sleepy-time scowl on your face.

Natasha first mirrored your scowl as she felt the guilt swimming inside of her chest. The budding of tears constricted her throat, and trapped her sobs. You'd woken up just as she jolted, but you protected her opportunity for absolute vulnerability. The redhead has cried in front of you before, but only sparingly.

The first time was after she spent an ungodly amount of hours drowning in you, and couldn't fathom how she'd been blessed to have you for the first of what quickly became many times. Natasha had lightly sobbed against your chest and you soothed her until she'd fallen asleep.

The second time was when you actually agreed to marry her after only being hers officially for six months. It was after a rough mission, one that nearly took her from you, and led her to drop down on her knees in a desperate plead.

The following day came with a cynical Tony's jokes about a whirlwind love story, but Natasha's eyes said this decision wasn't made on a whim. When you kissed her in front of your peers only weeks later, and tasted the salt of her flowing tears you knew it to be true.

Then the last time was when she held your pregnancy test after a long day, it was a beacon of hope when she'd just felt like giving up. The months of trying had finally paid off, you were carrying her child thanks to science, and she couldn't hold back her gratitude. She'd dropped to her knees and kissed the skin of your stomach, and you felt the tears soak into your jeans as you weren't even showing yet.

Each time she cried since she would shield her face, and muffle her sobs with husky grunts. You'd never called her out on it, you respected her need to feel like she was always tough, even if she knew you'd never consider feeling weak.

Her pridefulness was her own to manage.

You envision your daughter's arrival will be the first time she doesn't try to hide it. Because for the first time in her life she'll have someone she is responsible for molding into a functional human. That responsibility comes with the need to model healthy ways of emoting for her little girl to be well adjusted, and safe overall.

She knows better than most that those who end up the most vulnerable are the ones who didn't have the access to proper love and care. With the kind of parents that yelled, and harshly reprimanded their kids in the name of love instead of taught better with a gentle hand.

Natasha would do everything in her power, you know it, to keep your daughter safe from the world and its cruelest that prey on the loveless.

Your daughter will be loved without question.

Once you were able to hear Natasha's sobs had died down you began to stir, the book in your hand officially hit the ground, and the redhead peered up at you with that endearing smile. Her chin rested on your bump, and you bit your lip in awe at her beauty, you reached out and brushed the hair from her face. "Mornin'"

"Good morning moya lyubov'," she chuckled softly as she watched your body shiver in response to her deepened voice from sleep. All these years together and she still had you a swooning mess with an effortless rasp. There was just something so precious to her about these early mornings with you, it was as if nothing in the world could touch you two.

"Did you sleep well?" Natasha hummed a yes, and softly kissed the underside of your swollen belly, then she grinned as she felt a shockingly powerful kick. "Dobroye utro, printsessa."

"Nat, stop it, you two are absolute menaces together," you groaned, every morning without fail she would get your daughter riled up, and you would face the painful repercussions. All because you happily allowed her DNA to live within you do you now deal with warrior kicks.

"It can't be that bad," she teased, prepared for your snarky comment, but you only sucked in a harsh breath as your hand rubbed at your neck.

Natasha frowned, she only let you watch over her at night because she knew it grounded your anxieties, but the guilt she felt only increased whenever she'd see you wince like that. This time she couldn't let it slide, not when you were already dealing with pregnancy pains.

"You have to stop sleeping like this detka," Natasha scolded you softly as she sat up and moved herself directly behind you. "I'm okay Nat, really, I can't sleep until I know you are."

You felt a surge of guilt as your admittance made her body tense behind yours, but then you smiled as her lips pressed against the knots in your neck before her thumbs took over. It was heavenly, and your groans assured her of the magical hold she possessed over your body.

"That's why I turned in my resignation." Now it was you who tensed, defeating the purpose of her current massaging of your strained body. "Relax detka, stress isn't good for you two."

"I don't want you to giving up what you love Nat," you turned to face her, pout prominent enough for her to kiss it away with a soft smile. "What I love is you Y/N, and soon enough our little bundle of love will be here as well. The fight will go on without my aging body, my life is here now, with you, that's where my joy is."

Natasha pulled you in for a gentle kiss before guiding your face into the crook of her neck so that you could cry your relief out in the comfort of her warm embrace. "Let it all out krasivaya."

"How did I get so lucky with you?" Natasha shook her head, and ran her fingertips down the side of your face as she negated your sentiments. "I'm the lucky one here detka, I never deserved your love Y/N, but you gave it to me anyways and now I'll be blessed to wake up to it everyday until we're old and grey."

"You are insane," you scoffed and playfully nudged her shoulder. "I will never go grey!"

Natasha chuckled, "Oh yeah, silly me..."

"You are very silly," you doubled down, "No one is more deserving of kindness than you Natasha Romanoff, you've been through hell and back and kept a hold of your humanity."

Natasha's eyes welled with tears you couldn't see, yet again, but it was because you were too busy tracing circles over her racing heart as you spoke the sweetest words to ever grace her ears. "You are the easiest person I've ever had the fortune to love and I promise to remind you of that—even when you're old and grey."

You heard a sniffle, and immediately pulled back to see the red flush on your lovers raised cheeks. Her smile was brighter than anything you'd ever seen so naturally you mirrored it.

"I love you so much," she practically squealed as she pulled you in for a kiss that remained sweet for mere seconds before she slipped her tongue into your mouth and deepened it.

"Fuck detka, I can feel your wetness coating my thigh," she groaned, but then it didn't stop so she pulled back to see your widened eyes.

Natasha sprung into action. "I'll get the bag!"

"I'll finish the laundry," you echoed after and the redhead stared at you in bewilderment. "Detka! You can't be serious right now?!"

"Natalia, I will not bring our daughter into a messy home!" You harshly glared at her, and she swiftly made her over way to you, praying for your cooperation. "I'll call Wanda, you know she'll be glad to help. If we're lucky we'll even come home to her famous apple strudel."

"You're the smartest person I know," you squealed and pecked the redheads lips, then you winced as a contraction hit. "I hate you."

——

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 15✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language, Angst, Fluff, Dean being hurt-badly

Word Count: 7917

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

Four days later, the door slammed open as Sam and Cas half-carried, half-dragged Dean into the motel room, his boots dragging along the carpet. The sight of him made your stomach twist. His face was pale, his body drenched in blood that stained his shirt and jeans, and his movements were sluggish at best. Yet, somehow, Dean was still holding on, still conscious, though it was clear he was barely hanging on.

Sam wasted no time, easing Dean onto the bed with Cas’s help. Dean grunted as his back hit the mattress, his jaw clenched tightly against the pain. Sam’s voice was sharp and urgent as he barked, “Get me the emergency kit. Now!”.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands moved on autopilot, grabbing the kit from its usual spot in Dean´s bag and rushing it over to Sam. Dean’s breathing was shallow and uneven, his face twisted in discomfort as Sam yanked up his shirt to reveal the extent of the damage.

The wound was gruesome, a deep gash that ran from his stomach up toward his chest, jagged and bleeding profusely. His broken arm hung limply at his side, and his entire torso was bruised and battered. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone conscious. Sam swore under his breath as he examined the wound, grabbing supplies from the kit.

Dean, of course, couldn’t just let the seriousness of the situation sink in. Even as blood dripped down his sides and his whole body screamed in pain, he managed to tilt his head toward you, his swollen eyes searching for yours. “You good?”, he asked, his voice hoarse but laced with concern. “They didn’t get you, right?”.

Tears pricked at your eyes, both from relief that he was alive and from frustration at his stubborn selflessness. “Dean, you’re the one bleeding out on the bed, and you’re worried about me?”, you snapped, though your voice cracked with emotion. You couldn’t help it—you were scared. You’d never seen him like this, so close to the edge.

Dean tried to grin, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Yeah, well… I gotta know”.

Sam shot him a sharp look, pressing gauze against the wound to slow the bleeding. “Dean, shut up and stay still”, Sam ordered, his tone firm but edged with worry. “You’re lucky to be alive. Stop wasting your energy on questions”.

Cas hovered nearby, his face stoic but his eyes heavy with regret. Ever since the thing with Michael, Dean couldn’t be healed with angelic powers, and you could see the guilt weighing on Cas like a boulder. “If I could heal you, I would”, Cas muttered quietly, his hands clenched into fists.

Dean waved him off weakly. “S’not your fault, Cas”, he mumbled, his voice slurring slightly from the blood loss. His eyes flicked back to you, his expression softening despite the pain. “You okay?”, he asked again, his voice quieter this time, but no less insistent.

Your heart clenched at the sight of Dean, bloodied and broken, yet still stubbornly focused on you. His insistence on knowing you were safe made your chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable. You swallowed the lump in your throat and moved closer, kneeling at the edge of the bed so you were at eye level with him.

“I’m fine, Dean”, you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “You don’t need to worry about me right now. Let us take care of you”.

Dean blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy, but his gaze stayed locked on yours. “Always worry… ‘bout you”, he murmured, his words slurred slightly as he struggled to stay conscious.

Sam’s hands moved quickly, pressing layers of gauze against the wound to stem the bleeding. The sharp hiss of pain that escaped Dean’s lips made your stomach churn, but Sam didn’t stop.

Sam worked with the precision of someone who’d been in this situation too many times before, his hands moving swiftly to clean and stitch the gaping wound on Dean’s stomach. The room was tense, the air heavy with worry and unspoken words as you stayed by Dean’s side, gripping his hand tightly. His blood still seeped onto the bed despite Sam’s efforts, staining the sheets a deep crimson.

“This is going to hurt like hell”, Sam muttered grimly, glancing at Dean. He already had the suture kit in hand, the needle glinting under the harsh motel room light. “Dean, you need to stay still, or it’s going to get worse”.

Dean, ever the stubborn one, let out a weak, gravelly chuckle. “Yeah, no kidding”, he rasped, his lips twitching into a faint smirk despite the blood smeared across his face. “Not my first rodeo, Sammy. Just… get it over with”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but not arguing. “Alright”, he said, his voice resigned but determined. “Here we go”.

The first puncture of the needle into Dean’s torn flesh made him flinch, his entire body tensing under the pain. He let out a sharp grunt, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the strain in his neck. You tightened your grip on his hand, your free hand brushing against his damp hair in an attempt to comfort him.

“Breathe, Dean”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You’ve got this”.

“Easy… for you to say”, Dean gritted out, his voice strained but still laced with his trademark sarcasm. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his breathing shallow as Sam worked carefully to stitch the wound.

The process was excruciatingly slow. Each tug of the needle and thread through Dean’s skin made him flinch or let out a low groan of pain, though he tried his damnedest to keep still. His knuckles were white where he gripped your hand, his strength ebbing and flowing as he fought to stay conscious. You could see the sweat beading on his forehead, mixing with the blood that streaked his face.

“Almost there”, Sam muttered, his hands steady as he tied off another stitch. His voice was calm, but you could hear the urgency beneath it. He was pushing himself to work faster.

Dean let out a low, guttural sound as the needle pierced his flesh again, his body jerking slightly despite his efforts to remain still. “Son of a bitch”, he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse. “You tryin’ to kill me, Sammy?”.

“Not funny, Dean”, Sam shot back, his tone sharp with worry. “You’re lucky you’re even alive right now. Just hold still, okay?”.

Dean let out a weak laugh, though it turned into a groan as Sam continued stitching. “If this is what alive feels like… might rethink my options”.

Sam ignored Dean’s attempt at humor, though you caught the faintest twitch of a smirk on his face as he focused on tying off another stitch. The room felt stifling, every groan or wince from Dean making your heart ache. His usual bravado, even in this state, was so him, but it only made the moment more painful to witness. He was in agony, and he was still trying to lighten the mood.

“Dean”, you said softly, leaning closer, your free hand gently brushing through his damp hair. “You don’t get to ‘rethink your options’. You’re stuck with us, so just keep holding on, alright?”.

Dean’s green eyes flicked toward you, dull but filled with the faintest glimmer of warmth. “Bossy”, he rasped, his lips twitching into a weak smile. “Kinda like it”.

Sam rolled his eyes as he finished another stitch, pulling the thread taut. “Can you two save the flirting for when you’re not bleeding out?”, he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration but also relief that Dean was still conscious enough to crack jokes.

“Who’s flirting?”, Dean shot back, his voice weaker now but still defiant. He gritted his teeth as Sam pushed gauze against the wound to clean away the excess blood. “I’m just—ahh, son of a—”.

“Hold still”, Sam snapped, his hands steady but his face tight with concern. “I’m almost done, but if you keep squirming, you’re gonna rip these stitches out before I even finish”.

Dean let out a heavy, pained breath, his head lolling slightly toward you. “You hear that? Sammy’s always been the gentle one”, he joked weakly, though his face contorted with another wave of pain as Sam moved to tie off the final stitch.

“You’re lucky I am gentle”, Sam muttered. “Otherwise, I’d leave you to patch yourself up”.

The tension in the room lessened just a fraction as Sam pulled back, finally finished. The deep gash was now closed, a neat row of stitches lining Dean’s torso. But the sight of it still made your stomach twist—it was a brutal reminder of how close he had come to losing his life.

“Alright”, Sam said, his voice calm but firm. “That should hold. Now, you need to stay still, Dean. No sudden movements, no heroics. You’ve already lost too much blood”.

Dean let out a tired huff, his head sinking further into the pillow. “Yeah, yeah. You’re like a broken record”, he muttered, though his voice was softer now, his strength clearly fading.

Sam reached for the bottle of antiseptic, his expression tightening as he unscrewed the cap. “Ready?", he asked, his voice low and serious, “We can’t leave it untreated. Infection isn’t an option.”

Dean opened one eye, glaring at Sam with as much annoyance as his battered state would allow. “You already stitched me up, Sammy. How much worse can it get?”.

Sam didn’t answer, his silence making it clear the answer was a lot worse. Instead, he grabbed a clean cloth, pouring the clear liquid onto it until it was soaked. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air, making you wince in anticipation. Dean didn’t flinch, but you could see his jaw tightening, his hand clenching weakly at the bedsheet.

Sam leaned in, pausing for a brief moment to give Dean a warning look. “Ready?”.

Dean let out a breathy, exasperated chuckle. “Just do it”.

The moment the antiseptic-soaked cloth made contact with the gash, Dean’s entire body tensed like a coiled spring. A guttural growl of pain tore from his throat, his hand gripping the sheet so tightly you thought it might tear. His face contorted in agony, every muscle in his body straining against the pain. Despite himself, he let out a string of curses under his breath, his voice ragged.

As the searing pain overwhelmed him, Dean’s body tensed one last time before his head lolled to the side, his grip on the sheets slackening. His labored breaths evened out slightly as he slipped into unconsciousness, his face finally relaxing from the pain.

You froze for a moment, panic bubbling up in your chest. “Sam!”, you called sharply, your voice tinged with fear.

Sam sighed, his hand already moving to check Dean’s pulse at his neck. “He’s fine”, he said quickly, his tone reassuring but tired. “He passed out from the pain. Honestly, it’s probably for the best”. He gave a faint, humorless chuckle as he pulled back, shaking his head. “Now I can finally finish patching him up without him squirming or complaining”.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding as you settled back into your spot beside the bed. “Guess that’s a silver lining”, you muttered, though the sight of Dean unconscious still left you uneasy.

Sam moved swiftly, grabbing the materials he needed to set Dean’s broken arm. The break was clean, but it would still take time to heal—and knowing Dean, time and rest were luxuries he rarely allowed himself. Sam unwrapped the temporary splint he’d fashioned earlier in the field, wincing slightly as he saw the swelling and bruising around the break.

“He really did a number on himself this time”, Sam muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

You watched as Sam mixed the plaster, his movements methodical and practiced. He’d done this more times than either of you could count, but the gravity of the situation never seemed to lessen. Sam carefully wrapped Dean’s arm in fresh bandages, his hands steady as he secured the splint in place before beginning to apply the plaster.

“He’s lucky it’s just a clean break. Could’ve been a lot worse”.

You nodded, your eyes flicking between Dean’s still form and Sam’s hands as he shaped the plaster, ensuring it set evenly. “Yeah, well, ‘lucky’ isn’t the word I’d use”, you muttered, your voice laced with frustration and worry.

Sam glanced at you as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration as he smoothed the plaster over Dean’s arm. His voice was quiet, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “You know why this happened, right?”.

You frowned, looking between Sam and Dean’s unconscious form. “Because Dean can’t go two seconds without throwing himself into danger?”.

Sam let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s more than that. He thought you were in danger”. He kept his eyes on his work as he continued. “That’s why he wasn’t paying attention to his own safety. He saw you struggling with that demon and just… reacted”.

Your chest tightened at Sam’s words, guilt washing over you like a tidal wave. “I had it under control”, you whispered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your confidence. “I didn’t need him to…”.

Sam finally looked up, his gaze softening as he saw the emotions flickering across your face. “You know Dean”, he said, his tone gentler now. “He wasn’t going to take that chance. It doesn’t matter if you had it under control. If he even thinks you’re in danger, he’s going to put himself between you and whatever’s coming”.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Dean. His face was pale, his breaths shallow but steady. The sight of him so broken, so vulnerable, was a stark contrast to the man who always seemed invincible to you. “It doesn’t make it okay”, you muttered, your voice cracking. “He almost died, Sam”.

Sam nodded solemnly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I know”, he said softly. “But that’s who he is. He doesn’t think about himself when it comes to the people he cares about. You, me, Cas, Jack—we’re all he’s got, and he’ll do anything to keep us safe. Even if it costs him”.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you looked at Dean, your hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “It’s not fair”, you murmured, your voice barely audible. “He shouldn’t have to keep doing this—sacrificing himself for everyone else”.

Sam sighed, his hands stilling as he finished wrapping the cast around Dean’s arm. “No, he shouldn’t”, he agreed quietly. “But try telling him that. He’s been this way his whole life—it’s not something you can just turn off”.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of Dean’s bruised face.

Sam wiped his hands on a towel and reached into the first-aid kit for a fresh, damp cloth. He handed it to you, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smirk. “Here”, he said softly, nodding toward Dean. “I think the cleaning part’s more your department”.

You took the cloth, feeling the warmth of Sam’s subtle teasing cutting through the heaviness in the room. “Thanks”, you murmured, glancing at Dean’s battered face and knowing Sam was right. Sam stood, stretching his back as he packed up the remaining supplies.

“If anything feels off, call me”, Sam added, his tone serious again. He gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading toward the door. “I’m gonna check on Cas and Jack. We’ll get the Impala ready to roll as soon as Dean wakes up”.

“Alright”, you said, your voice soft but grateful. You watched as Sam exited the room, leaving you alone with Dean. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady, shallow rhythm of Dean’s breathing.

You turned back to him, your heart aching as you took in his injuries up close. His face was pale, bruised, and smeared with dried blood, and you could see the tension still lingering in his features even as he rested. You dipped the cloth into the basin of water Sam had left, wringing it out before carefully pressing it against the dried blood on Dean’s forehead.

“I swear, Dean”, you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You scare the hell out of me when you do this”.

