#it’s been a while since my thoughts have featured this level of self loathing

[mazeltovcocktail555]

welp it’s been a while since I’ve spiraled like this…

[inkykeiji]

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.  

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”  

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

      ✰          ✰          ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

    ✰          ✰          ✰ 

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.  

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  

[totiredtowrite]

To Befriend An Outcast

Warnings - More of a comfort fic ig, so if you've got anxiety and are lonely then here you go bestie, cursing & mental health topics, mentions of food & an inferiority complex, mentioned that reader draws so if you don't just ignore that part, little angsty, self loathing? (Not much dw)

Note: Comfort fic haha, just my Ushijima brainrot and being lonely :(. It's definitely personalized, (in terms of the feelings and situations presented), so sorry if the situations and feelings don't apply to to you? I was gonna write it alone kind of but I figured why not post it cause I can, so here you go ig

*lipbite*

Male Reader

Ushijima never found it easy to connect with people.

Tendou was a special case of course. So was the team. He knew what to do there, he had to play and lead them to victory. There wasn't much to that. It was simple, it was easy, and most of all, it was safe.

Of course that doesn't mean he never wanted to connect with others. A prime example in his mind, was you. In his eyes, you were practically sparkling. Sure, you constantly messed with your hair or tried your hardest to try and seem like you were better than everyone else, but what Ushijima liked was the little points where your humanity slipped through.

The points where you didn't seem to care about what other people thought, their opinions slipping your mind completely. Now those little moments didn't last too long, because you'd notice how relaxed you were and then get worried and tense up. Still, he appreciated it.

Maybe Ushijima wasn't the best with...well, much aside from volleyball, but it didn't take an emotional genius to tell that you were insecure. Watching you was somewhat of a habit for Ushijima at this point. You were smarter than him, he knew that much. There was a lot he could gather from just watching you.

Really, it was kind of sad. Ushijima is an extremely objective person. He doesn't understand insecurity or feelings of inferiority. That's most likely why it confused him to no end. You were smart, entertaining, talented, attractive at a baseline level. Someones looks never really mattered much to Ushijima. Sure, maybe you weren't as perfect as you wanted to be, but to him you're the most beautiful-handsome boy he's ever seen.

He wanted to talk to you, yeah, but how would he even do that? He, truth be told, didn't know how he would approach you without making you nervous or scaring you off. He didn't want to be the reason you got scared or insecure. The thought alone made him frown.

He didn't want to make it weird or anything, so naturally he just...kept watching. He was fine admiring you from afar for now.

🂠🃑🃁🂱🂡

You have had a shit day.

So far you've messed up your order at a coffee shop you go to normally and feel stupid, accidentally tripped up the stairs in front of people, and got the answer to a question wrong when you were called on. That last one wasn't that bad by normal standards. In fact, none of those things should be bad or embarrassing by normal standards.

You know that this is all just in your head, but it's not like you can help it! It's not like getting embarrassed when you have to eat in public or talk about food is something you want. Every time you see someone with better features than you, or who's more talented, or who has more friends, the sheer jealousy was a little much. It made you want to curl up in your dorm and never come out again.

'This sucks.'

You've noticed that it's been worse lately. Anyone would feel down if they didn't have friends, but somehow it's worse when the friends that you do have make no moves to contact you first. In fact, you notice, you haven't texted any of them in a while and they haven't made an effort. Like if you don't make the move to be there, you wouldn't be there at all.

Staying away from new opportunities and trying your best to avoid everyone just seems like a habit now. Christ, you haven't picked up a pencil in how long now? It's been a couple months since you drew, and you used to all the time.

In the end, you suppose it's just some kind of twisted inferiority complex. Never wanting to offend anyone, showing off the achievements that you do have in an attempt to receive some kind of praise. People being better always haunts the back of your mind, so if you don't reach out for new opportunities, they can't overshadow you right?

If you don't try to go out, people can't see you and form an opinion about you, or judge you based on how you think you look.

Smarts and personality can only get you so far when you can't enjoy your own visage.

On another note though, you figured that maybe you should try and stop spiraling through all of your awful feelings whenever you're down. Instead, you should just stick to listening to old 70's and 80's love songs, lamenting about how you don't have anyone to think about.

You sigh and pull out your headphones, fumbling to plug them into your phone. The library at this point is some kind of safe haven. People don't come here often for favour of watching the schools volleyball practice or making out in the hallways. It was easy to duck away and hide here, trying to enjoy a book that you found interesting about a week ago.

You sighed and rested your hand on the side of your head. At the very least, you can relax a bit with no one around.

Or...well, you thought no one was around.

That notion was quickly stomped on when someone was shoved into your personal space. Literally, he was pushed to your table and then his friend ran away in a flurry of red hair. You looked up, (really just out of curiosity), and blanked instantly upon realizing just who it was.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was just...standing there. He had a blank, almost nervous look on his face.

"...Hello?" You looked up further, instantly hating how high your voice came out and coughing slightly to try and cover it up. If there's one thing worse than not recognizing yourself when you look in the mirror anymore, it's hating your voice. Not like you could run from that.

Ushijima's eyes widened a bit before going back to normal. He nodded in response to your greeting. "Would you mind if I...sat...down.." he trailed off.

You shook your head, giving him the invitation. Subconsciously, you reached up to mess with your hair to make sure it didn't look awful. Ushijima, (without thinking), reaches out to stop your hand. You turn towards him with some unreadable fear on your face. He realizes just what he did and quickly lets go. "Sorry," he looked away. "I just- It looks fine. Don't worry." You nervously rub your arm where he touched it.

"Why are you here?" You nervously looked down again, suddenly all too aware of the bags under your eyes and your clothes feeling too tight.

Ushijima stares for a second, before the words fall without him knowing. "I want to be your friend."

You could feel your ears turning pink.

"You...You what?"

Ushijima was uncharacteristically pink. "You heard me, correct?" He didn't mean for it to sound mean, and you could tell.

"Yeah I did, but why?"

"What do you mean why?" Ushijima was starting to look confused.

"You know...there are a ton of people better. We've never spoken once, haha..." You awkwardly laughed. It's true, you were intrigued by him, but you were also jealous. Everyone seemed to like him, and he didn't need to do anything. He was handsome, strong, driven. All of that was just natural. Maybe you despised him a little bit for it, but that doesn't mean you don't want to be with him in one way or another.

"But you're," Ushijima thinks for a second. "Better than the others."

You blank. Did he seriously just say that? "Is this some kind of joke?" You say, laughing habitually to try and take the edge off before you blow up.

Ushijima raised a brow in confusion.

"You're joking right? There's no fucking way that you think that." You felt the lump forming in your throat as all the negativity started to catch up. Your day was already awful, you didn't need him to joke with you like this. Another strangled laugh left your throat. "If this is just another cruel joke, I'm not having it! No one wants to be my friend! You're not an exception!"

He just sat there dumbly, letting you get it out. "Look at you! You're perfect! You don't have to spend an hour every day worrying about how you look! You don't have to stay up at night, worrying over a conversation that happened three weeks ago! What reason would you have for wanting to be my friend? I'll probably just let you down you know!"

You didn't want to blow up in his face. Really. It was just a defense mechanism. Whenever you're anxious, insecure, it translates to anger. It makes you seem like a huge dick. But now you were standing in front of him, angry, tears threatening to fall off of your waterline.

Despite all of that, Ushijima doesn't seem to be phased at all. "I just want to be here for you," he moves his hands to his lap. "You look like you need someone."

All the anger faded from your face.

All the anger disappeared, leaving just a shocked look. Your eyes were wide, mouth slightly open in surprise.

"Fuck you," you whispered, the hot tears streaming down your face dripping onto the floor. "I'm not a pretty crier," your voice broke every other syllable, and you reached up with the back of your hand to try and wipe the tears away.

Ushijima stood up fast, clutching your shoulders and pulling you in, allowing you to let whatever was holed up in there out. When was the last time someone said that? That they wanted to be there for you?

You held onto his shirt, hiding your face as best you can. That didn't do much though, as Ushijima tilted your head back to see you.

You moved your head away. "I told you- I'm not...I'm not a pretty crier."

Ushijima gently moved your head so that you were looking him head on, more confusion taking place. "You don't need to be. Emotion isn't pretty."