You worked slowly, gently wiping away the blood and grime that clung to his skin. Every bruise and cut felt like a testament to how much he gave, how much he sacrificed for the people he cared about. The thought of him throwing himself into danger for your sake was both humbling and infuriating. You wanted to protect him just as much as he protected you, but Dean never seemed to let anyone do that for him.

As you finished cleaning Dean’s face, your heart ached at the sheer number of cuts and bruises scattered across his skin. You dipped the cloth back into the water, wringing it out before moving lower to clean his chest and arms. His torso was a mess—dark bruises marred his ribs, and patches of dried blood stuck stubbornly to his skin.

You worked carefully, your touch gentle as you wiped away the blood and grime. Dean remained still, his breathing steady but shallow, and you couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable he looked like this. Dean Winchester, the man who always seemed larger than life, reduced to a battered heap by his own stubbornness and selflessness.

As you moved to his stomach and the deep gash Sam had stitched, you swallowed hard, the sight of the angry red wound making your chest tighten. The bandages around his torso were soaked with blood in places, but they were doing their job, and for that, you were grateful. You worked around them as delicately as possible, not wanting to disturb Sam’s handiwork.

Finally, your attention shifted lower to his blood-soaked jeans. The fabric was dark and stiff with dried blood, and you knew it would have to come off to properly clean him up. You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip, before reaching for his belt. Your fingers worked to unbuckle it, but the leather was stubborn, and you struggled for a moment before finally getting it undone. The zipper was just as uncooperative, but you managed to tug it down carefully without jostling him too much.

Sliding his jeans down was no easy task. The fabric clung to his legs, and you had to work slowly to avoid causing him any unnecessary pain.

As you reached the waistband of Dean’s boxers, your hands stilled, a deep flush rising to your cheeks. You weren’t sure how far you should go—this wasn’t something you’d ever done before, not like this. The intimate act of undressing him, especially in such a vulnerable state, felt different. Necessary, yes, but undeniably personal.

As your hands hovered at the waistband of Dean’s boxers, he stirred, his body shifting slightly under your touch. His eyelids fluttered open just a crack, and a faint, teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, despite the exhaustion etched into his features.

“Well, sweetheart”, he rasped, his voice hoarse but still carrying that unmistakable Dean Winchester charm, “didn’t know you were this eager to get me out of my clothes”.

You froze, the blush on your cheeks deepening as your mouth opened to respond. But before you could form a single word, Dean’s expression shifted slightly, the smirk fading as something flickered behind his eyes—pride, discomfort, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Then, with a low grunt of effort, Dean pushed himself upright, his movements slow and deliberate. “That’s enough”, he muttered, his voice gruff, his tone leaving little room for argument. The sudden motion caused more blood to seep through the bandage on his torso, the dark red staining the already battered fabric.

“Dean!”, you exclaimed, alarmed, reaching out to steady him. “You’re going to rip the stitches! Lay back down”.

He ignored you, his jaw set as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine”, he said tersely, though the wince on his face betrayed the words. “You’ve done enough. I’ll handle the rest”.

You frowned, your worry mounting as you watched him try to shake off your care. “Dean, stop. You’re not in any shape to—”.

“Just… stop”, he interrupted, his voice low but firm, his eyes avoiding yours. His hands fumbled at his sides as he tried to stand, his stubbornness overriding all logic. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his pride was battling against his vulnerability.

You stepped closer, your hands hovering near him in case he lost his balance. “Dean, you’re being ridiculous. You’re hurt, and you need to let someone take care of you”.

Somehow, through sheer stubbornness, Dean managed to pull himself together enough to get dressed. His movements were shaky and clumsy, but his pride wouldn’t let him sit still any longer. His shirt, hastily thrown on, was already beginning to soak through with fresh blood, and his jeans hung loosely on his hips, the zipper still undone and his boots untied.

“Dean, stop this”, you pleaded, stepping in front of him as he stumbled toward the door. “You’re not in any condition to move on your own”.

He shot you a hard look, though the exhaustion in his eyes dulled the usual sharpness of his expression. “I’ve gotta… gotta check on the car”, he muttered, his voice weak but determined. “Can’t sit here doing nothing”.

You reached out, grabbing his arm in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he shook you off with more strength than you expected. “Dean!”, you called after him, frustration and fear mingling in your voice. “You’re going to kill yourself!”.

He ignored you, his steps unsteady but dogged as he opened the motel door and stepped outside. The cold air hit him immediately, and for a moment, he seemed to steady himself, his hand bracing against the doorframe. But it didn’t last long. As he took another step, his body swayed dangerously, and his knees buckled beneath him.

“Dean!”, you shouted, rushing forward, but you weren’t fast enough.

Sam, who had just been walking up from the Impala, saw the scene unfold. His eyes went wide with alarm, and within seconds, he was at Dean’s side, catching him before he could hit the ground. The anger on Sam’s face was evident, his jaw clenched tight as he heaved Dean back up to his feet with a strength born of pure frustration.

“Are you kidding me, Dean?”, Sam growled, his voice low but laced with fury. His eyes flicked to the fresh blood soaking through Dean’s shirt, his anger deepening. “You’re bleeding all over the damn place, and you think it’s a good idea to wander around like this? What the hell is wrong with you?”.

Dean groaned, his head lolling slightly as he tried—and failed—to straighten himself up. “I’m fine”, he muttered weakly, his voice slurring. “Just needed some air”.

“Air?”, Sam snapped, his grip tightening around Dean’s arm as he practically dragged him toward the Impala. “You need a hospital, Dean, not a walk in the parking lot!”.

You followed close behind, your heart pounding as you watched Sam wrestle Dean into the backseat of the Impala. Dean protested weakly, but Sam silenced him with a sharp glare, his patience clearly worn thin.

“Sit down, shut up, and don’t move”, Sam ordered, his tone brooking no argument. He grabbed a fresh towel from the trunk, pressing it firmly against Dean’s torso to try to stem the bleeding again. “You’ve already done enough damage for one day”.

Dean let out a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a groan of pain. “Always… so bossy”, he mumbled, his eyes half-lidded as he slumped against the seat.

Sam shot you a look as he climbed into the driver’s seat, his face a mix of anger and concern. “You’re riding with him”, he said firmly. “Make sure he doesn’t try anything stupid”.

You nodded, quickly sliding into the backseat, after getting your and Dean´s stuff inside, next to Dean. As the Impala roared to life, you reached out to steady him, your hand resting gently on his arm. He looked at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips twitching into a faint, tired smile.

“Sorry, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Didn’t mean to scare you”.

You squeezed his arm gently, your heart aching at the sight of him so weak. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you said softly, though your voice was filled with more relief than frustration. “But you’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it”.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, his head resting against the window as the Impala sped off into the night.

A few hours later, the bunker was eerily quiet. The tension from earlier had simmered down, but the weight of the close call still lingered in the air. Sam, Cas, and Jack had taken turns keeping watch outside Dean’s room to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid again. It wasn’t just precaution—it was necessary when it came to Dean’s bullheaded stubbornness.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was different. Dean lay completely still, knocked out from the pain meds you’d practically forced him to take. His breaths were deep and steady, his body finally given a chance to rest after the relentless beating it had endured.

You were tucked at his side, your head resting gently on his shoulder. One of your hands lightly brushed over the fresh bandage on his torso, where a tiny blotch of blood had seeped through. You frowned slightly, your fingers ghosting over the edge of the gauze, careful not to disturb it. Even asleep, Dean looked tense, as if his body couldn’t fully relax even with the meds dulling the pain.

Biting your lip, you shifted closer, your arm draping over his chest carefully. The heat of his skin beneath yours was grounding, a reminder that he was here, alive, and slowly recovering. The fear from earlier still lingered in the back of your mind, but the steady rise and fall of his chest was enough to soothe it—at least for now.

Dean stirred slightly in his sleep, his head tilting toward you. A low, unintelligible murmur escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly. It was rare to see him this vulnerable, this unguarded, and despite the circumstances, it felt like a privilege to be here with him like this.

Your fingers brushed over his bandaged torso again, trailing lightly as if your touch could somehow will him to heal faster. You leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering for a moment. “You scared the hell out of me today”, you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. “But I’m not going anywhere, Dean. So you’d better stick around, too”.

Dean didn’t respond, still lost in the haze of painkillers and exhaustion, but his body relaxed just a fraction more against yours. You stayed like that, cuddled up beside him, your hand resting gently over his heart.

The next morning, the tension that had weighed heavily in the room the previous night seemed to have eased just slightly. Dean remained still, his body finally allowed the time it needed to recover. You sat on the edge of the bed, your knees tucked beneath you, watching him stir for the first time since the pain meds had knocked him out. His face, still bruised but more rested, twitched as he began to wake.

Sam stood at Dean’s side, meticulously checking the bandages wrapped around his torso. The bleeding had stopped, thank God, and his stitches were still intact. Sam gently pulled up the edge of the bandage, peering at the wound to make sure it was clean and hadn’t reopened. You winced slightly at the sight but couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Every moment felt like progress now, a step closer to Dean being himself again.

Dean let out a low groan as he stirred further, his head shifting against the pillow. His green eyes cracked open, blinking groggily at the light. His gaze landed on you first, and for a brief moment, his expression softened. “Hey”, he rasped, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hey yourself”, you replied softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. Relief flooded through you at hearing his voice, even if it was rough and tired.

Sam gave Dean a look as he finished checking the bandage, his hand pressing lightly against Dean’s shoulder to keep him still. “Stay down, Dean”, Sam warned, already seeing the stubborn glint in his brother’s eyes. “You’re not getting up yet”.

Predictably, Dean tried to sit up anyway, his jaw set in defiance. The movement was slow and strained, his muscles protesting loudly, but he managed to lift himself just a fraction before Sam firmly pressed him back down with one hand. “Dean, don’t”, Sam said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Dean let out a growl of frustration, his teeth gritting as he glared at Sam. “I’m fine, Sam”, he muttered, though the weakness in his voice betrayed the claim. “I don’t need a damn babysitter”.

“You’re not fine”, Sam shot back, his tone exasperated but edged with concern. “You almost bled out yesterday, and you’re still healing. You’re not moving until I say so”.

Dean grumbled under his breath, his irritation clear, but he didn’t fight Sam’s hand anymore. Instead, he turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening again as he took in your worried look. His voice, though hoarse, carried the familiar edge of determination. “You’re not hurt, right?”, he asked again, his tone soft but insistent.

Before you could respond, Dean winced, his breath hitching as Sam adjusted the position of his broken arm to ensure it stayed in the sling. “Damn it, Sam”, Dean muttered through gritted teeth, his irritation bubbling up even as he struggled to stay still. “Little warning next time?”.

Sam rolled his eyes, unimpressed by Dean’s grumbling. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that”, he said dryly. “Just stay still, Dean. You’re lucky it’s a clean break. If you screw this up, you’ll be stuck in that sling even longer”.

Dean groaned before he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he waited for your answer. “You good?”, he asked again, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he didn’t trust his own strength to ask the question properly.

You reached out, placing your hand gently on his uninjured shoulder, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Dean”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the lingering tension in the room. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”.

Dean’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good”, he murmured, his voice heavy with relief. “I just… I needed to hear it”.

Sam glanced between the two of you, his expression flickering with something unreadable before he stepped back, giving you both a moment. “I’ll go check on breakfast”, Sam muttered, grabbing the used gauze and other supplies before heading for the door. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone, Dean”.

Dean let out a low chuckle, though it was weak and short-lived. “Define stupid”, he called after Sam, earning only a muttered “Don’t push it” in return.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence in the room felt heavy but not uncomfortable. You shifted closer, brushing your fingers lightly over the edge of his bandages, careful not to cause him any pain. “You need to stop worrying about me, Dean”, you said gently, your voice almost a whisper. “You’re the one who almost died”.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he opened them again, meeting your gaze. “It’s what I do”, he said simply, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “I can’t turn it off”.

You leaned in closer, your hand resting over his heart. “Then let me take care of you for a change”, you whispered, your voice full of quiet determination. “You don’t have to do this alone, Dean. Not anymore”.

Dean didn’t reply, but the way his hand moved to rest over yours, his fingers brushing yours lightly, told you everything he couldn’t say. For now, that was enough.

Two days later, the tension in the bunker had eased slightly as Dean slowly regained his strength. He was finally able to walk again without collapsing with every step, but it was clear he was still struggling. His movements were slow and deliberate, though he tried to mask the discomfort with his usual stoic determination. He hated feeling weak, and you could see it in the tight set of his jaw and the way his hand frequently rested over the wound on his chest and stomach, as if trying to hold himself together.

You and Sam were in the kitchen, working together to prepare breakfast. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the air, and the clatter of pans and utensils provided a comforting rhythm. Dean’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, a little uneven but steady enough to reach the kitchen doorway.

He paused there for a moment, leaning slightly against the frame as he surveyed the scene. His face was still swollen and bruised, a deep cut running from his forehead down to his brow and a split lip adding to the battle scars. He looked tired, but his gaze lingered on you, his expression softening as he watched you move around the kitchen.

What bothered him the most, though, wasn’t the pain or the slow recovery—it was the distance. You hadn’t kissed him since the accident, and it gnawed at him. He told himself it was understandable—you were worried about his injuries, focused on helping him heal—but it still left him feeling unsettled. Still, he wasn’t about to bring it up while Sam was around.

As if on cue, Sam grabbed a few empty bottles from the counter and muttered, “I’ll go grab some drinks from the garage. Be back in a minute”. He shot you both a small smile before disappearing down the hall.

The second Sam was out of earshot, Dean straightened slightly, though you could see the effort it cost him. He walked toward you, his broken arm awkwardly tucked against his side, his good hand resting on the counter for support.

“Hey”, he said, his voice rough but warm. His green eyes flicked to yours, searching for a reaction. “Need a hand?”.

You glanced over at him, your brows furrowing slightly. “Dean, you should be resting”, you said, the concern in your voice impossible to hide.

Dean smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Resting’s boring”, he quipped, his tone teasing. He stepped closer, his gaze locking on yours. “Besides, I think there’s something I’ve been missing”.

You raised an eyebrow, pausing your movements. “What’s that?”.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his usual bravado tempered by the vulnerability he couldn’t quite hide. “You”, he said simply, his voice low. “Haven’t had a proper kiss in days”.

Your breath hitched slightly, your heart fluttering at his words. His expression softened further, a small, hopeful smile playing on his bruised lips as he waited for your response.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, as Dean’s words hung in the air. The way he looked at you, with that small, hopeful smile on his battered face, made your chest tighten. He was bruised, broken, and still healing, yet his focus wasn’t on himself—it was on you.

“You’ve been keeping track, huh?”, you teased softly, though your voice wavered slightly. You turned to face him fully, setting down the spatula you’d been holding.

Dean’s smirk widened just a fraction, the gesture tugging at his split lip, but he didn’t seem to care. “Hard not to”, he muttered, his green eyes locking on yours. “Kinda gets to a guy”.

You bit your lip, glancing at his hand, which still rested on the counter for support, and then at the arm awkwardly tucked against him. “Dean, you’re still recovering”, you said gently, your voice tinged with both affection and concern. “I didn’t want to—”.

“Didn’t want to what?”, Dean interrupted, his tone soft but insistent. “Didn’t want to hurt me? Sweetheart, you’ve patched me up more times than I can count. A kiss isn’t gonna kill me”.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at him. He always had a way of making things seem so simple, even when they weren’t. But this wasn’t complicated—not really. You had missed him, too, and now that you were looking into his eyes, you couldn’t resist any longer.

Carefully, you stepped closer, your hands reaching out to rest lightly on his good arm and his chest, avoiding the bandages. His warmth radiated through you, grounding you as you tilted your head up toward him. Dean’s gaze softened, and he leaned down slowly, his movements deliberate to avoid causing himself more pain.

Your lips met in a kiss that was gentle but filled with all the emotion you hadn’t been able to express in words. Dean’s hand slipped from the counter to rest lightly at your waist, his grip weak but firm enough to pull you closer. The kiss was tender, slower than usual, but it felt perfect.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the quiet moment. “Happy now?”, you murmured, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Dean let out a soft chuckle, his good hand brushing lightly against your side. “Getting there”, he replied, his voice low and warm. “Might need a few more of those, just to be sure”.

You laughed softly, your hand coming up to gently brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, careful of the cut. “We’ll see”, you teased, though your smile gave away your willingness.

Before either of you could say anything more, you heard the faint sound of Sam’s boots approaching from down the hall. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes as he straightened slightly, his smirk returning. “Perfect timing, as always”, he muttered under his breath.

You stepped back, your cheeks still flushed as you turned your attention back to the stove. Dean leaned against the counter, trying to look nonchalant, though the small, satisfied smile on his face was impossible to miss. When Sam entered the kitchen, drinks in hand, he gave you both a curious glance but didn’t comment, much to your relief.

Dean adjusted his stance subtly, as if trying to mask the discomfort he was clearly feeling.

“How you feelin’?”, Sam asked, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. He turned to help you with the food, setting plates on the counter while glancing back at Dean.

Dean shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement, though he quickly tried to cover it with a smirk. “Like I just walked away from a fight with a Mack truck”, he replied, his voice laced with dry humor. “But, you know, still handsome as ever”.

You rolled your eyes with a small smile as you flipped the pancakes. “Still milking the charm, huh?”.

Dean’s smirk widened just a fraction, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Sam, however, wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. He set down the utensils he was holding and crossed his arms, giving Dean his signature big-brother stare.

“Dean, seriously”, Sam said, his voice dropping into that stern tone that always managed to cut through Dean’s deflection. “You shouldn’t even be standing, let alone wandering around the bunker like you’re fine”.

Dean huffed, straightening up slightly, though his hand instinctively went to his chest, resting just above the bandages. “I’m not ‘wandering’, Sammy”, he shot back, his voice tinged with irritation. “I’m walking to the kitchen. Big difference”.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Your shirt’s already pulling blood through, and you’re favoring your side like it’s about to fall off. Sitting down wouldn’t kill you”.

Dean grumbled under his breath, his pride refusing to let him admit that Sam was probably right. Before he could retort, you cut in, your voice firm but gentle. “Dean, maybe you should listen to him. Breakfast is almost ready, and you can sit at the table while we finish”.

Dean’s gaze flicked to you, his irritation softening as he caught the concern in your eyes. “Fine”, he muttered begrudgingly, pushing off the counter and making his way—slowly—to the table. His movements were stiff and deliberate, and you could tell he was in pain despite his best efforts to hide it.

Sam sighed as he watched Dean sit down, the tension easing from his shoulders slightly. “Stubborn as hell”, he muttered, shaking his head before turning back to help you.

You smiled softly, glancing over at Dean as he settled into his seat, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. Despite his protests, you could see the relief on his face as he finally allowed himself to rest. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

After breakfast, you and Dean made your way to the small room where the TV was set up. Dean insisted the couch would be fine for him, brushing off any suggestion that he should head back to bed. You could see the determination in his eyes, but it was tempered by the clear discomfort in his movements. His hand stayed pressed to his chest over the bandaged wound, and the crimson stain on his shirt—a new one, his tenth in just two days—was all the proof you needed that he wasn’t as fine as he claimed to be.

“You know”, you started as you grabbed the remote and sat down beside him, “I think at this point, we should just skip the shirts altogether. It’d save me from constantly doing your bloody laundry”.

Dean smirked faintly, his head leaning back against the couch. “What can I say? Red’s my color”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Seriously, though, Dean. You’ve bled through more shirts in two days than most people do in a lifetime. Maybe that’s a sign to, oh, I don’t know, stay in bed?”.

Dean waved you off, clearly not interested in entertaining the idea. “The couch is bed enough”, he said, adjusting his position with a slight wince. “I’m not gonna spend the whole day lying around. I’ll go stir-crazy”.

You gave him a skeptical look, but you didn’t push. You knew how much Dean hated feeling weak, and while you wanted him to rest, you also knew that sometimes, it was better to let him have these small victories.

“Fine”, you said, leaning back against the couch. “But if you pass out again, I’m dragging you back to bed whether you like it or not”.

Dean chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with fatigue. “Noted, sweetheart”, he said, reaching for the remote. “Now, what are we watching?”.

As he flipped through the channels, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His face was still bruised and swollen, the cut above his brow stitched neatly but still angry and red. Despite his stubbornness, he looked exhausted, and the sight made your heart ache.

“You okay?”, you asked gently, your voice cutting through the sound of the TV.

Dean paused, his thumb hovering over the remote’s buttons. He turned to look at you, his green eyes softening slightly. “Yeah”, he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I’m okay”. He shifted slightly on the couch, a faint grimace crossing his face as he tried to get comfortable. He let out a low grumble, his hand still pressed lightly to his chest as he glanced at you. “Now, c’mere”, he muttered, his voice soft but insistent.

You blinked at him, tilting your head in slight confusion. “Dean, you’re supposed to be resting—”.

“Yeah, yeah”, he cut you off, waving his good hand weakly before letting it drop to the couch. “I’m resting. Just… get over here”. He slowly and awkwardly lifted his uninjured arm, the movement clearly a struggle but one he was determined to push through.

A small smile crept onto your lips as you saw the stubborn look in his eyes. “Dean, you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met”, you said softly, but you moved closer anyway, sliding toward him on the couch.

“And you love it”, he teased, his voice rough but warm.

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t argue. Carefully, you nestled yourself beside him, mindful of his injuries as you rested your head gently on his shoulder. His arm came around you slowly, his hand settling on your waist with a surprising gentleness. The warmth of his touch was comforting, grounding, even as you could feel the tension in his muscles from the effort.

“There”, he muttered, his voice quieter now. “That’s better”.

You glanced up at him, your head still resting against his shoulder. His green eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion clear in his expression, but there was a soft smile on his bruised lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you murmured, your tone fond.

“Yeah”, he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as his head leaned back against the couch.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 16

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[insidekatmind]

A smile on dark days~JUDE BELLINGHAM

Warning: +18,smut, english is not my first language

It was a gray day in Madrid, the sky full of clouds as if it wanted to mourn the defeat of Real Madrid. The match against Barcelona had just finished, and the result weighed like a boulder. Jude Bellingham, the talented midfielder, was back home, his face lined with frustration and disappointment.

You were in the kitchen, preparing his favorite dish, a mushroom risotto, hoping that the comforting scent might ease his mood a little. The door opened with a slow creak and Jude walked in, his gaze dejected.

“Hi, love,” you said, trying to keep your tone cheerful despite the heavy atmosphere.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice low and monotone. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment, as if trying to focus his thoughts.

You walked closer to him, taking his hand. «You're here now. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. «I don't know... I feel like I've let everyone down. I can't shake this feeling. Four nil... against Barcelona. It's embarrassing."

Jude looked down, considering your words. «I don't want to disappoint my teammates. Every time I make a mistake, I feel like it might be my last chance.”

“Don't think like that, please,” I said softly. «Every great player has faced difficult moments. Remember how you got here. You fought and worked hard for every goal you achieved."

«But Barcelona…» he continued, a little more relaxed as he started to eat the risotto. «It was the match of my life, and I didn't do well. I lost the ball too often, and..."

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” I interrupt. «You did your best. And that's all a player can do. You can't control everything. But you can control how you react, and you are a fighter.”

«Love, no one judges you for this. Every team has its ups and downs, and you gave it your all. I know, you did." As you spoke, you invited him to sit at the table. «Come on, let's eat something. You can't go to bed on an empty stomach."

Jude slowly sat down, eyes still lost in thought. “You're right, but…” He stopped, looking at you. «I can't understand how it happened. I wanted to win so badly for the fans and for the team. Every time I wear that shirt, I feel the weight of responsibility."

You sat down in front of him, taking his hands in yours. “But you're also human, Jude. No one can win all the time, and no one can do it alone. You have a team around you, and that's what matters. Even in defeats, we get up together."

He looked at you, a sad smile appearing on his lips. “How can you be so positive?”

«Because I believe in you. I believe in your talent and determination. And above all, I know that this defeat will not define you. It's just a lesson, a step towards your dream."

A comfortable silence spread between you as Jude continued to eat, his gaze now calmer. After a while, he looked up at you, his soft brown eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you sweetie. Really. I don't know what I would do without you."

«Only the best for you, as always. And remember that I will always be there, both the good days and the bad. We need to support each other."

Jude stood up and walked over to you, hugging you tightly. «You are my strength. I don't know how I got lucky enough to find you."

“And I don't know how I got lucky enough to have a guy like you,” you replied, wrapping your arms around him. «Remember, every game is a new opportunity. And tomorrow is a new day."

After eating, you sat together on the couch, watching a light movie. Between laughs, Jude seemed more and more relaxed, his thoughts distracted by your smile and your presence.

“You know, you made me forget everything for a moment,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder.

«And this is just the beginning, Jude. I promise I'll help you get back on your feet whenever you need it."

With infinite sweetness, he shook your hand, and you felt that his determination not to give up had returned. It was just a game, and together you would face everything that life would throw at you.

You gently stroked his hair as he closed his eyes as he relaxed under your touch. When he opened them again he gave you a sweet smile that made your heart beat faster and he kissed you softly while you kissed him back feeling warm under his touch.

The kiss became more and more passionate and Jude gently grabbed your hips as he pulled you onto his lap, straddling him as he continued to kiss and caress your thigh.

“I love you y/n” Jude said softly as he softly began to leave kisses on your neck as you moaned and began to move on him, and you both moaned in pleasure.

You kissed him again sucking on his lip as he moaned and you giggled softly.

“you look amazing” Jude said as he watched you take off his clothes and yours too. You climbed back onto his legs teasing your pussy on his cock and you both moaned.

“come on baby, let me in” Jude said trying to raise his hips to let his cock sink into your opening and you moaned loudly when he managed to enter you.

“fuck you're so tight, I'll never get used to this feeling” Jude moaned as he lowered his head to the edge of the couch.

You began to move on him sensually feeling his cock penetrating you and you moaned loudly holding onto his shoulders. “you're so big” you said moaning resting your head on his shoulder.

He groaned as he grabbed your ass helping you with the movements and you moaned loudly feeling on the edge. With two more thrusts you came as you kissed him and continued to move on him to make him come. When he cums, he gives you a sweet kiss on your lips and a sweet kiss on your forehead.

You still remained inside him as you rested your head on his shoulder while he caressed your back and you enjoyed this attention. When you pulled out you hissed at the lack of filling his cock. You both got dressed as you went back to the couch and hugged each other.

“you are and will always be my number one despite the result” You told him sweetly as you gave him a sweet kiss and he smiled knowing that even if he had lost the match you would always be by his side despite everything.

[narcjsistx]

Hi! I'd like to request headcanons or small fic (whatever you prefer I'm fine with anything) for Ran Haitani (teen) with a crush that's getting bullied for liking him because others think the reader/crush doesn't match "Ran's" level?

I hope I explained this well but in case it's confusing... I'm really sorry🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— At your level

The hall is crowded, a river of students moving in scattered groups, some laughing and joking, some pushing the other with light elbows, some dragging themselves at a slow pace, still half asleep. The voices mix, creating a continuous buzz that bounces between the walls covered with noticeboards and school posters. As I walk through the school hall, I feel the eyes of some classmates resting on me, like pinpricks piercing the air thick with chatter and muffled laughter

Someone turns around, I notice it out of the corner of my eye, and immediately lowers his gaze as soon as he meets mine. Others whisper among themselves, and even if I don't hear the words, I know very well that I am occupying their conversations. The incessant shouting seems to become more intense as I get closer to the small groups scattered here and there. The unspoken words weigh like boulders, they slip into my ears, and I realize that every look I feel on me is full of assumptions, half-truths, gossip whispered in the corridors and bathrooms

"I wonder if she ever sees herself in a mirror! Really, she thinks she's some kind of deity to point right at him?" — "I feel sorry for her. I would never want to receive such a strong no from him. You know, it's him!"

There is no need for anyone to say anything openly; the mischievous smiles, the fleeting eyes, the way they narrow together when I pass are already eloquent enough. I am a cumbersome presence, a figure that attracts attention even when I would like to be invisible. I continue walking, keeping my face impassive, as if I don't notice anything, even if each step seems to mark the rhythm of their silent judgments

Every step I take weighs on me more and more, and not only because I feel the gazes on me, it's as if every day the weight of my mistake becomes more unbearable. Six months ago I would never have imagined that I would end up like this, at the center of these poisonous gossip. If only I hadn't made everything so obvious that day... If only I had kept my mouth shut or handled the situation better, I wouldn't be here now feeling judged at every turn, a victim of their hissy comments and fake smiles. I regret it more and more. It's a feeling that grows inside me like a weed, that envelops everything and leaves me no respite. I can't stop thinking about how I could have avoided all of this. All it took was a little more discretion, a little more silence. Maybe if I had been smarter, I could now just walk down this hall without feeling like a circus animal in front of everyone's eyes

I can't help but move forward, trying to keep my head up, even if inside I just feel more tired and wanting to disappear

“Y/n Chan, Y/n Chan!” a voice shouts behind me, and before I turn I find Moyaku, a girl two years younger than me who is nevertheless the only one who doesn't bother me "Y/n Chan! I finally managed to get the melonpan, here " says the girl, handing me the sweet that I said I wanted so much in a text message last night. I take the treat and smile at her, silently thanking her. She smiles back at me and decides to walk beside me, since this morning we have lessons in two nearby classes "Usual comments...?" the girl asks in a low voice, noticing the whispers of the other people "The usual ones" I say listlessly, biting a piece of the melonpan. We walk a little further in silence

"For me you could ask your half brother" says Moyaku, but I shake my head "Mamoru already said that I have to manage on my own" I say, but the girl next to me sighs "He only says that because he's afraid of getting into trouble with the Haitans since he's in that Toman thing. Damn though, he's your relative! He should protect you" says the girl but I laugh a little at her comment "He doesn't even consider me his sister... forget it, really" I say throwing away the waste paper dessert in a basket, biting the last piece

"I would defend you if I had the chance... but they never listen to the little ones" says Moyaku, but I grab her hand caressing it "You don't have to do anything, really. I appreciate your presence" I say with a smile, and she seems to want to end the conversation. We say goodbye and everyone goes into their own classroom

While the other kids enter the classroom, I sit at my desk and watch the rain of backpacks landing noisily on the tables, while voices quickly fill the air. My thoughts, however, are far away, anchored to that precise moment six months ago, when everything change

I'm in my third year and, looking back, I realize how absurd it seems to me that something that happened so recently could have transformed my school life so much. For almost two whole years I had been carrying a secret crush on Ran Haitani, the boy that all girls notice, the one who doesn't go unnoticed even when he does nothing to attract attention. Ran is popular, almost unattainable, a year older than me. I met him when I was only in my first year, still insecure and disoriented in the school corridors

He was different from all the others, and not only because he was already well established and known, but for his efficiency, for how he moved with confidence, especially during training sessions at the sports club. He practices running, and is good, or rather, very good. It's impossible not to notice him, with those fast and precise steps, the sweat sliding down his forehead as he passes the others as if nothing had happened. He was so charming, unreachable. Maybe it was precisely this that made me fall in love with him: that security, that aura that surrounded him

Then there was that period in which he lived near me, a lucky coincidence, which allowed me to see him every morning. We took the same route to school, me, him and his brother Rindou. Even though we didn't talk much, those moments were precious to me. They were little fragments of normality that made me daydream, made me hope that, maybe, one day, he would notice something more in me

Finally, after a long time keeping those feelings in secret, six months ago I took all my courage and declared myself. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to faint. I was so sure that he would reject me, that he would say no gently and leave me to pick up the pieces of my pride. But it didn't happen that way. He didn't say no, but he didn't say yes either. He simply said he had to think about it, and I, with a lump in my throat, accepted that answer, hoping, dreaming that time would work in my favor

But something went wrong. In a short time, the news of my declaration went around the school, becoming a topic of gossip. I had declared myself to Ran Haitani, someone like him, out of my league. And now, I'm here, every day, paying the price for that choice, a victim of comments and giggles, regretting not having kept to myself those feelings that now only seem like a weapon against me

I often find myself wondering what my life would have been like if he had said yes. Maybe everything would be different now. Maybe I would walk the halls with a more confident smile, knowing that my heart was not broken, but welcomed. I imagine myself talking to him between lessons, laughing together, hearing those jokes that always made me smile when, every now and then, we happened to talk during those short journeys to school. But it didn't happen that way. The reality is that he doesn't talk to me anymore, and that "I have to think about it" that had left me hanging turned out, over time, to be just a polite way of saying no without openly hurting me. It's painful to admit it, but I can no longer hide behind illusions or empty hopes

After all, if he really wanted to say yes to me, he would have done it. Instead, it left me hanging on by a thin thread, which eventually broke. The silence that followed was even more eloquent than any words. With each passing day, I realized that his "I have to think about it" was nothing more than a sweet lie to make me believe that there was still a possibility, because in addition to being handsome he is also an asshole if he wants to be. Now, as I watch the other guys enter the classroom, with their seemingly simple and uncomplicated lives, I realize that I cannot change what has happened. That's how it happened, and I have to accept it. I have to stop tormenting myself with the "ifs" and "buts", because the truth is that he chose to walk away

The lesson begins and I try to concentrate. I take notes, the sound of the pen sliding on the paper is almost relaxing, a rhythm that keeps me anchored to reality while the teacher's voice fills the classroom. I try not to think about anything else, I immerse myself in the written words, in the explanation I'm trying to follow, even if every now and then my mind wanders, inevitably returning to those thoughts that I would prefer to avoid. But time passes and, after a few hours, we finally have the chance to go out

I leave the classroom and stop for a moment, letting the other students pass me. When I look up, I see something that makes my eyes widen. Moyaku is outside his class and is talking to Rindou Haitani, Ran's brother. I can't believe what I see. The two of them have never had contact before, at least not that I know of. Moyaku never told me about him, and I certainly wouldn't have guessed that they knew each other, let alone had anything to discuss. Also, Rindou is a fourth year and my friend is a first year. Yet, there they were, completely engrossed in the conversation. They seem so focused, so serious. I stop for a moment, unsure whether to get closer or stay away. Something inside me stirs, a curiosity mixed with a slight sense of apprehension. Why are they talking? What is it about?

As I continue to stare at Moyaku and Rindou, I notice that she sees me. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment he seems to freeze. Then, with a speed that surprises me, he moves away from Rindou and towards me. His pace is slightly hurried, and when he gets close to me, I notice a hint of agitation in his gaze. Still, he smiles at me, that smile I know well, one that tries to reassure me. I decide not to ask questions. If it were something important, she would have told me something right away, or at least that's what I tell myself to calm the curiosity gnawing inside me. Instead, we start chatting about this and that as we walk together towards the canteen. We talk about the usual things: homework, teachers, some jokes about our classmates. I try to let myself go into the conversation, but part of me keeps thinking about that moment outside of class, that dialogue between her and Rindou that I can't get out of my head

The hours pass quickly, between lessons and notes, and before I know it, it's almost time to go home. I gather my things and head towards the exit, when suddenly Moyaku joins me. She doesn't say anything, but hands me a note with a certain urgency, as if she's afraid to think about it again at the last moment. Her eyes are shifty, and before I can say anything, she turns and runs away, heading for the school gate. I stand there, ticket in hand, confused and slightly worried. What does all this mean? I look around, trying to see if anyone has noticed the scene, but everyone seems too busy thinking about their day to pay attention to us

With my heart beating a little faster, I slowly open the note "At 5.30pm in the hall in front of the Chemistry classroom on the third floor. I may be slightly late, so please wait a few minutes"

I open the note with slightly trembling hands, and begin to read. The message is short, almost hasty, but its content leaves me confused. It could very well be a joke, I think to myself, another attempt by the students to prank me and make me feel even more out of place than I already do. No explanation, no clue as to who might have written it or why I should show up there. My first reaction is to ignore it. It could just be another way to humiliate me, to make me wait in vain in front of an empty classroom, perhaps with someone hiding around the corner ready to laugh at me. But then, as I reflect, I realize that I don't have much to lose: my reputation is already in tatters, the rumors about me and Ran continue to circulate, and at this point, one more humiliation wouldn't change much. Maybe it's just curiosity, or maybe it's the desire to know if there's something more behind the note

So, with a mixture of anxiety and resignation, I head towards the classroom. It's almost time until the appointed time, and as I get closer, I feel my heart beating faster. It's the last class of the day for fourth and second years, and I know the students will be leaving soon. I lean against the wall opposite the door, trying not to attract too much attention, even though I know it's inevitable that someone will notice me. Minutes pass, and eventually, as expected, students begin to leave the room. I watch them pass in front of me, but no one seems to notice my presence. It's 5.40pm, and I'm starting to think I've been the victim of a bad joke. I feel silly, and the thought of leaving becomes stronger and stronger

Just as I'm about to walk away, I suddenly feel an arm come around my shoulders. The contact is surprising, almost comforting, but it makes me jump. My heart speeds up even more as I slowly turn to see who the person is who decided to approach me in that unexpected way

My heart stops for a moment when I turn and see that it's him, Ran. I never imagined he would be here, in front of me, at a time like this. His arm is placed on my shoulders with a disarming ease, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as he pulls me closer to him. His face is calm, that usual relaxed look that characterizes him, as if there is nothing strange or out of the ordinary in what he is doing. I, on the other hand, am anything but calm: a tornado of emotions stirs inside me: surprise, confusion, a slight hint of panic. I can't understand why he's doing this. It's as if everything around us has stopped. I can feel the eyes of the other students fixed on us, I see them turn, almost paralyzed with surprise. The corridor, which until a moment ago was filled with constant chatter, is now immersed in an unnatural silence, broken only by the distant sound of someone's footsteps walking away

The closeness between us is almost unreal, and I feel the warmth of his arm holding me tighter, as if he wants to protect us both from the curious and judging gazes that surround us. But I can't help but wonder if this is all just another illusion, another twist of fate that will end up breaking my heart "Don't worry doll, let me talk"he says with an even stranger ease

I just look at him, trying to read something in his eyes, something that will give me a clue. What is he saying? What the fuck is going on?