Leave it to this guy to get the waterworks going again. You shoved your face back into his shirt, trying to muffle the hics and sobs that were leaving you at a steady rate. This wasn't what Ushijima expected from his first time talking to you.

"I hate it," he could barely make it out, but you definitely said it. "I hate it so much..."

Ushijima sat down, pulling you with him and gently configuring his body so you could comfortably sit on his lap. His large hand found it's way to the back of your head, petting your hair to allow you to calm down.

"I feel like I've said to much," you murmur suddenly. "Like I've wrote to much...talked to much..." You shift on his lap to look up at his face. "Thank you." Ushijima nods and gives you a soft smile. "I'm- I'm (y/n), by the way." You move a little farther.

Wakatoshi just nods again, and continues to pet your hair.

"I know."

🂠🃑🃁🂱🂡

Maybe connecting with people wasn't so hard.

Even so, the feeling doesn't go away forever. That feeling of frustration, not being able to just be normal. Insecurity and anxiety, sadness and jealousy...it doesn't really fade. In the meantime though, getting lost in fiction is as good of a fix as you're going to get, huh?

[wallwriterstuff]

Guilty Souls ||Demetri Volturi x Female reader||

Warnings: Descriptions of fear and guilt but nothing particularly noteworthy.

Words: 4257 

Taglist: @thelastemzy​ @a-avaunce​ @college-is-coming​ @alecvolturiswifeforever​ @broskibowser​ @volturidoll13​ @raindancer2004​ 

Summary: A request for @kpopgirlbtssvt​

Demetri just wanted to feed. His food fighting back was never a problem before, and this is the first time he's ever lost that fight.

“We can meet back at the jet once dinner is done.”

“I shall see you there.” Demetri agreed. Felix was gone in an instant, eyes near black and his grin slightly feral. The tracker shook his head, unable to fight his amusement – he was glad he wasn’t a human on the streets tonight. Truthfully, he was tired. The mission was never going to be easy to start with, not with a psychopathic nomad attempting to become the UK’s next biggest serial killer. The murders had been brutal and attracted far too much attention, but she covered her tracks well and with no one left alive to steal the tenor from it had taken some old school tracking, some (falsified) detective work, and a little bit of luck for them to even begin to track down their killer. Now she was ash on the wind the lack of time to rest was really starting to show for the both of them.

Demetri could feel the burn much more prominently now that he had nothing else to focus on, like a ball of thorns rolling up and down his throat with every swallow. With a grimace, he turned his nose to the sky and closed his eyes. Felix was clearly in a good mood after the kill, eager to enjoy the hunt, but Demetri just wanted something within quick reach. Stretching his senses, he scoured the area, the sounds and smells of a city at night hitting him full force.  He could hear traffic rumbling along the road, late night television and music pouring from apartments, people making war and making love and the faint shutting of doors as places closed up for the night. The air smelled crisper and somewhat damp, indicating rain was on the way, and the foul scent of pollution clogged his nostrils momentarily until he forced his mind to work through it and smell what lingered beneath. Tulips in bloom in the city gardens, greasy food from the chip shop across the road and…oh.

Demetri’s head turned swiftly, eyes snapping open and feet already moving in the direction of something truly mouth-watering. It made his throat burn fiercely, venom pooling in his mouth. It took him little time to find the source of the smell two streets over, moving swiftly away from him down the pavement with her backpack slung over one shoulder, the bag strap held in both hands. She seemed to glance about as she walked, the smell of old pages clinging to her. It failed to smother her mouth-watering scent, and Demetri was more than sure he had found himself quite the delicacy for the evening. There was something incredibly addictive about her scent, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but wanted to drown in. He would have played with her if he wasn’t so damn thirsty, tainted that delicious smell with adrenaline and fear for the twang it would give her blood, but the raging fire in his throat needed soothing.