"I don't care who you are, whether you're first or last year. I'm engaged so leave me alone" he says, raising his voice slightly, and if before the hall was silent, now people aren't even breathing anymore

I am left completely frozen in place as his words hit me like lightning. I can't immediately process the meaning of what he said. The world seems to spin more slowly as his words echo in my head, trying to make sense. What do you mean? Is he telling everyone to stop bothering him, or... is he really talking about me?. His tone is firm, almost irritated, as if he is tired of all this, yet his grip on my shoulders remains firm, almost protective. But it is precisely this contradiction that confuses me the most. Why is he saying these things? And above all, why is he doing it this way, in front of everyone? I feel the gazes of others around us becoming even more intense, I sense the murmur starting to grow around us, but it's as if I'm in a bubble, isolated from everything that's happening. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can't find the words, not even to ask for explanations

I am suspended in a limbo of conflicting emotions: disbelief, hope, confusion. I wonder if he's trying to protect me, to stop the gossip, or if this is just a way to get rid of me once and for all. And as I stand there, motionless, with my mind spinning, the only thing I can do is look at him

"A little sudden right? Sorry doll. So, what were you saying that Wednesday?" he says, returning his gaze to me, as if the impossible hadn't just happened "Eh? That Wednesday?" I ask perplexed "The day you declared yourself" he says, smiling innocently at me, even if innocent is the last adjective to describe him. I desperately try to understand what is really behind his words that have just turned my whole world upside down. Do he really remember the exact day I declared myself? And above all, why does he want to continue the discussion?

"Look, declarations of love make me anxious even though I'm big and vaccinated, and yes, it took me six months to understand everything properly. Is it possible that that little friend of yours didn't tell you anything? Hell, I should have sent Rindou directly to you. .." he says playing with his braid, and strangely I see him a little anxious

And it is from his words that I connect Rindou and Moyaku's meeting this morning. Rindou asked her something about me...? "What did Rindou ask Moyaku?" I ask in surprise "No big deal, if you just still liked me" he says motioning for me to start walking, without removing his arm from around my shoulders. I look at him in surprise, and reconnect things for a moment: Ran asked Rindou to talk to Moyaku, my only friend, if he knew if I still liked him. Is he making fun of me and is he actually serious?

"I don't understand why you have to ridicule me in front of the whole school, I know how to accept a no! I did it for six months without telling you anything..." I say lowering my gaze, but I hear him chuckling "Trust me, if I wanted to make you ridiculous, I would have done it in more sadistic ways" he says and on the one hand I believe him

We remain silent for the entire journey as we arrive at the school gate. "So?" he asks “So what?” I ask, clutching my school bag "Are we a couple or not?" he asks nonchalantly

The temptation to run away and forget everything is great, but my heart beating faster than expected makes me remain immobile "I know, six months is a bit... but we just need to get there sooner or later, right? Then the your friend confirmed to Rindou that you still like me" he says with a certain seriousness "Six months of teasing is a lot, Ran" I say anxiously playing with my hands, which however he grabs, bringing one to his lips, which he kisses delicately" I don't think they'll bother you anymore considering who is your boyfriend now. We can make up six months in a week" he says letting go my hand, where I feel the part he kissed burning

"We can try... I think" I say while trying to hide the enthusiasm and even a little embarrassment I feel at the moment. I can't believe this is happening right now "Try it? We're already a couple. I never take back what I say publicly" he says grabbing my hand, pulling me towards his motorbike "Come, we have to prove that I'm on your level and that I too can be with a fantastic person"

[aurorasgate]

hoping that im not too late for the event but forgiveness +soft to rough kiss with Vincent please 🥺🤧

vincent valentine x reader

i hope i'm not too late for you to be able to read this! i've been feeling a little off in my writing recently but am trying to get back into the swing of things and ahhh i just needed this so bad. i really hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for requesting something for my event 🩷 - i'm sorry for being so late with it!

“go away vincent.”

you don’t know how much you actually mean it. if it weren’t for the frustration inside of you that feels like a living thing, breathing fire into your chest and making your head hurt, or the guilt that accompanies it, you’d give it a zero out of ten. because really, you don’t want to be feeling this way. not ever but especially not with him and even though you are frustrated, angry, you don’t want him to go, but you also don’t want him to see you like this; so not in control of your emotions, on the verge of tears because no matter what you do you can’t snuff out the heat in your lungs keeping you this way.

in the dead of night, where he blends so easily into the shadows and you hide in the space between your knees that are pulled to your chest, you wonder how you knew he was there in the first place or if he really is there at all. a quiet, delayed, step in your direction with the clinking of his pointed gold boot tells you that he is.

“is that truly what you want?” he questions, his voice gruff and low and far away. as if perhaps the argument you two had gotten into was just another sin of his to shoulder on the long list he held so close to his chest and if he denied your wish to leave, it would only weigh down on your own, hurt you.

a pressure wells in your throat, bringing the tears you try to hold back to fruition. the cold night air of nibelheim winters frosts against the crystalline drops as they travel down your cheeks and makes them freeze against the boulder you’ve found comfort sitting on for the last little while in an attempt to cool your emotions. not that you think it helped but having him close.. well it seems to do more than the distance did. 

“.. no.” you finally choke out, hating how evident your crying is in your wavering voice. the closer he gets, with every step towards you that you hear instead of see, it only seems to grow too. like the uncomfortableness making its home inside of you is finally releasing itself in the form of what you’d consider to be quite pitiful tears.

when he’s stopped in front of you, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you look up at him, an unsuccessful attempt to try to calm yourself down and surely looking as pathetic as you feel. vincent doesn’t speak a word and in the moonlight behind unruly thick black hair, it’s hard to make out his expression but his red eyes are glowing in the silvery light, focused on you and you alone.

an aching moment passes where you want to reach out, throw your arms around his slim waist and bury yourself into his chest; a safe place to sob and apologize and try to remember the care he holds for you when finding yourself misjudging the truth of it after your last conversation. before you can decide to move however, it’s vincent who breaks the tension between you with a quiet call of your name and a tentative hand that reaches for your face, stalling an inch away from your cheek.

you don’t give him the chance to pull away and quickly lean into his palm, closing the last bit of distance between you. the warmth of his body seeping through the leather of his gloves is a welcoming thing that brings forth more tears and calms you all the same.

vincent lets out a breath, his touch growing more confident then, a tender thumb wiping away the tears as they slip past your lashes, before they can go farther than the apple of your cheek.

“i’m sorry,” you both speak at the same time, tumbling over each other, voices wrought with emotion and truth.

vincents fingers twitch against your skin, his golden gauntlet covered hand so gentle as it brushes the loose hairs sticking to your face back, and quietly, not more than whisper, he adds. “please.. don’t cry.”

your lip quivers, unable to help yourself when the frustration you had felt before is morphing into something else entirely but is just as consuming and you hardly know what to do with it. all you know is you want him closer, to remember and feel his love. let it devour you and make you forget about why you were here crying in the first place.

when you reach up for him, pulling at the collar of his cloak and being met with no resistance, you know he’s letting you bring him down to your lip. his soft, slightly chapped, lips slot perfectly against your own in a tender kiss, and the way his breath leaves his lungs only spurs you on, makes you greedy for more.

the taste on your tongue as you part your lips in invitation is salty from your tears but so quickly is it taken over by the familiar, addicting, taste of vincent. you hadn’t realized just how cold you were out here until you’re completely enveloped in his warmth, with his gauntlet covered hand splayed out on the surface of the rock being the only thing keeping you both up right while you cling to him and your kisses continue to grow deeper, harder, as if you both thought for a moment that you may have lost the other and now that you know how untrue that is, you don’t dare to let go.

his hand on your cheek moves to cradle the back of your skull and your arms find their way around his neck, neither of you willing to part or be the first to break your locked lips. no, your joined actions only bring you closer and closer until you think he’s giving you the chance to devour him too; your kisses so full of tongue and teeth and fervor you can hardly breath and every tiny breath you are able to take is so full of vincent you’re starting to wonder if you’ll ever be able to part from him.

“don’t let me go vincent.” you don’t know how you’re able to get the words out. at best they’re a muffled mess spoken through heaving intakes of air and spoken directly into him.

but he hears you as clear as the relief that washes over him in waves at the acceptance you show him after your argument and his reply is just in kind, from the depths of his heart. “i won’t. i can’t.”

[thevenerated]

Dutiful Husband

Synopsis: Curly cares for you deeply. Everything he does is for your sake, always. (tw: physical abuse aftermath, manipulation, unwarranted guilt. MINORS DNI.)

Word count: 0.7k

Notes: unironically has been YEARS since I've written fics so forgive me if the writing is sloppy. Because. ts is also unedited and held together by duct tape and shaky hands hehe

The tears didn't cease.

Face buried in Curly’s pillow, you tried to calm yourself, chest shuddering with every breath you took, each inhale filled with the smell of stale cologne. It did little to soothe you.

Heaving, you tried to quiet yourself as Curly neared the room, hesitant footsteps closing in to march through the door after a few minutes of “giving you some time to reflect.”

It was routine. He upset you in some sort of way, you’d argue, he’d hit you, you cried, and he’d come back to talk sense into you after deciding you’d reflected enough.

If he felt fancy, he’d ask what you did wrong. You often blanked at that question.

He wouldn’t hit you, though—not now—merely a gentle pet on your head and a sad smile. As if he failed in some way. But not for the reason you would hope he had.

Curly paused outside the room, listening for a moment as you sobbed into his pillow. It didn’t take long for his patience to wane before finally barging in, taking in the scene.

In some vain attempt at dignity, you buried your face deeper into the pillow, body wracking as you focused on trying to breathe.

You could hear the creak of floorboards as he neared, ultimately sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking the unbruised part of your back, thumb pressing gently along the length of your spine. Big and warm, his hand pierced the thin fabric of your nightgown, leaving warmth in its trail. A kindling rather than the strike of red iron.

“I’m doing this for you,” he murmured softly.

“That’s what…” You hiccupped, trying to choke out the words. “That’s what my dad used to say.”

“He’s a very wise man, then.” He chuckled, his hand pausing as the other reached over to nudge your shoulder back. “C’mon, it’s rude to talk to me with your back facing me. Yes, good girl, there we go…” His fingers nudged at the flesh of your damp cheek, wiping the remaining droplets.

You stared at him, and his eyes flitted from your cheeks to your eyes.

You couldn’t snuff the sniffling, and he tsked softly. “Hey, I’m not angry anymore. You learned your lesson, right?”

Lesson, lesson..?

You nodded warily. You’d already forgotten what had pissed him off this time.

“I only do this because you remember easier this way, okay?”

“Because you care about me,” you mumbled.

“Exactly. See? Doing so good already. It hurts me more than it does you, I promise.” He gently tugged your wrists. “I love you so much.”

The words were no lie. You could see it clearly in the earnestness of his expression, the subdued warmth of his voice.

It always made you pause. Affectionate, warm, caring. You were making this guy hit you. A stone weighed down the pit of your stomach, and your bottom lip trembled despite your efforts.

You hadn’t listened properly. It’s an issue you’d had since childhood. You just never fucking listened.

After all, didn’t he always know better? His love for you was real—anyone could see it—and yet here you were, ruining things again.

The tears welled fresh as his thumb brushed over your cheek. He smiled faintly, as though forgiving you before you even spoke.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I know you don’t mean to make these mistakes. That’s why I’m here—to set you on the right path. That’s my job, right?”

You nodded again, slower this time, even as the stone twisted into an overwhelming boulder. The part of you that wanted to resist, that wanted to question, drowned beneath the sound of his voice, the softness of his touch, the way he always made it feel like it was for your own good.

And maybe it really was. It’s not like it hurt that bad. Bruises were kind of rare.

“Good girl,” he whispered, pulling you gently against him. “I knew you’d understand. That’s what I love about you—you’re so good when you want to be.”

The warmth of his words spread through you, and with it came a bitter relief. You were good. You could be good, couldn’t you? If only you tried harder, if only you listened better… maybe then you wouldn’t have to cry like this anymore.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have to hurt you so much, either.

Just listen.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | a trickster's bargain⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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Your body tensed, panic bubbling to the surface as your mind immediately leapt to the worst possible conclusion. He's here to drag me back to Apollo. I'm dead.

Your mind raced with every possibility, none of them good. You didn't know what the gods did to thieves who dared rob them, but you were sure it wouldn't end with a pat on the back and a "nice try."

Your muscles tensed instinctively, as if preparing to bolt again, but the way Hermes looked at you—sharp, curious, like he was reading your every thought—made it clear you wouldn't get far.

He might've been lounging, acting lazy, but there was something dangerous about him. Something that told you he could catch you before you even took a step.

"W-ha—" Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard and tried again. "Why are you here?"

Hermes' grin spread wider, his golden eyes flashing as if this was all one big joke. He sat forward just slightly, his elbows on his knees, his staff still twirling in his hand as though it weighed no more than a twig. "Relax. I'm not here to drag you back to back to my dear brother, if that's what you're worried about."

You blinked, your breath hitching. "You're... not?"

"Pfft, no," he snorted, as though the idea itself was ridiculous. "Dragging people off for punishment? That's not really my style. And besides..." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, his grin turning downright wolfish as he twirled the staff faster. "...I'm not mad. I'm impressed."

You froze, staring at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Impressed?"

Hermes didn't answer right away. Instead effortlessly pushed off the branch, floating down to the forest floor with the lazy grace of a leaf on the wind. The wings on his sandals fluttered quietly, barely disturbing the air around him. He landed softly, his staff tapping once against the earth before he turned his sharp gaze back to you.

"You heard me," he said, smirking. "Do you know how rare it is for someone to pull off a stunt like this? Robbing Apollo's shrine—and living? Oh, the other gods are going to love this one." He clapped his hands once for emphasis, laughing to himself like he'd just heard the world's funniest joke.

You didn't laugh. You didn't move.

Your arms curled subconsciously around your satchel, pulling the heavy bag closer to your chest as if that could somehow shield you. "S-So... what?" you managed, your voice thin and cautious. "Does that mean you're not going to kill me?"

"Kill you?" Hermes snorted again, shaking his head as if the thought was absurd. "I don't do that kind of thing. I'm the god of travelers, thieves, merchants... tricksters, you might say. You?" He gestured to you with the end of his staff, smirking. "You're practically one of mine already."

That didn't make you feel much better. Your eyes never left him as he began to move, stepping—not walking, exactly, more like floating—around you.

You stiffened, your back pressing harder against the boulder as he circled you like some predator inspecting its prey. And then he did something that made your breath catch.

He stepped into the creek.

You blinked. He didn't sink. The water rippled softly around his sandals but didn't seem to touch him.

It was wrong in the way only something divine could be, and yet he acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The tiny wings fluttered lazily as Hermes walked—no, glided—across the water's surface, the reflections of moonlight dancing beneath his feet as he continued to circle you like a shark.

The staff in his hand twirled lazily, but his golden eyes never left you.

You swallowed, clutching your satchel tighter.

Hermes' gaze flickered down at the movement, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Touchy, touchy," he teased, his golden eyes watching how your arms curled protectively around the bag. "You act like I'm going to snatch it from you."

"You might," you shot back before you could stop yourself.

He paused, eyebrows arching as his smirk twitched into a lopsided grin. "Oh, you're fun." He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. "Relax, little thief. I don't need your scraps."

"Scraps?" you repeated, scowling before you could think better of it.

Hermes snorted again, spinning the staff effortlessly in one hand as he stepped back onto solid ground. "Compared to the Sunstone hanging around your neck?" He tilted his head, his sharp gaze flickering to your chest, where the faintest golden glow still pulsed beneath your shirt. "Yeah. Scraps."

Your face twitched as your fingers brushed instinctively over the stone's warmth, still hidden but alive.

You couldn't tell if he was mocking you or not. Probably both.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the goblet was gone from the ground, plucked right out of thin air.

Your head snapped up. Hermes was standing right in front of you, holding it casually in one hand like it had always belonged to him.

You froze, still seated on the ground, staring up at him in disbelief. You hadn't even seen him move.

One moment, he'd been a good few paces away, circling like a hawk with that smug grin, and now he was here—close enough that you had to tilt your head back to see his face.

The goblet gleamed in the moonlight, the last droplets of water dripping from its rim.

"Pretty little thing," Hermes mused, holding it up to inspect it, turning it this way and that like he was deciding whether it was worth anything. "Not quite worth Apollo's wrath, but hey, you've got guts."

You swallowed hard, muscles locking up as you instinctively curled your arms tighter around the satchel. He hadn't touched the bag—you'd know if he had—but his presence alone made every bit of treasure inside feel like it might vanish at any second.

"Give it back," you muttered, glaring up at him.

Hermes' grin didn't falter. If anything, it deepened. He turned his golden gaze down to you, the faintest huff of amusement escaping him as if your bravado only entertained him more. "Fiesty."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to look away. You were still sitting there, half sprawled near the creek, knees bent and back pressed against the boulder, while he stood above you like the smug, impossible god he was.

It was maddening—the way he loomed without even trying, that sharp golden gaze pinning you down.

You wet your lips, fighting to keep your voice steady. "What do you want?" you demanded finally, harsher than you intended.

Hermes tilted his head, his curls catching the faint light as he lowered the goblet just slightly. He planted his staff into the dirt beside him with a faint thud, the polished wood glinting faintly, and leaning against it lazily with one arm. "I'm glad you finally asked."

You stiffened. Here it comes.

"See, here's the thing," Hermes started, his tone light and conversational, as though you were two friends discussing nothing more than the weather. "You're good—better than most, actually. I like that. And you've entertained me tonight, which doesn't happen often."

He pushed off the staff and crouched slightly, his golden gaze now level with yours.

You couldn't help but flinch slightly at the proximity—the way his golden eyes pinned you to the spot like a butterfly on a board. His smirk softened just a little, but there was still something calculating in it. "Sooo, I'm going to offer you something in return."

Your stomach dropped. "An offer?"

He nodded, still grinning like he knew something you didn't. "I'll help you."

"...Help me? ...How?"

Hermes' eyes gleamed brighter, playful and sharp, like a knife disguised as a smile. "Mask your trail, of course. I'll cover your tracks. It'll keep Apollo's fury off your back, at least for a while." He twirled the staff in one hand, the movement unnervingly casual; his voice was sing-song, almost amused. "You're clever, little thief; don't get me wrong, but you're playing with fire here. Without me? You'll burn."

You stared at him, trying to decide whether to be relieved or terrified. Probably both.

"And... what's the catch?" you asked cautiously.

Hermes' grin widened, his teeth catching the moonlight. He looked almost proud, like you'd just passed some unspoken test. "Smart girl," he said approvingly. "Of course there's a catch."

You stayed frozen, barely daring to breathe as he leaned closer, and even though he wasn't touching you, his presence pressed against you like a physical weight.

His grin was playful, boyish even, but there was something darker beneath it—a flash of calculation, of something far more dangerous hiding in plain sight.

"For my help," Hermes said softly, voice dipping low enough to make your skin prickle, "I'll expect a favor in return."

"What kind of favor?"

Hermes straightened, shrugging one shoulder with a nonchalance that didn't fool you—that same wolfish glint still lurking in his golden gaze. "I don't know yet," he said, twirling the goblet now like it was part of some grand joke. His eyes glinted again, mischievous and sharp. "But when I do? You'll owe me."

You blinked at him, trying to process his words. "That's it?"

"That's it." Hermes straightened, his staff clicking against the ground as he did. He spun the goblet in his other hand and then, with an exaggerated flourish, held it out to you like some grand prize. "So, what d'ya say?" He extended his free hand toward you, palm up, waiting for a handshake. "A small price, don't you think? For your life."

Your eyes flicked between his outstretched hand and his expression, every part of you screaming to hesitate.

Your brain screamed at you to think—this could be easily be a trap. It probably was a trap, the kind that ended with you back in Apollo's shrine, dragged before an angry god with no hope of escape.

Because, let's be real, Hermes wasn't just a god; he was the god of tricksters. That grin of his might as well have been a warning sign.

But the other part of you argued back, desperate and practical. Hermes was your best shot. He wasn't wrong—you had entertained him tonight, which was probably the only reason you were still breathing.

He might be chaos wrapped in charm, but Apollo's wrath was something you couldn't outrun on your own.

And besides, it wasn't like you had gods lining up to be on your side already.

Your eyes flicked back to his face, then to his hand, still waiting patiently for yours.

Hermes watched you closely, the corners of his grin twitching, but there was something calculating in those golden eyes.

Always watching. Always two steps ahead.

"C'mon," he said, wiggling his fingers as though coaxing a child. "Tick-tock, little thief. Apollo won't stay mad forever—he'll get worse."

You swallowed hard. "Fine," you grumbled, the word barely a whisper. Your fingers tightened briefly around the strap of your satchel before you forced yourself to move.

Slowly, reluctantly, you reached out and slid your hand into his.

The moment your palm met his, warmth rippled through you—not comforting warmth, but something electric, like sparks jumping along your skin. Hermes' grip was firm and steady, his fingers calloused despite their elegance.

His grin widened, sharp and triumphant.

It felt like sealing a deal with chaos itself.

"Smart choice," he said, giving your hand a single, decisive shake before letting go and snapping his fingers.

You flinched slightly at the snap, your head darting around, expecting... something. A flash of light, a thunderous boom, maybe the earth splitting in half. But nothing happened. The forest still stretched out dark and quiet around you, the creek bubbling softly at your side.

You stared at Hermes, unimpressed, a brow raising as you huffed. "That's it?" you muttered, voice flat. "That was your big trick?"

Hermes chuckled, clearly amused by your skepticism, his golden eyes crinkling with mischief. Before you could blink, he reached out, grabbed your arm, and lifted you clean off the ground.

"Hey—! What the—" you yelped, your feet dangling uselessly for a moment as he effortlessly hauled you upward like you weighed nothing at all. Before you could protest further, Hermes settled you onto your feet with an exaggerated gentleness, grinning down at you as though the whole thing were perfectly normal.

"There we go," he said, dusting off his hands like he'd done something terribly important. He crouched slightly, reaching for the satchel you'd dropped. "Can't have you sitting around all day, can we?"

You blinked at him, still recovering from the fact that a god had just manhandled you like a doll. Before you could argue, Hermes straightened, holding the satchel out to you with an easy smile. "Don't look so grumpy. I've already done all the hard work for you."

You hesitated, fingers curling around the bag's strap. "What... hard work?"

"Erased your trail," Hermes replied casually, waving a hand through the air like it was the simplest thing in the world. "The shrine? The woods? Any trace of you being there—poof." He smirked, tapping his temple with one finger. "It's like you were never there at all. Also, I may or may not have tinkered with a few guards' memories, too. Just temporarily, of course."

"How long is 'temporarily'?"

He scratched his chin, grinning as his golden eyes sparkled with something far too mischievous. "Well, 300 years is temporary for you mortals, isn't it?"

The gods really could bend the world, couldn't they?

A surprised laugh burst out of you before you could stop it, startled and incredulous. "Well, I'll be..."You shook your head, clearing your throat quickly as you reached for the satchel, shouldering it. "I suppose I should say thank you for that..."

As soon as the bag settled, you paused.

It was light. Too light.

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach, dread flashing through you like lightning. Your eyes snapped up to Hermes, who was watching you with a suspiciously innocent look, and your hands moved before you could think.

"Shit! You didn't—you better not have taken even one coin—"

Curses flew from your lips as you dropped the bag onto the ground and yanked it open, fingers fumbling to pull the flap back. Your chest tightened, your stomach twisting in panic—

But there it was.

The treasure gleamed back at you, piled neatly like it hadn't been thrown together during a frantic escape. Coins, jewels, and even the silver goblet sat tucked perfectly inside the satchel, untouched and safe.

You sat there for a beat, waiting—expecting something monumental to happen. A flash of light, the earth splitting open, anything to match the smug finality in his tone. But the air remained still, and all you heard was the soft babble of the nearby creek.

Your mouth opened, the curse trailing awkwardly into nothing as you stared at it. "...How?"

"Oh, that?" You looked up, completely bewildered, only to find Hermes humming to himself, a smug smile tugging at his lips like a cat who'd gotten into the cream. "I may or may not have also charmed your bag," he said, voice light and sing-song. "Weightless. Handy little trick, really. Now you won't have to lug around that oh-so-heavy bounty—feels like a feather now, doesn't it?"

You gawked at him, mind reeling. For a long second, you couldn't even form words. The satchel in your hands was feather-light, as though it held nothing at all, but you could see the treasure—solid, real, gleaming up at you.

It finally hit you. You were actually dealing with magic. Gods. All of it.

You let out a shaky, wobbly smile, blowing out a breath that turned into something close to a sob. "Wow. A thief's dream."

Hermes blinked, clearly caught off guard, before an unexpected chuckle slipped from him. "Huh. Funny," he muttered, like he hadn't expected the words but found them amusing anyway. "That's a good way to put it."

You shook your head, still half in disbelief as you shut the satchel and pulled it close. "So... what now?"

Hermes pushed off his staff with a satisfied nod, already turning on his heel. "Now? Let's be off. Time waits for no one, little thief."

You blinked, watching as he began walking—walking—in a completely random direction through the woods. His cloak fluttered behind him, brushing against the earth as if it couldn't quite decide whether to touch it or not.

"Wait!" you called after him, adjusting the satchel across your shoulder as you hurried to follow. "Can't you just,  I don't know—fly us out of here? Or use magic or something?"

Hermes glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he shrugged. "Yeah, probably."

You frowned. "Probably?"

"But where's the fun in that?" he teased, his voice full of mischief.

You stared at him, slack-jawed and exasperated as he strolled through the forest without a care in the world.

"...Gods," you muttered under your breath, trudging after him with your magically weightless bag. "I'm going to regret this."

From ahead, Hermes' laugh rang through the trees like the chiming of bells, bright and mocking. "You already made the deal, little thief! Too late for regrets now. Now, hurry up!"

A/N: okay, just forgive me now because this will NOT be a slow burn, but honestly, can you blame me? Hermes is just begging for all the attention and affection right now. 😩✨ 

[spicybunni]

YANDERE DRIDER X FEM DARLING

WARNINGS⚠️ : YANDERE TENDENCIES / STALKING / BLOOD DRINKING / VENOM USED AS A DRUG / NSFW

Summary : Waking up in the den of a drider who wants to use you as their personal blood bag...among other things. Enjoy!

🕷️This trip started off so well, how did it end up like this? This was your first time solo hiking in the woods. You thought it would be an easy adventure, sticking to the correct trails and keeping track of where you were. You have hiked for multiple days and made it back to your car with no issues before, but for some reason you felt like someone or something was watching as you made your way back. In your rush to get home and rid yourself of solo hiking paranoia, your stupid foot got caught in a tree root making you fall off the trail. With all your hiking gear weighing you down it made the impact even harder than it should have. You bumped your head on a boulder and scrapped your hand and knee. Groaning at the pain you feel all over your body. You hear quick footsteps coming towards you, which made you panic and try to get up. Although you try to move, your body is going limp at a possible concussion you might have. What you see before fading out is a mass of black and light pink coming towards you with outstretched arms.

🕷️Your eyes slowly open to the darkness of a cave. There’s some light that pears through in holes above, but what you’re able to make out does little to comfort you.

🕷️Waking up you find yourself bound by your hands in front of you. Head still feeling woozy from your fall, all your gear is gone along with your shoes too.

🕷️All around there are intricate webs covering every rock and corner of this cave. There are small cocoons of paralyzed animals in some parts, their faces etched in frozen horror.

🕷️You thought giant spiders were just something you saw in horror movies, but now you’re realizing it might be your reality.

🕷️Your heartbeat and breath quickens as you realize there’s no accessible route for you to make your escape. The only outcome would be to climb up to the light. But your feet are bound along with your hands. You get up to sit on the heels of your feet, looking to see if whatever brought you here is still around.

🕷️She descends behind you on a single thread. Putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. Of course you jump and shriek at the feeling of her nails and hand touching you. You turn to see her and let out another scream. Her face grimaces at your unattractive sounds. Hand reaching out to cover your mouth, shoving you into her webbing below. Falling back from your kneeling form, her body and legs trap you beneath her.

🕷️She was confusing to look at, both attractive and terrifying at the same time. Aside from the huge spider body from the waist down, she was well endowed with an amazing human figure. Her skin has a pink hue with black hair tied into a bun using animal bones. Her black nails are long and sharp, just barley puncturing your cheek skin. And all six of her eyes are solid black and looking down at you. She smiles bringing her free hand to her dark lips in a shhhh motion.

🕷️After immediately being silenced by her hand, you start to shake and whimper with tears forming in your eyes.

🕷️She’s immediately alerted at your crying. Removing her hand from your mouth to stoke your head and wipe your tears.

“Oh my sweet prey, enough of the tears….” Her voice comes out like syrup, surprising you with her sudden speaking of english.

🕷️Which makes you let out another whimper at your new nickname.

“P-Please don’t hurt me, I-I don’t wanna die!”

She chuckles at your fearful statement.

"Silly thing. If I wanted you dead, you already would be." She grins at the last part, making you let out a sob at the possible torture she might put you through.

🕷️She quips her brow at you. Humans are so strange, can't they usually tell when someone loves them? She's been stalking you for your entire trip, making sure no harm would come your way. At first it was to hunt and eat you. She had been fantasying about how she would drain your blood, hang you in her cave, if she wanted you wrapped or bound by your legs? What changed her mind was that when she scared off other predators while stalking you, she realized she needed to protect you. You were too vulnerable to be left alone. You needed her without realizing it. You were so sweet to your surroundings, caring for the nature around you and being mindful of yourself. The outside world is too dangerous for someone so sweet as yourself. And obviously she thought you were just so adorable. She would wonder why you would have no partner attached to your side for such a journey you went on.

🕷️As a price for being so carefully protected on your hike, she figured she could bargain to drink your blood in return. Just one little drink wouldn't be too much right? But you looked so distressed at just the sight of her. Maybe some of her venom can calm you down.

🕷️Holding you still with her hands on your shoulders, she leans in to your neck. You yelp at the sudden closeness, squirming to shake her off. Her fangs quickly puncture your sensitive skin, giving you a small sting. She pulls away just as fast, watching the effects melt through you.

🕷️You closed your eyes shut when she leaned in, thinking you were going to die by her taking a chomp out of you. But the sting was the only thing that came and she backed away from you to give space.

"What did you...d-" You couldn’t finish your sentence as you let out a sigh, all of her venom was hitting you at once.

🕷️Your body suddenly had a giddy feeling run through it, starting from her bite on your neck. You felt clouds flood your mind and being lightheaded in the best way possible. Body turning flush in your cheeks and arms. Breasts now feeling hard and sensitive inside your shirt. Everything felt so uncomfortable yet fuzzy and warm. Through heavy eyelids you looked up at her, watching as she licked her lips at her sample of you. She wanted more, and you were now in a headspace wanting- no, needing to give it to her.

🕷️Revisiting your spot on the web flooring once more, she observes your movements and the way you're gazing at her now. You look as if you're stoned, completely different attitude from thirty seconds ago. Her venom was just that potent for you.

"There, there prey, I’ve got you." Her clawed hand tilts your head up to her. She grins at you, seeing a pool of drool gather in your mouth as you look back at her. In your simple mind right now, you just thought she was so pretty. Her eyes made you nervous still , but she hasn't hurt you yet right? She's been so nice to you!

"A spider lady huh?.." You slur out. All fear has left you, now being able to talk normally. No stutters or hiccups. She chuckles at your state. twirling a piece of your hair in her hand. "Indeed my darling dearest. Do you mind if I have another drink from you?" Her eyes furrow in faux innocence. As if asking for a slice of cake. If giving her more of your blood meant you felt this feeling longer, than so be it right? You nod your head dumbly and turn your head to side, giving her full access. “Yes…

🕷️What she does next results in you gasping as she pushes your bound hands above your head. She sticks your bounds to her main web beneath you both, keeping you in place. The swift movement took your breath away as you look at her wide eyed again. You feel her breasts pressed against yours and you moan out at the feeling. The sounds are wonderful to her ears and she continues her movement against you. The next sensation you feel was at the crotch of your pants and her groping your breasts. The first making you yelp at the sudden stroking of your slit beneath the layers of clothing. She used her clawed hand to grope and tease your chest, while her other hand was teasing you below. You're panting at this point, and she takes that opportunity to slip herself in there before you could react.

🕷️Your mind was still on that fuzzy feeling from earlier, but now it was full lust that enraptured your being. Nobody has ever played with your body like this, and now a spider monster was able to play you like a fiddle.

🕷️The arm focused on touching your crotch was moving up to slip through your pant and underwear line, making its way to your entrance. Heart beat already pounding like crazy, the anticipation of her about to finger you or tease you makes you almost faint. But she won't have that right now. She plunges her tongue into your mouth harshly, waking you up as her fingers trace the circle of your pussy's entrance. You moan into her mouth at the feeling. You just wish your legs weren't bound so you could spread them more freely.

"That's it, give in to me prey. Let me in..."

🕷️You feel as though your head will explode. The den becomes humid and stuffy as your panting and moans fill the air. She lets out satisfied chuckles and hums come from her as she plays and dotes on you. The Drider finally decided she will eat you at some point. I mean, why else would she go to such lengths to protect you? You’re a meal worth savoring. But there’s no rush. For now, she can just sip on your blood.

🕷️In the back of your mind you already knew that you would never leave this web, but with how much you’re gushing on her, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

[missmeinyourbones]

cw: JJK MANGA SPOILERS!!!! read at your own risk!!!!! megumi and gojo centric, sad sad sad i am so sad 

“He’s just a kid.”

Satoru’s tone is one you’ve never heard from him. Quiet, strained, barely a whisper against the howling wind from outside. He's never not spoken with conviction; never had a voice that cracks with uncertainty. You hate it. 

“I know.”

He’s quick to clarify, “I mean, they all are. But he—”

He loses his train of thought—or rather, he’s not strong enough to finish it. To say it out loud in fear of it taking on a greater form. He decides on shaking his head and returning his voice to a whisper as he insists. 

“It’s different.”

“I know,” you repeat. Your hand holds his far too tight when you solemnly clarify, “he’s different.” 

“He—” a sniffle disguised as an inhale interrupts, “I taught him how to ride a bike.”

His words somehow sew the stitches of your broken heart back together before ripping them open once more. Bittersweet imagery swallows you whole. 

The thought of a tiny stubborn Megumi wrestling with something as minuscule as training wheels—what would then seem like the biggest obstacle he’d ever face. The cruel irony weighs heavy on your tongue. 

His barely four-foot stature somehow intimidating a lanky teenage Satoru. 

Satoru—not yet an adult but still volunteering any missed remnant of his own childhood in exchange for the right thing, he holds onto the back of Megumi’s bicycle seat for about thirty seconds before Megumi shoves him off and insists he can do it himself. 

In the silence of your home, Satoru sees it too—remembers it like it was yesterday. And what he, at the time, thought was the scariest thing that could've ever happened to him floods his mind, is now something he yearns to go back for. To do it all again, the exact same way, just to sit in the moment for a bit longer.

“Lil’ asshole learned so fast, I barely got to teach him anything,” he scoffs behind wet eyes, “but still.” 

You let out a snotty laugh, and it lifts the troublesome boulder on Satoru’s shoulder for a moment. A millisecond, maybe, but he’s grateful for it all the same. 

“And all the times he threw up in the middle of the night and I—”

His own sob cuts his words short.

More imagery floods your mind. This time, a shaky and clammy Megumi standing by the bedside of a sleeping Satoru. With unsteady hands and a burning forehead, he pokes and prods the guardian behind watering eyes. 

Satoru tastes bile as he remembers heating up alphabet soup on the stove at the crack of dawn. How Megumi would wait at the table, head in hands and blanket wrapped loosely around his tiny frame. Short legs swinging from the chair, yet to be long enough to reach the tiled ground. 

He wants to go back, wants to ruffle his hair and wipe his snot one last time. Wants to watch him grow like a weed and nearly surpass his own gigantic height. Wants to teach him all he can and not send him on that wild goose hunt for a finger that leads them here—separated and cursing their own decisions.

The world feels like it stops turning when Satoru barely speaks up, “He’s supposed to be my best man.”

Your blurry eyes can barely make out the silver band decorating his ring finger that matches the diamond on yours. One that’s supposed to promise you a lifetime of happiness, but right now serves as a reminder that nothing is promised. Nothing can be guaranteed in the world of Gojo Satoru. 

Still, you try to smile for him. “He will be,” you nod. 

But Satoru shakes his head. “Baby, we need to think realistically about all of—”

“We know nothing, Satoru.”

“We know enough.”

His tone is harsh, like a blade on glass, it scratches to leave a mark. It cuts you deep, even when it shouldn't because you know he isn't angry with you. But Megumi is not here and Gojo can’t think straight knowing he could’ve done something to change the pattern. 

With a deep breath, he catches the flash of hurt in your eye. 

Hands instantly wrapping around your frame, more so for himself and not for you, he shakes against your body. “M’sorry, sorry.” 

His nose tickles your neck as he hiccups. 

“I just…” he tries his best to say something, anything, to explain even an ounce of what he’s feeling. But nothing does it justice, so he decides on a simple whimper. 

“He’s everything.” 

And just like that, the water overflows, and all Satoru couldn’t say is on the table with a mere two words. He’s everything—a son not his, a brother too young, a bond more vital than the lack of blood that runs behind it. 

Megumi is everything, and he’s not here. 

You pull Satoru’s face from the crook of your neck and hold it in your hands as if it’s glass. It is, you try to remind yourself. 

You force him to look at you, to feel your determination when you speak with fire, “We’re gonna be fine.” 

Broken beyond repair, Satoru merely nods—but he knows the truth. 

He’s seen this play out before, his own history repeating itself, taunting him right before his six eyes. Too powerful in every way but the one that matters, Gojo Satoru is always too late.

Satoru knows both he and Megumi will not walk out of this alive. Only one, if either, is lucky enough to break the pattern. 

What he doesn't tell your pleading eyes and hopeful heart, is that he hopes it's Megumi. For the sake of all things good, please let it be Megumi who returns home to you.

[zablife]

Ruins

Summary: With Tommy's love and support, Lily speaks to her husband for the first time in over a year.

A/N: A continuation of my AU between Tommy and his catatonic wife Lily, a victim of the Changretta family's brutality. Read their journey beginning with Lily, then Windflowers.

Warnings: mention of abuse, PTSD

"Tommy," it was the first word she'd spoken since her kidnapping and it nearly broke him. The sound of her fragile, aching voice calling for solace within the walls of their darkened bedroom.

He'd sprung forward instantly to embrace her, too afraid to let the fleeting moment for connection slip through his fingers. "I'm here. You're safe with me," he'd whispered against her skin, wondering how much she heard. "I love you, Lily," he professed early that morning, tears falling into her thick hair as he cradled her into him as carefully as he could manage.

Tommy didn't dare breathe as his wife rested her cheek atop the Romani sun just above his heart. In fact, he didn't sleep for hours afterward, devoting himself to her comfort as he lovingly stroked the long strands of hair that fell across his shoulder. He could only watch in hushed awe as her ribcage rose and fell against his in total relaxation.

"I never thought I'd hear you say it again," he whispered gratefully into the silence, chest swelling with emotion.

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

The days after passed quickly, Lily's progress suddenly moving at a pace that frightened Tommy greatly. Words turned to sentences and soon he feared she would speak of the brutality she'd endured.

"What if I'm not ready, Pol?" he gulped, watching his aunt with anxious eyes.

"She can't put a face on any longer, my boy," Polly reminded him. "You've heard the doctor's reports...know what those men did to her. This will be the hardest part, I won't lie to you."

She took a deep breath as she rose from her chair, staring out the window to watch Lily in the garden, memories of her own misfortune returning to her. Turning to face her nephew she added thoughtfully, "The awful truth is the fingerprints stain your skin forever....All you can do now is be there for her, listen to her." Eyes filled with unshed tears, Polly squeezed Tommy's hand as she gave a firm nod, an unspoken understanding he would do the right thing.

Tommy bit down hard on his lower lip to keep it from trembling, a deep inhale of breath to steady himself before searching for his wife in the gardens.

"Lily, my darling," he greeted her with a soft kiss to her cheek. "How are you today?"

"It's hard...to...to be brave... alone," she stuttered.

"You don't have to be alone anymore," he promised, taking her hand in his, the ache of her limp hand never quite leaving his consciousness, guilt weighing him down like a boulder. "I'm here with you and if there's anything you want to say, I'm listening," he assured, the softness of his blue eyes washing over her in gentle waves.

Lily remained still for a lengthy period, back rigid against the garden bench and Tommy sighed in bitter disappointment for the silence lingering between them.

Then unexpectedly, her voice began in trepidation. It was a shaky start as she seemed to hum first, testing out her throat to see if it steady enough before venturing forth. Then, much to Tommy's surprise, the words came tumbling out. "I didn't say a word...surely that proves it," she seemed to accuse herself. Though the content was troubling, her tone remained flat and her eyes stared ahead, watching something far in the distance.

Tommy captured her face in his palms, forcing her gaze toward his. "Proves what, eh? I know you did everything you could," he insisted.

She fought against him for a moment, eyes wild as she jerked her chin defiantly, a harsh catch of her breath letting him know some agonizing memory was reaching the innermost workings of her mind, too deep for him to penetrate. Tommy lifted his hands from her face, palms raised in surrender to show she was free to do as she pleased.

When Lily saw she was safe, her breathing slowed and she ventured a glance toward Tommy. Passing a trembling hand through her hair she confided, “They said our girl would live…” her voice broke before adding bitterly, “They laughed because I was stupid enough to believe them.”

Then in a voice so quiet it was almost carried away on the wind, she whispered to the ground, “I wish I could explain why…”

Tommy reached for her once more, an empathetic warmth to his words as he promised, "I don't fucking care about those bastards. And you know why? Because what they’ve made you believe is a lie! You're so fucking strong. You fought to come back to me and you have no idea how much more I love you for that."

Lily's tear stained face turned slowly toward her husband, a mixture of shame and desperation pleading for his help, hoping just this once he could hear her through the broken words. “How could you love me now? It’s my…my fault.”

"You're not to blame, you hear me? I won't let you frame yourself for their sins anymore," Tommy answered with conviction.

She hung her head in disbelief, a single protest left upon her lips. "I'm in ruins, Tommy," she confessed, sadly. "Is that the wife you hoped to welcome home?"

Tommy gave her his answer by cupping her chin and brushing his lips to hers tenderly. The gentle affection was reassuring, a forgotten memory resurfacing of a spring afternoon like this one many years ago. Something in the familiarity of her surroundings, combined with Tommy’s comforting scent relaxed her, body melting into his as he cradled her against his broad shoulder. The kiss was short and chaste by comparison to those they'd shared in the past, but Tommy's heart soared as Lily reciprocated his affection with a sigh upon her lips.

Foreheads pressed together, Tommy sought Lily's hand, lacing their fingers together. "We'll rebuild," he proposed with a gentle squeeze. "Because you're mine and you always will be," he swore beneath the canopy of wisteria and roses.

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

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[rassmentalism]

ONESHOT

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ- am i real?

pairings : carlgrimes x f!reader

warnings : sh, knife, cruel past, angst

words : 687

the night is quiet. too quiet. the kind that weighs on carl’s chest like a boulder, makes his fingers twitch against the grip of his gun. there’s no wind, no rustling leaves, no distant groans of the dead. just silence.

he hates silence.

you sit a few feet away, back against the wall of the run-down house you found for the night. your knees are drawn up to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them like you’re trying to hold yourself together. carl knows that feeling too well.

he watches you in the dim glow of the lantern, the flickering light casting long shadows across your face. you look tired. not just the kind of tired that comes from running all day, from swinging a knife into soft, rotting skulls, from watching your own back like it’s second nature. no, this is something else.

he knows what it is.

“you should sleep,” he says, voice low. he’s not looking at you when he says it. it’s easier that way.

you huff out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “should you?”

he shrugs. neither of you are sleeping tonight. that much is clear.

the silence stretches between you again, heavy and unspoken. the kind that’s worse than words.

then, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it—

“do you ever feel like you’re not real anymore?”

he turns his head, frowning. you’re staring at the floor, fingers clenched into the fabric of your jeans.

“like… like you could disappear, and nothing would change,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “like the world wouldn’t even notice.”

his stomach twists. because he knows. god, he knows.

“yeah,” he says after a beat. “i do.”

your breath shudders, and he catches the way your shoulders tense, like you regret saying anything at all. he wants to tell you it’s okay. that he gets it. that it’s not stupid. but the words die before they ever reach his tongue.

instead, he reaches for the knife at his hip and pulls it free. the metal catches the light as he turns it in his fingers, the motion slow, careful.

“what are you—”

before you can finish, he rolls up his sleeve.

his arm is a map of old scars, pale and faded, blending into the rest of his skin like they belong there.

you inhale sharply.

“carl…”

he doesn’t look at you. just presses the flat of the blade against one of the scars, tracing over it like he’s trying to remember.

“it doesn’t help,” he says finally, voice flat. “not really.”

you don’t say anything. maybe you already know that. maybe you don’t.

“hurts like hell, though,” he adds, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

your fingers twitch against your knee, like you want to reach for him but don’t know if you should.

he finally looks at you then. your eyes are wide, glassy.

“do you?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

you flinch. then, slowly, you roll up the sleeve of your own jacket.

carl swallows hard.

your arm is lined with fresh cuts, some still red and angry, others barely healed. some shallow, some not.

his chest feels tight.

he doesn’t say anything. just sets the knife aside and holds out his hand.

you hesitate, glancing at it like you don’t understand what he wants.

“let me see,” he says.

your throat bobs as you swallow, but after a long pause, you finally reach out. your fingers are cold when they brush against his, but you don’t pull away when he turns your arm, tracing his thumb gently over one of the older scars.

“you’re real,” he murmurs.

your breath stutters.

“you’re real, and you’re here.”

your eyes shine with something he doesn’t want to name. something too fragile, too raw.

“it doesn’t change anything,” you whisper.

his jaw tightens.

“it changes everything.”

you don’t argue. don’t fight him on it. maybe you’re too tired. maybe you just want to believe him.

the night is still too quiet. but somehow, it doesn’t feel as heavy anymore.

quick note : i hope it wont trigger anyone.. thank u for all the support i got on my previous oneshots, i usually write cai bots so this format is different for me ;p

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Unpredictable, Part 8-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: This took me way too long to write but as per usual, please let me know what you think and if you want more.

Warnings: angst, negative family dynamics, eating issues, body issues, and swearing.

Word Count: 7.8k

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @badbishsblog, @gardenof-venus, @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog, @kasslucilfer, @darksoul100

Luke’s smile would have been more contagious if my thoughts were not so jumbled. Even though he was standing right across from me, my brain refused to believe he was real. Sure, he was wearing his favorite brown jacket over a t-shirt with jeans, and the sun (or whatever light) highlighted the natural glow around him. But, it was impossible.

“Impossible?” Luke asked. “That’s a little harsh.”

I hesitated and pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. “Sorry, this is a lot to take in.”

But I could see the scene in my mind’s eye: the Vought clean-up crew hosing the blood off the cobblestone in front of Lamplighter, the chunks of Luke they put in biohazard bags, and the smell---

I wretched at the thought of it and tried not to double over. Luke rushed over to me and softly grasped my shoulders.

“Hey, are you okay, Y/N?” he asked.

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I…I saw you die, and this is a messed up joke if this is a joke. Or…”

Luke sighed. “You’re not dead if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He slowly backed away and I straightened up. Then, I launched myself at him and he caught me in a bear hug, laughing as he did. The scent of pine and clean aftershave almost made me cry.

“I miss you,” I mumbled into his chest.

“I miss you too,” he replied.

“I wish none of this happened. Why didn’t you tell any of us what was going on?” I demanded.

Luke paused. “I didn’t know how but, it sounds like you guys are figuring things out.”

I slowly pulled away from Luke and eyed him. “How can you tell?”

Luke pursed his lips. “I’m a manifestation of Cate’s subconsciousness. So, I see everything she sees.”

At his words, my eyes wandered around the forest. At first glance, it looked like any other forest with large trees and whistling wind. But on closer inspection, there were no woodland creatures, no sounds of birds, and the sky was more like a large gray cloud with red cracks that flashed every few seconds.

“I’m in Cate’s head?”

“You catch on quick but then again, you always do.”

I looked up at Luke. “So, if I’m in here, what’s happening to my body? And where’s everyone else?”

“You touched Cate when she was in extreme duress and she retreated to her mind but she brought you with her,” Luke explained. “Your body could be experiencing several things: seizure, vomiting, a comatose state, or hysteria.”

I groaned. “So, her going into shock put me in shock?”

“Pretty much.”

Another shock of lightning flashed across the “sky” but this time, it struck and destroyed a boulder that was about thirty feet away from Luke and me. The crash made me jump and Luke grabbed my arm.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“She’s kind of self-destructing. This hasn’t happened before and the only way to get out is if she wakes up,” Luke warned.

“So, I just need to find Cate and wake us both up,” I confirmed with a nod.

Lightning cracked through the sky and I jumped further into Luke’s grip.

“Basically but you don’t have a lot of time. If she doesn’t wake up, you’ll be stuck here forever.”

His words hung heavy over me and I could feel pressure weighing down on my shoulders. Somehow, I had to find Cate and snap her out of this state. Even though she’d been through a lot in the last few hours, she didn’t have to go this far.

I managed a smile. “Well, at least I have you here as a guide.”

Luke straightened up and puffed out his chest. “Of course. So, all you have to do---”

An instant later, a flash of lightning took him with it. It was difficult to tell whether knowing he was already dead made this second loss easier or harder. At the same time, it was nice to see Luke again, to talk to him, and touch him.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to think. The best course of action would be to try to use my powers again and figure out the best route out. It definitely could not hurt after the last couple of tries.

I closed my eyes and focused on the best way to find Cate. However, it was like my powers didn’t exist at all. Before, it felt like they were just out of reach and this was definitely worse.

I opened my eyes as I felt my heartbeat pick up.

“Breathe, Y/N, breathe,” I hissed.

There was no time for my anxiety to spike. No one else was here except me and Cate and I was the only one who could find her.

After a few deep breaths, I opened my eyes and saw a large glossy oak door standing in front of me. The door looked familiar, and I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing its knob and pushing it open.

Seconds later, the bright light stunned me as I wandered into the space. When my eyes adjusted, I realized that I was in Dean Shetty’s office, complete with the expensive furniture and tapestry. Dean Shetty sat at her desk and stirred some sugar into her cup of tea. Cate was sitting across from her but she looked much more innocent, like she had when we first met.

She sipped from a pristine teacup and tapped her gloved fingers against the porcelain. She wore a white varsity sweater and ripped jeans.

“How is your first week as a sophomore?” Dean Shetty asked.

Cate nodded. “It’s going well so far. It feels different.”

“That’s only a natural feeling. You are much more in control of your powers and you are more experienced.”

“Thank you, Indira, it’s all because of your help.”

Dean Shetty shook her head and set her teacup down. “No, I only supported you; you did a lot of work. You are in the Top 20 for a reason.” She clasped her hands together. “Considering your progress, I think it’s time that I give you a new challenge.”

Cate raised her eyebrows. “Challenge?”

“Yes. I believe it is time for you to pass on what you learned and that you are ready now. There is a freshman that I would like you to meet. She is an incredibly bright, talented supe but, she needs some guidance to realize her full potential.” Dean Shetty grinned. “Considering how similar your abilities are, I believe you would be a fantastic match as her peer mentor.”

Cate paused. “Peer mentor?”

“Yes, a guide of sorts about how to succeed at Godolkin; who to befriend, what events to engage with, and how to gain more control over your abilities. These sorts of things tend to come better from someone who is of a similar age. What do you think?”

Even though it sounded like a question, it wasn’t. Dean Shetty’s tone was light but her eyes seemed to darken slightly and she straightened up a little as she eyed Cate. Cate stared at the teacup in her hand for a while, mulling things over.

“Okay, if you think it’s a good idea, then I’m open to it,” Cate declared.

Dean Shetty smiled. “Wonderful.”

“When do I meet her?”

A second later, someone knocked on the door behind me and Dean Shetty rose from her seat.

“Right now,” she commented.

As she walked towards me, Dean Shetty’s gaze never left the door. Even as she walked past me, she didn’t acknowledge me.

“They probably can’t see me,” I concluded.

Dean Shetty opened the door in one flawless motion but she stood in a way where I couldn’t see who was on the other side.

“Am I early?” a soft voice asked.

“No, you have impeccable timing. Come on in.”

Dean Shetty stepped aside and in walked a very anxious freshman version of myself. I watched as my freshman self fought to not grab at the black tennis skirt that swayed when she walked. The silk pressed curls bounced against the middle of her back as she approached Dean Shetty’s desk.

Cate stood when freshman me got close enough and Dean Shetty stood next to me.

“Cate, I’d like you to meet Y/N Y/L/N. She’s at the top of Brink’s first-year class and I am confident her star will continue to rise with proper guidance,” Dean Shetty announced.

Freshman me extended a hand towards Cate and Cate accepted it. “It’s nice to meet you. I saw your TikTok on supe psychology and it was really cool.”

Did I always ramble that much?

“I’m glad you liked it and it’s nice to meet you too,” Cate responded.

Dean Shetty gestured for Cate and freshman me to sit and she poured freshman me a cup of tea. “I was just telling Cate that I think she would be a wonderful peer mentor.”

“Peer mentor?” I echoed.

“Yes, someone your age who can help guide you through GOD U. I’m sure you’ve noticed how hectic it can be and not everyone survives here. Any freshman would kill to have personal time with a Top 20 supe but they do not all meet the standard to do so.”

Freshman me’s eyes widened with each word Dean Shetty spoke. “That’s amazing but, why me?”

“Like I said you are exceptional in your classes already and your skill set and Ms. Dunlap’s are similar and cause similar side effects. I believe she can help you navigate that as well as all things GOD U.”

Freshman me turned to Cate and smiled softly. “If you’re okay with it…”

“Of course. What is your ability, by the way?”

Freshman me rattled off my ability and Cate nodded, impressed. Then, Dean Shetty’s cell phone rang and she excused herself to take it. Cate leaned closer to Freshman Me.

“Don’t be so nervous. I already know that we’ll be friends,” she smiled.

Freshman me grinned in reply and I could feel the residual giddiness or that could have been me remembering this day. Cate was so impressive at that point that I was afraid that she wouldn’t want to be stuck with me or ignore me. But the anger that rose at the sight of Cate’s grin leapt out of me.

“If we were such good friends, why did you trap me in your head?” I hissed.

Cate turned to me. “I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I thought your powers were impressive and I could tell how powerful you were when we first met. I still want us to be friends.”

I stomped over to her. “Then, let’s get out of here. We can go together; we don’t have to stay here.”

But as quickly as she was there, she was gone. Suddenly, I was in the corner of the training gym and Luke, Andre, and Jordan were hanging out on the other end. Jordan was in their female form, wearing a baggy tank top and loose sweatpants, something they’d rarely wear outside of a memory.

I remembered this, this was the first time I ever trained with the Top Five. Cate had dragged me to the gym, insisting that I meet her friends and almost-boyfriend while also improving my combat skills. At the time, I thought she was crazy and that maybe it was a cruel prank but her genuine smile and encouragement were comforting.

Slowly, I approached the group, moving to stand near Jordan and listening to the conversation.

“So, who’s this girl Cate’s bringing?” Andre asked.

“Her mentee. Shetty set them up, but she sounds excited,” Luke answered.

“You don’t have a name?” Jordan asked.

Luke laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cate mentioned it, but I can’t remember.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Well, this freshman better not waste my time.”

Luke playfully elbowed her. “Stop being so grumpy. If Shetty paired Cate with her, it probably means she’s impressive. At least give her a chance.”

Jordan scowled. “Why do you always have to be nice?”

Andre clapped his hands on Luke’s shoulders. “Because he’s Golden Boy.”

Watching past Jordan in all their surliness was jarring and I felt like a freshman again.

A second later, the training door opened, and I watched as Cate strutted in confidently with an arm wrapped around freshman me’s shoulders. I could feel the terror and anxiety wafting off freshman me as I watched her nervously eye the trio.

“Sorry, we’re late!” Cate called.

“It’s okay,” Luke insisted with a dazzling grin.

I giggled as Freshman me’s knees wobbled; it was funny how such a short time ago I couldn’t even make eye contact with Luke.

“Everyone, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my peer mentee. She’s doing amazing in her crim classes but needs a little help with combat,” Cate explained.

Freshman me did a small wave to everyone and Andre smirked as he swaggered up to her.

“Cate was keeping you all to herself, huh?” Andre commented.

Freshman me hesitated. “Uh…”

“Relax, Andre,” Luke said.

“Yeah, I don’t want you freaking her out with all that rizz,” Cate mocked.

Andre rolled his eyes and muttered something about the couple being “cockblockers”.

“Oh, you must know Jordan since they TA the first-year class,” Luke acknowledged.

“Um, sort of, we never…really…talk,” Freshman me admitted.

“Aw, don’t be scared of Jordan, their bark is worse than their bite,” Cate encouraged.

Andre raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Jordan scoffed. “I’ll give you this, you’re the least annoying freshman.”

“Thanks?”

“Okay, let’s split up into pairs.” Cate turned to Freshman me. “Don’t worry about getting hurt----we never go all out in training and we only spar until someone’s knocked out of bounds.”

Freshman me nodded and I watched as she side-eyed Jordan. Even though I’d known that I’d have to spar with them, it didn’t make my nervousness any better. However, the four of them split up amongst themselves, with Andre and Luke going first, followed by Cate and Jordan, and decided that the winners of those rounds would play rock-paper-scissors to determine who sparred with me.

Andre and Luke’s fight was interesting, and I forgot how close of a match they were. Of course, Luke used his fire and flying abilities to his advantage, but Andre was still a force to be reckoned with. Luke still won and Andre grinned as Luke helped him to his feet afterwards. Cate and Jordan’s fight was as surprisingly decent as I remembered. Even though Jordan switched between their forms depending on the circumstance, Cate managed to keep up for a while. It wasn’t until Jordan leg swept her, knocking her out of bounds, that the fight ended.

“Not…fair,” Cate panted as she sat up.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Jordan teased as she helped her up.

Cate smirked and they stepped out of the ring. Andre playfully rubbed his hands together.

“So, who gets to fight the freshman?” he sang.

“It’s Y/N,” Cate corrected.

“Right, sorry.”

Freshman me smiled softly as she stood from her seat and walked closer to the group. Luke and Jordan faced each other and played rock-paper-scissors. Playing best out of three was a little cruel since Freshman me hoped to spar with Luke. At the very least, he would be nice when I inevitably lost. Jordan was difficult to read but I’d had a feeling that they would taunt me about losing.

When Jordan won, I couldn’t read their expression but Freshman me was terrified.

“Stop looking like I’m going to kill you,” Jordan snapped.

Freshman me jumped and Cate placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Like I said, don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” she whispered.

At the time, I was so frazzled that I couldn’t focus on the outcome of the fight. Instead, I had focused on keeping my lunch down. Instead of joining Andre, Cate, and me on the sidelines, Luke stood on the mat, a couple of feet outside the circle. He waited a couple of seconds before signaling for Freshman me and Jordan to spar.

My shoulders hiked up towards my ears as I watched Freshman me clumsily evade Jordan’s attacks. At that time, I’d learned how to predict my opponent’s movements but I rarely landed strong attacks. Brink thought that because my mental strength was so high my physical strength had no choice but to lag.

“It would be unfair at that point. But, as a future supe, you do need to learn the basics,” he’d instructed.

Freshman me’s form was all over the place; her guard slipped every few seconds, her feet never had solid contact with the ground, and any kick or punch was weak at worst and sloppy at best. I cringed when she took a small energy blast from Jordan that knocked her out of bounds. It didn’t hurt but it was definitely a shock at the time.

“Jordan!” Cate admonished as she jumped to her feet.

She started to rush forward but Andre held her back and Luke shook his head.

“She’s fine,” Luke mouthed.

Freshman me panted on the ground, sweat staining the lime green Alo set she wore a couple of shades darker. Jordan shifted into their male form as they sauntered over to me and extended a hand. Freshman me stared at his hand like it would turn into a snake at any second.

“Come on, you just saw I won’t bite,” he quipped.

At his words, Freshman me accepted his hand and Jordan pulled her to her feet in one move. I smiled as she almost bumped into him, but Jordan steadied her by gripping my forearms.

“I never thought you’d be this clumsy,” he commented.

Freshman me huffed. “I’m, uh, usually not this bad.”

“Well, your form needs some work, and you need to build up more confidence when you’re on the offense. But, you were great at evading me.” “Until that last move.”

“Not a lot of people could avoid that, especially not a freshman. Don’t worry, we’ll work on it.”

Freshman me frowned as Jordan turned and started sauntering back to Cate and Andre. “Wh-what does that mean?”

Jordan glanced at her over his shoulder. “It means I’ll spar with you more often. You can’t be one of Brink’s new favorites and be this bad at fighting, freshie.”

Freshman me continued to gawk at him as he walked away. Andre finally let Cate run over to Freshman me and she insisted on looking her over. When Jordan finally got close enough to me, he had the smallest smile on his face. I stood just as he bent down to grab his water bottle.

“I still don’t get how you flipped like that. You mostly ignored me until then and I was a horrible sparring partner,” I commented.

Jordan chuckled. “I thought you’d get it by now.”

When he turned to face me, my stomach dropped. I didn’t understand why I still had this reaction to him after everything that happened. No matter what, every time he looked at me, I felt warm all over.

“You agreed to train with some of the highest ranking supes on campus and even though you were intimidated, you did your best and you didn’t give up,” Jordan stated. “Before we sparred, I thought Brink liked you so much because of your ability but it was more than that: you face challenges, even when you don’t want to, like a real supe.”  

“So do you,” I pointed out.

Jordan shook his head. “Yeah, but it’s different when you do it. I didn’t want to dig into any of this GOD U shit but you didn’t hesitate. It’s scary but also inspiring.”

It took all my strength to keep my mouth from falling open. I inspired Jordan? The same Jordan who did everything in their power to stay in the Top Three. The same Jordan who impressed one of the most influential crime experts so much that they became his TA.

None of this made any sense and I wondered how long Jordan thought of me like that.

Do they actually think about you like that?

I blinked and my heart sunk at the realization that Cate could have been messing with me; this was her domain after all.

 But what if Cate knew what Jordan was thinking or feeling at the time? It was possible, especially if she had her gloves off.

“Jordan---"

“And that’s when I said, ‘I hate to tell you buddy but, you’re looking at the wrong end’!” a loud voice cut me off.

When I turned to face the direction of the voice, I was suddenly standing in the corner of the dining room at Mom’s. The candlelight from the tables reflected off the wall, giving the space a false sense of warmth. The scent of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, and collard greens tickled my nose as I wandered further into the room.

At the long table, Mom and Dad sat on opposite ends, the large spread Ms. Murphy, the family cook, prepared obstructing their views of each other. My brother, Isaac, sat on one side, grinning from ear to ear as both our parents laughed. My fourteen-year-old self sat across from him, smiling as she pushed some greens around on her plate.

I remembered this, this was our first Thanksgiving after Isaac took the Buenos Aires job. The tension was so thick in the air that I could have choked on it and it nearly stopped my appetite.

Younger me slouched in her chair, clad in a red plaid cap-sleeve dress with her hair swept up in a loose curly bun. My face was so much rounder then. As I slowly traversed the table, Isaac pushed up the sleeves of his charcoal gray Brooks Brothers sweater.

Everyone liked Isaac, boys, girls, adults, everyone. If no one fell for his charm, his good sense of humor, or his fantastic social skills, they tended to be drawn to his tall, broad frame and smooth copper skin. When I was a kid, Isaac was everything.

“And that happened your first day?” Dad asked as he adjusted his glasses.

Isaac shook his head. “First week.”

“As expected from our brilliant son,” Mom bragged, sipping some Dom Perignon.

Isaac’s laugh sounded like a deeper-pitched version of Denzel Washington’s. Younger me smiled widely at the sound while I stared on, knowing full well that he probably got it from years of practice.

“I mean, I’m still learning a lot. Everyone I work with has been very welcoming,” Isaac insisted.

“Are you learning a lot about the culture? In school, we learned that it’s so vibrant there,” Younger me piped in.

Mom’s gaze cut towards me. “Y/N, don’t interrupt Isaac.”

Younger me shrank back and I flinched. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Y/N was only asking a question, Y/M/N. She hasn’t seen him in months, it’s only natural.”

Isaac raised his hands. “It’s okay, everyone.” He looked at Younger me. “It’s a really good question, Y/N. These past two years, I’ve really immersed myself in the culture and I’ve even started picking up more Spanish. Also, the Argentinians are a very welcoming people and I’m so fortunate to work and live with them.”

For the first time, I realized how practiced Isaac sounded. It was the same way Coco sounded whenever she practiced speeches but, she was also going into political science.

Who was Isaac trying to impress or sway?

I made my way to Younger Me and stood against the wall behind her. Her eyes were so wide and sparkling, hanging on to Isaac’s every word. I wondered if that was the same way I looked when I was rushing Si Chi.

Younger Me ate a mouthful of yams and nodded happily. “I’m glad you’re having such a good time. We miss you here, though.”

“But this is a great opportunity for your brother, Y/N. We couldn’t hold him back here,” Dad interjected.

“Right, yeah---” “Yes,” Mom corrected.

“Yes,” Younger Me repeated, turning to Isaac. “Can you pass me the turkey?”

My stomach dropped as the memory echoed in my ears. I wrapped my arms around my waist and leaned further into the wall, rubbing my sides.

“Sure, Sis.” Isaac grabbed the dish and started to hand it over when Dad placed a hand on Isaac’s wrist.

“Y/N, you’ve already had a…generous helping. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he asked gently.

I thought I was sinking into the ground as I watched Younger Me grasp for words and could feel how flustered she was in my chest.

“You can’t blame Y/N, Dad. Ms. Murphy’s an amazing cook,” Isaac tried.

Mom scoffed. “It’s all that cooking that made her fat.”

The room was silent for a moment. Suddenly, Dad looked both shocked and understanding as he stared at Mom, Mom was staring at a painting on another wall as she sipped her drink, and Isaac couldn’t take his eyes off the turkey dish in his hands.

I could feel the ball begin in Younger Me’s throat and the tears burned in her eyes as she tried to keep herself together.

“Y/M/N,” Dad admonished.

Mom cut her gaze towards him. “Don’t use that tone with me. Unlike you, I care for our daughter’s health. It’s especially important considering her abilities and we have no idea how obesity could impact them!”

Dad set the turkey dish down and Isaac started nibbling on some mac and cheese. “Don’t do that, I care about Y/N’s health. She has made a lot of progress thanks to my encouragement.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re saying that like the dance lessons that I paid for had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh yes, Y/M/N, only your contributions supported our daughter. When will you stop acting like you’ve financially supported our children this entire time? Don’t forget who gave you the money to start your agency.”

If looks could kill, Dad would have been dead a long time ago. Mom threw her head back and drained the last of her glass. When she set the glass down, she maintained a neutral expression.

“You can stop throwing that in my face now, Y/D/N; I’m the one who grew it without your or anyone else’s help!”

They went back and forth for a few more minutes and I watched Younger Me’s mind race.

Finally, she interrupted, “Did I tell you that I got all As for the semester?”

The statement made Mom and Dad pause and they relaxed a little.

“That’s wonderful, Y/N,” Dad praised.

“That’s my little sister,” Isaac added with a grin. “Have you solved any cases recently?”

Younger Me grinned. “Well, there’s this one murder that happened out in Cincinnati; a woman was found in a dumpster horribly attacked. The police think it’s a one-off but, that makes no sense since it matches the MO of several other murdered women who were found in the state.”

“What’s the MO?” Isaac asked, sipping some pinot noir.

 That was when I noticed that there was something different about Isaac’s eyes. The light brown orbs looked slightly more playful than usual, almost mischievous.

“Oh, she was bludgeoned to death with a blunt object and raped post-mortem,” Younger Me rattled off.

“Y/N, we are eating,” Mom said slowly.

Younger Me hesitated. “Sorry, Mom, I was just answering Isaac’s question.”

“You’ll get better at reading situations, hon,” Dad assured.

Mom shook her head and started stabbing at some greens on her plate. “I don’t recall having this issue with Isaac.” She glanced warmly at him. “You were always so polite and well-mannered.”

“I was well-mannered,” I huffed.

Isaac smiled sheepishly. “It’s different for different people. Y/N will be fine.”

Younger Me nodded slightly but I knew she was trying to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

“I hope so. You know, Vought is merciless about who they select to represent them. With every B-list hero in my agency, they are trained to hell in PR. There can be no mistakes, Y/N, not if you want a future as a supe.”

Younger Me nodded. “Yes, Mom.”

After a few moments where the only sounds were cutlery hitting the plates, Ms. Murphy stepped into the dining room. The portly older black woman rubbed her hands on the towel attached to her apron.

“Pardon me but, dessert is about ready. Should I have the table cleared?” Ms. Murphy asked.

Isaac stood. “It’s alright, Ms. Murphy, I’ll clear the table.”

“Isaac, there’s no need, we have people for that,” Mom insisted.

“It’s okay, I’m happy to help.”

Ms. Murphy nodded and shot a glance in Younger Me’s direction before slipping back into the kitchen. Isaac gracefully collected his plate and started going around the table, collecting ours.

“What a polite boy I have,” Dad complimented, playfully punching Isaac’s arm as he past.

“Despite all that success you’re so humble,” Mom added. “Remember this when you start to get big, Y/N.”

Younger Me nodded and once Isaac was at the kitchen door, she stood. “I’ll go help with dessert.”

Neither of them responded as she trailed behind Isaac, and I trailed behind her. The kitchen smelled like pecan pie and my mouth watered. Ms. Murphy was fantastic at her job, but no one could do desserts like her. She claimed that the secret was that she used full-fat everything.

“A growing girl like you needs that,” she quipped once.

In one corner of the room, Ms. Murphy was adding the finishing touches to the immaculate pecan pie perched on a silver server. Isaac set the dirty dishes on the counter and opened the dishwasher. I decided the island was the best position since it gave me a good view of the two of us and kept me at a decent distance.

“Let me help you,” Younger Me insisted.

Isaac paused and nodded. “Sure, sis.”

“I’m gonna go take this out to your folks,” Ms. Murphy said, pecan pie in hand. She leaned down to Younger Me. “You eat as much of this as you want.”

Younger Me smiled softly as the older woman disappeared into the kitchen.

“It’s really good to have you home, Isaac,” Younger Me commented as she handed Isaac plates.

“You keep saying that,” Isaac joked.

“It’s true. It’s like before when you’re around,” Younger Me said.

Isaac tensed a little but continued loading the dishes. “So, how have things been since I was gone?”

“Horrible,” I stated.

At that time, Mom and Dad cooled off from World War III which was their divorce but they still fought every time they saw each other. Even though Dad moved out a while ago, they would still see each other for my dance recitals, cheer events, or awards ceremonies. And whenever one of them dropped me off with the other, the tension made me sick but the worst part was how they bad-mouthed each other.

They both said things that no daughter should hear about her parents.

“Fine, things have been fine,” Younger Me lied.

I could have cried for her as she fidgeted with a plate. At the time, I didn’t want to burden Isaac since all the phone calls and text conversations we had were so positive. He was doing important work and I didn’t want to complain. But at the same time, he had to know things were bad.

“That’s good to hear,” Isaac replied. “I want to make sure my little sister’s okay.”

Then, Younger Me hesitated and handed him a plate. She bit her bottom lip and several moments past before she said, “Actually, sometimes, things get really, really bad. They both say some things that I hope they don’t mean and sometimes, I know what’s coming but it still freaks me out.” Younger Me shrugged. “Sometimes, I wish I could escape far away from here, like you did.” As innocent as the words were, little did I know at the time that it would be enough to set Isaac off. He straightened from loading the dishes and closed the dishwasher door stronger than he had to. When he turned to Younger Me, the pleasant expression he wore all night disappeared; his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“You think I escaped?” he asked slowly.

Younger Me blinked and the realization of her words poured over her. “Isaac, I didn’t mean----”

“You think I took that job so that I could run away? It was a fantastic opportunity, and I would have been an idiot not to take it!” he hissed.

Younger Me flinched and I gritted my teeth. “No, it’s great, Isaac, really. We’re all so proud of you and you’ve been doing so much great work. I just meant that it must be nice to get away.”

“I would never want to get away from my family. Adults fight sometimes, Y/N, grow up.”

Isaac’s words stung against my face and I clenched my fists as Younger Me fumbled for words. As Younger Me pled more and more with Isaac, my anger grew.

“I’m sorry, Isaac, really. It’s okay, everything’s okay, don’t worry about us,” Younger Me insisted.

I scoffed. “Nothing was okay, and you had to know that.”

Then, Isaac’s gaze left Younger Me’s and burned into mine. “Stop overexaggerating, Y/N. You never went crazy and you got into the special supe school; you’re doing just fine, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

It was hard to tell whether Isaac’s tone or his insistence on being right was the nail in the coffin but I didn’t care as I charged around the island and stood in front of Younger Me.

“Are you kidding me? I had a million anxiety attacks, and I could barely sleep. No one noticed, though, because I almost killed myself keeping up good grades and trying not to eat too much because Mom and Dad would comment,” I snapped.

Isaac hesitated. “Like I said, though, you’re doing fine now.”

“I’m not fine!” I exclaimed. “I never was but I couldn’t show that because someone had to be the adult in this house. I still don’t understand how you all thought that was okay when it wasn’t.” I scoffed. “Wait, I have an idea, maybe it’s because perfect little Doctor Isaac couldn’t be burdened with the fact that he abandoned his little sister in hell!”

“I didn’t abandon you, it was a good job!” Isaac argued.

The laugh that erupted from my chest was spiteful and it had no joy or air in it. Then, I couldn’t stop laughing, to the point that I doubled over. Isaac must have thought I had lost it but I didn’t care as I straightened up.

“What are you laughing about?” he asked, frowning.

“You could have gotten a surgeon job anywhere in the country and you’re telling me the best offer was ten thousand miles away? You graduated at the top of the class, you had to have other offers.” I huffed. “I had to be so deep in denial but I knew, I had to know. But what does it matter as long as you’re still the favorite.”

“I’m not the favorite; you’re the one they made a superhero,” he defended.

“Please, Isaac, they think I’m a freak at worst and a profitable freak show at best. They never criticized you, they only ever did that with me.” I sniffed and looked up at him. “By the way, why didn’t you ever tell them that I wasn’t fat?”

Isaac hesitated. “What?”

“You were in school for, what, ten years and you became an expert on the human body and health. You could have stopped them from tormenting me about food and my body, but you didn’t. Why did you never defend me?”

His silence almost sent me into another fit of mad laughter, that and the stunned expression on his face. The giddiness and rage that flowed through my veins was almost dizzying as I stared at Isaac. I didn’t blink for so long that his face began to blur. Then, my legs started moving and I wandered around the state-of-the-art kitchen.

“You were always better at this than me-----the performing. It must have been easy coasting as an only child and every gold star, and every A was praised.” I paused and poked at the pot of greens. “They were happy back then.”

“Y/N, you’re talking crazy,” Isaac insisted.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not. All the overthinking and overanalyzing finally helped me realize the truth: you all hate me. No matter what cases I solved, how well I did in school, or how much weight I lost; it was never good enough.” Isaac was silent and I think it was the first time he didn’t know what to say. It was okay because I knew exactly what to say.

“This whole time, I thought that I had to earn people’s love and that if I just worked hard enough, I could get Mom to call me pretty or Dad to post a picture of us without trying to spite Mom.” I finally made eye contact with Isaac. “You made me think that I was broken.”

Then, the kitchen door swung open behind me and Mom and Dad entered the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Mom asked.

“We heard yelling,” Dad added.

I smiled as I turned to them. “You all made me think I was worthless unless I was perfect. I thought I was going to die so many nights because I made one mistake in an essay or lost a friend because my powers creeped them out. But none of you cared.”

None of them spoke and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear any of them. All they could do was lie since I finally realized their true feelings.

My family hated me.

None of them ever really loved me.

My vison blurred as I tried to make eye contact with them again. “How could you think I could end up perfect when you all screwed me up so bad? You make me question myself so much that I’m not even sure what I want anymore.”

I could feel the sobs coming on but I willed them to stay at bay for a moment.

“I’ve met a lot of amazing people at Godolkin, crazy, talented people. But two of them stand out. One of them is this standoffish bigender person who always has a comeback but is actually the kindest person I’ve ever met. The other one is this amazing girl who can see the brighter side of things no matter what, even when people betray her.” I sighed. “And I like both of them, I want to be with both of them, and I don’t know what any of it means and as much as that terrifies me, I’m so happy that I met them.”

They must have all been stunned but I couldn’t focus on them as my chest felt lighter but my throat constricted and I could feel my heart rate pick up. I slowly walked away from the oven and back to my original spot at the island. My hands crept onto the marble counter and I realized that my knees were wobbling.

“You know what’s funny, Isaac?”

Isaac jumped but eyed me.

“If you wanted to abandon me, you didn’t have to go to another continent. Mom and Dad managed to do it and I saw them every day.”

Then, the sobs broke from me and I pressed my hands to my mouth, trying to shove them back in but there was no point. My shoulders shook as I slipped to the ground, the pain barely registering to my brain as I hiccupped into my hands. The tears were hot as they ran down my face and everything hurt so bad and felt so good at the same time; it was like an emotional massage.

Everything that I thought and felt was finally out in the open and none of it was even real.

For a second, I thought a toddler was wailing at the top of their lungs but I almost started laughing again when I realized it was me.

This was it; I was going to be stuck in Cate’s head forever; alone and with nothing to show for it.

The first thing I noticed was something warm against my back. The second was a pair of strong arms wrapped around me. The grip was firm but non-threatening like the owner wanted me to know they were there. The third thing I noticed was Marie’s brown eyes staring back at me as she knelt in front of me.

I paused in my sobbing and sniffled. “Ar-are y-y-you r-r-real?”

“Yeah, I’m real,” she assured.

Her words made me freeze and I started trying to wipe my face, but Marie carefully grabbed my hands. Her thumbs rubbed the top of my hands, and I could feel my sobs slowing down.

“H-h-how’d y-y-you g-get h-here?”

“We found you and Cate and somehow got transported into her head,” Marie explained.

I sniffed, wincing at my congested nose.

“We got to go through a lot of memories, freshie,” Jordan mumbled behind me.

I tensed in their grip and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Andre standing off to the side. He glared at my family with so much malice that my parents cowered next to Isaac.

I gasped. “Th-this i-is s-so embarrassing. H-how m-much of t-that d-did y-you hear?”

“We heard everything you told your brother,” Andre stated.

Marie placed one of her hands on my face. “Breathe, Y/N, you’re hyperventilating.”

It took a couple of minutes, but I managed to even my breathing and once I did, I felt like shrinking away from her and Jordan.

“I can’t believe you were going through all this and never said anything,” Jordan muttered.

I shrugged. “How could I? You, Andre, Cate, Luke, Marie, and everyone in Si Chi are perfect. If I was going to be accepted, I had to be perfect but now you all know that I’m a mess.”

Marie grabbed my other hand again. “Everyone’s a mess; it doesn’t mean something is wrong with you.”

“If we’ve learned anything by wandering around in Cate’s head, it’s that everyone’s a mess,” Jordan mentioned.

I shook my head. “Don’t say that to try to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.”

Jordan quickly rattled off everything they saw: from Cate and Indira meeting to Andre and Cate cheating to Jordan knowing about Brink drugging Luke to Marie killing her parents. Even though he was brief, everything hit an emotional nerve and it almost shook me back into being myself.

“So don’t act like you’re special or anything, we’re all screw-ups,” Jordan concluded.

“And just so you know, I don’t think that you liking me and Jordan makes you weird or bad,” Marie confessed.

At her words, I jerked my head back to Jordan. “You told her?”

“No, you said it while you were yelling at your brother!” Jordan exclaimed.

My face warmed at the realization, and I groaned as I buried my head into Jordan’s shoulder. This day could not have gotten any worse.

“Wait, you told Jordan before you told me?” Marie asked.

“I was going to tell you but then I got sucked in here,” I murmured.

Marie huffed. “Well, you’ll both have to make it up to me once we get out of here.”

Wait, both?

Marie couldn’t be serious; it would be impossible for her to agree to any of this. It didn’t make any sense, none of it did. That didn’t stop my heart from pounding faster though as I leaned away from Jordan’s shoulder to look at her.

Before I could say anything, Jordan and Marie both helped me to my feet.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” Jordan offered.

“Uh-huh.”

At that moment, Andre approached my family and they tried to scramble away from him.

“You should all know that Y/N is the best thing to come from you shitty people. If I see you outside of here, we might have some problems,” Andre threatened.

“Please, don’t hurt us,” Mom begged.

It was hard for me not to laugh as Andre slowly backed away, flipping them off as he went. I laughed a little as he came closer to us.

“Thanks, Andre,” I said.

“No problem. Does anyone know how we get out of here?” he asked.

“We have to find Cate; I saw her briefly earlier but I haven’t been able to find her since,” I admitted.

“If you found her once, you can find her again,” Jordan said.

“Not unless I find you.”

In an instant, my mom’s dining room turned into Cate’s dorm, complete with green accents and comfortable furniture. She sat on her bed, eyes bloodshot and downturned. Marie was the first to approach her and Jordan and I trailed behind her.

“Cate, I’m so glad we found you,” Marie said.

“You have to wake up,” Jordan added.

Cate shook her head. “I don’t want to. You all can wake up but I’m going to stay here.”

Marie frowned. “You’re going to die? But, there’s so much we can do once we’re out of here.”

“Yeah, we can expose what’s going on at the school but we need your help,” Jordan insisted.

No matter what anyone said, Cate remained unresponsive. Both Jordan and Marie tried to reason with her while Andre snapped at her for everything that happened. All I could do was watch and wonder if her behavior made sense. In a way, her entire world fell apart and she’d exposed everything in all of us. She must feel alone but what did she think would happen?

How could she incense me and make me feel sorry for her at the same time?

Finally, I stepped over to her and bent down so that we were eye to eye. “Despite all the psychological torment I experienced in here, all I can think about is what else you haven’t told us.” I swallowed. “Because I have a really bad feeling that if Shetty used you like this, she would use me too.”

“No, Y/N, Indira wouldn’t do that.”

“She’s been in your head since you were a kid, Cate, it would make sense that she would go after Y/N too and you wouldn’t notice it,” Jordan pointed out.

Cate hesitated and then looked at her gloved hands. “This is all my fault.”

“You can make it right but not if you stay in here,” Marie said.

I didn’t know how much time had passed as Cate mulled over her options. All I knew was as she was deciding, my heart continued pounding in my ears as the lightning cracked above our heads. My hands shook as the cracking got louder and louder.

Then, it stopped.

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

fall asleep, close my eyes, and disappear pt. 1

fandom: X-Men

pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader

summary: Charles Xavier is familiar with the weight of his students' past traumas, including yours. At least that's what he thinks, until a mission-related injury prompts him to delve into your mind, uncovering a deep-seated trauma you've repressed. Fearing he's caused more harm, Charles works with you to reveal this forgotten memory and heal from your past experiences.

tags/warnings: injury, rape aftermath/recovery (implied), anxiety, panic attacks, emotional hurt/comfort, charles xavier trying his very best not to invade someone else's privacy

word count: 2089

Charles Xavier is well-acquainted with the traumatic past lives of his students. It is easy to see how many of them had come from terrible circumstances, how many had been ridiculed or hurt or abandoned. He has seen his share of darkness as well, and he wishes to protect his students from any more of it.

Amidst all the sadness and despair that clouds the minds of the youngsters, there is you. Old enough to be a teacher, but new enough to your powers to still be a student. You are close with Charles due to your age, but keep him an arm’s length away. You, too, had been hurt in the past. You don’t want to trust your heart to anyone… yet.

Being surrounded by all the young students, you know you have to put on a brave face. You smile in the hallways and laugh and tell jokes. And things are fine – you enjoy your pseudo-parental role at the school.

But something is missing. A heaviness weighs on your mind, something dangerous that you subconsciously suppress. All you know is that sometimes you wake in the middle of the night gasping, and it feels like you’ve lost something.

Charles knows of course – Charles always knows – but figures you’ll come to him when you feel comfortable. He learned his lesson about prying into people’s minds long, long ago. And he doesn’t want to push you away the way he’d pushed away others (Erik, Raven, Jean – no, he shouldn’t think of these things). He cares for you far too much to lose you.

That being said, as time passes, Charles can't help but grow more and more concerned. He hears you lying awake at night, or even worse, in the throes of a nightmare. Yet in the morning, it seems all is well. You carry on as always, no worse for wear. It worries Charles. The temptation to just read your mind and see what plagues you is all too strong. But he respects your privacy.

But he can’t stay out of your mind forever, no matter how much he wants to.

The X-Men had been sent off to assist a crew of miners who had been trapped in a cave. A small mishap led to a few injuries amongst the team, nothing serious but certainly enough to warrant a visit to Hank after. You received the worst of it – your powers of telekinesis meant you were in the thick of it, pulling rocks off the imprisoned crew – when a section of the wall crumbled away on top of you. You managed to block most of the debris, but a well-timed drop of a boulder managed to clip you on the head, knocking you unconscious for a brief interlude. You woke shortly thereafter, already on the ship and headed home, but the team insisted you get checked out despite your protests.

When you arrive back at the school, Hank and Charles wait with matching anxious expressions. You stumble along with the help of Kurt, trying to look like you aren’t leaning too heavily on him.

Charles and Hank rush to you. Hank comes up on your left to support that side, while Charles sweeps his eyes over you protectively. You wave them off with a bloodied hand. “I’m fine, guys, seriously.” You aren’t – your head is pounding – but students are standing at the doors to the school, and you know you have to put on a brave face for their sake.

Hank side-eyes you. “You’re bleeding.”

“Hank, take her to the lab. I’ll be down shortly,” Charles says, barely keeping the worry out of his voice. You flash him what you hope is a reassuring smile. It doesn’t seem to change his expression.

Down in the lab, Hank runs a myriad of tests, all while you complain and insist that you are fine. Eventually, he lets out a sigh. “Well, everything looks okay.” You move to hop off the exam table when he holds out a hand to stop you. “But I want Charles to take a look to make sure you didn’t goof up your brain. I can’t see everything on a CT scan.”

You groan and settle back in. Charles, always with a talent for dramatic timing, enters at that precise moment. “How are you feeling?” he says as he rolls up to the table.

“Like I said before, I’m fine. Just a little bump, is all.”

Charles stares at you, as if trying to read your mind without actually doing it. His eyebrows furrow before he turns to his colleague. “Hank?”

Hank crosses his arms. “Her scans all seem fine. A bit of rest should take care of the residual ache. But I’d like you to see for yourself. Just in case.”

Charles nods and looks at you again. “Are you alright with that?”

You shrug. “Go for it, professor.”

Charles wheels himself a little closer. “Lay back,” he murmurs, positioning himself at the head of the exam table.

You do as he asks, and Charles places two warm fingers on your temple. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him enter your mind.

Charles weaves through the lanes of your conscious, seeking out any damage. He takes in your recent memories, watches the rock wall crumble on top of you. He digs deeper, searching further into your past. He watches as you come to the school, watches you trudge through the rainy streets as a homeless beggar, watches your family leave you. Charles breezes past those memories as quick as he can – no sense in dwelling on the things that cannot be changed. He races down neural pathways and connections, spotting nothing of note.

That is, until he slams into a mental wall, one so thick and aversive that even he might have a hard time getting through it. He is so deep into your mind that he isn’t sure you even know this exists. Concern courses through him as he attempts to break through the wall. But it won’t give, at least not without causing you distress. Already he can hear you – outside your mind, in the real world – whimpering in anguish.

Charles pulls away, mentally and physically, drawing his hands from your temples. Your eyes shoot open, and for a moment there’s a flash of fear in them. But it’s gone in an instant. Charles realizes how starved for air he seems to be and takes in a deep breath.

You sit up quickly. “All good?” you ask.

Charles nods, unable to speak, and you hop off the table. Before he or Hank can get another word in, you are out the door and on your way.

“Charles?” Hank looks at his friend in confusion. “What is it? What did you see?”

The professor stares blankly at the table. “Her mind… There’s something… I’m not sure.”

“Is it from the accident?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, this was… deeper. Further back. Something she’s repressed. I doubt she even knows it’s there.”

…

Upstairs, your fellow teammates greet you with sighs of relief and gratitude for making the mission a success. Someone proposes the idea of drinks, and all of a sudden people are putting coats on and discussing plans for the night.

“Um, I think I’m going to pass on this one,” you announce, wringing your hands together nervously. You’re afraid to miss out on the festivities, but your head is aching and you know you should probably rest.

Your team wishes you well and heads out, and soon you are left in the kitchen alone. You trudge up the stairs to your room, nearly ready to collapse from exhaustion. It seems fate had other plans for you though, for as soon as your back hits the mattress, there’s a knock on your door.

You groan quietly and twist your hand in the direction of the door. It opens with a soft click and soon you hear the telltale sound of Charles’s wheels on the floor.

You squint at him out of one eye as he makes his way to the side of your bed. “Yes?” you question when he doesn't say anything. “Did you need something?”

“No, no,” Charles reassures, his voice soft. “I just wanted to make sure you truly were alright.”

“Well, my head hurts something awful but I think I just need to rest,” you reply honestly.

Charles nods and you turn on your side to face him, pulling a pillow under your cheek. Again, the professor says nothing more, just gazes at you with those striking blue eyes of his. You watch him for a moment, before you feel your eyes begin to drift closed.

Just as you’re about to fall asleep, you hear him murmur. “What?” you grumble, slightly annoyed that your peace was disturbed.

Charles clears his throat and speaks up. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“You know you can ask me anything,” you yawn. Sleep pulls your eyelids closed again.

“Would it be alright if I looked into your mind while you were sleeping?”

You snort out a laugh. “I love when people ask before they violate my privacy.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

You snap your eyes open, only to see him starting to wheel away. “No, Charles, it’s fine. I was joking.”

“Right.” He comes closer to the bed again.

“Did you see something wrong earlier?” Panic creeps into your voice at the thought. “Is there something wrong with my brain?”

“No, darling, of course not,” Charles rushes. “You’re… perfect. I just want to make sure. Sometimes things can be revealed in sleep that are not present while we are awake.”

That seems to make sense to you, so you settle further into your pillow, letting your eyes fall closed again. “Well, just… have fun digging around, I guess,” you mutter. “Don’t break anything.”

Before long, you’re out like a light.

Charles wastes no time in laying his fingers on your temples again. This time, he knows where he’s headed and he makes his way along the pathways quickly. He can feel a heaviness begin to weigh on him as he comes closer to the mental block. Perhaps this is what causes your nightmares, your occasional zoning out, your sad disposition that hid behind a cheerful façade.

Charles prepares himself as he approaches the wall, trying to get a sense for its depth and meaning. He can tell that this blockade was formed long ago. Perhaps not in your childhood – it isn’t that far back – but maybe as a teenager. And it’s so strong, it rivals his own mental walls.

Carefully, Charles begins to pick away at the wall. He pushes and pulls at the tenuous strings that make up the outer barrier, then chisels away at more cemented bits further in. The further he goes, the heavier the darkness seems to become. His own mind is beginning to feel fatigued, but he can sense he’s close. Whispers of this forgotten memory slip through the cracks that form, not enough to make out but he knows they’re there.

Finally, finally, he breaks through. And instantly, he wishes he hadn’t.

No.

Stop.

Please!

Charles forces himself out of your mind, his breaths coming in short gasps. The room has darkened with the approaching night, and your still-sleeping form is illuminated by moonlight. Charles runs a shaking hand over his eyes. What have I done?

As he looks on, your body begins to shake and tremble. You let out heart-wrenching cries as a nightmare overtakes you. Those same cries that he hears every night, those same cries he just heard in your subconscious. “Don’t break anything,” you had said. Has he broken you?

The wall. He has to put the wall back in place. This memory, this horror… He has to protect you. With trembling fingers, Charles re-enters your mind.

Already he can see the memory seeping out, its darkness spilling into the recesses of your mind. Charles feels his heart sink as he realizes the damage he’s caused. It’s like Jean all over again.

Except this time, he is determined not to lose you.

Brick by brick, string by fragile string, Charles rebuilds the barricade around the memory. He seals in as much of it as he can.

Not forever, no. Not like Jean.

He will help you reveal it yourself. And then he will help you heal.

But to let it all out at once… that would destroy you.

>>>

part 2

[chiipay]

BEHIND YOU!

A shadow looming your figure from behind as you quickly turned around 90°

Just to see Michael Kaiser with his... usual grin.

"....hi?.."

You awkwardly just finished updating blue lock players data just to find the same creep still following you.

"... aren't you supposed to be in bed now..kaiser?"

You looked over at your watch noticing it's already 2 in the morning..

" And aren't you SUPPOSED to be in your bed too, /reader/?"

He said with his cocky grin. He actually was awake cause he was analysing isagi plays during the manshine city but while walking he found you with your face stick to the big ass ipad screen with almost full brightness so he decided to make it more of a fun morning before everyone wakes up.

"... I uhh- i have good reasons. Besides you need more rest than i do. A good player needs a good sleep."

She hesitantly tried to make reasons so that Kaiser will just leave her alone.

"... really? What kind of good reasons to be up at 2 fucking in the morning?~"

Yep. He's pushing more burden for you as you just sigh in annoyance. ' he's not leaving me alone huh.'

"it's none of your business if you please just leave and go back to sleep Kaiser."

You pushed him gently to guide him out of the door but he just won't bother to move much. He weighs like a freaking boulder. By then he faced you and leveled your eyes staring deep into your soul..

"...and what if I don't want to?"

'this dude is going to be the end of me someday..' you groaned mentality.

His blue eyes bore into yours trying to find your weaknesses inside it before he slowly raises his both hands and reach out to the sides of your ears and pluck out your earphones that were translating his every words. (Y'know the one that got sponsored by Reo's family)

'Eh...' you got a bit caught off-guard trying to figure out the situation. Kaiser took the opportunity to lean closer into your ear.

"Für eine Dame wie dich bist du ziemlich amüsant, nicht wahr? Es weckt mein Interesse an dir~" he whispered making you shuddered and quickly pushed him off you. (Reflective.)

"uhh...can i have that back..?" You pointed to the earphones he had been holding and as requested he gave it back into your hand before turning around and wave at you from behind and proceed to walk away.

"Gute Nacht, Schatz~"

( translate:You're quite amusing for a lady like you, aren't you? It piques my interest in you. Translate 2: good night, dear~)

That was the last thing you heard from him before you stopped talking to him for at least 2 days after (creepy alert)

LANGUAGE BARRIER.