Given the goings on he shouldn’t have been surprised that she sensed him behind her. He was tailing her at a very normal, human pace so as not to arouse suspicion from the many windows she passed. The woman was smart enough to stay in public view, but it would be no match for Demetri’s speed once he saw an opening, and there was just the opening he needed coming up. The moment she neared the mouth of the alleyway he moved, his speed propelling him so fast no one would see him as any more than a blur – and that was if they really looked. His grip on her shoulder was tight and he hauled her with him with ease, spinning her straight into the brick and clamping a hand over her mouth before she could scream. It didn’t stop her from trying, the muffled noise vibrating against his hand as wide eyes rapidly grew wet, spilling tears against his palm. Demetri inhaled deeply, baring his teeth as the thirst grew to unbearable levels, but he couldn’t look away from those eyes.

Shimmering Y/E/C stared at him with so much terror, his reflection in her tears absolutely monstrous. She shook like a leaf in a violent wind, struggling frantically against him in an effort to get away. He pressed close with a snarl, desperate to ease the ache in his throat, but even when he moved his mouth closer to the throbbing pulse in her throat he couldn’t bring himself to bite down. His grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly, his frustrated growl echoing off of the brick he had pushed her against. Her quiet whimper made him pull back.

“Stop struggling!” he hissed. She was trying to shake her head, still pushing futilely at his chest. He had to admire the fight in her and the way she fit so perfectly against him would have been sinfully delicious in any other circumstance, but not while she was looking at him like that. Those wide eyes were terrified, so incredibly frightened of him, and it made his stomach churn. He just wanted to feed dammit! Why was she making this so hard! Her heart was pounding in his ears, her blood roaring and racing beneath the surface of her skin, so why couldn’t he just indulge in it?

“Hel-“ his hand had slipped without him realising and he quickly covered her mouth back up as he tried to fight with himself. The frenzy was lapping at the back of his mind, clouding his senses and his thoughts, but the last vestiges of his sanity were clinging to her desperate attempts to preserve her life. He studied her facial features, trying to spot anything familiar. Maybe he was struggling because she looked like someone he knew? There was nothing there he recognised. Her hands must have been sore by now, his skin was literally crystallised for petes sake, yet still she didn’t let up the barrage of slaps and punches to his chest she had been delivering since he had attacked her. With a growl he brought his mouth to her throat once more, his teeth hovering right over the vein he needed to break.

One bite, just one little bite and she is all mine, I just have to bring my teeth together he thought.

Her muffled screaming picked up again, her body trembling so hard against his own his entire frame was starting to vibrate. With a groan, he flopped forward and hit his head a few times off of the brick behind her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t feed from her. He so badly wanted to, but he couldn’t. She stilled suddenly, his low moaning seemingly startling her. For a moment, all he could hear was her shaky, rapid breathing and the pounding of her heart, his own pained filled moans and the quiet sobs he was muffling still with his hand. She never stopped trembling and Demetri couldn’t stand it. He wrapped both arms around her tight, hoping to restrict her movements.

“Stop it, stop it stop moving…please stop moving.” He begged. He was slowly losing his sanity it seemed but all he could do was watch like an out of body experience was taking place, his mind spinning and falling away from him before it surged forward and all he could acknowledge was her fear and his hatred of it. She whimpered in his ear, her neck stretched so her chin rested on his shoulder awkwardly, but even the prominent way the vein stood against the thin skin of her throat couldn’t tempt him. Her scent had soured, no longer sweet and inviting but filled with the bitter twang of fear. Usually he would enjoy it. He could still feel the predator in the back of his mind howling in delight, but he couldn’t let the monster loose.

“P-please, please let me go, l-let me go please, please.” She chanted in his ear like a siren calling him to his doom, and like she had brainwashed him with four simple words he did exactly as asked. She looked shell-shocked he had relinquished her from his grip, and he could only imagine the bruises that were going to blemish on her skin from where he had touched her – another pang of self-loathing hit him. How could he have hurt her so badly? She was beautiful, even in the darkness of the alleyway with her face covered in tears, tracking mascara down her cheeks, he could see the beauty in every feature. How could he hurt a face so angelic?

“Go.” He ground out. There was absolutely no sense in him letting her go, but he was thirsty by now he didn’t want to risk anything happening to her. As muddled as his mind would that was the only clear thing that stood out to him. Demetri wasn’t sure he understood any of what was transpiring, but after another sharp order to move she was gone, leaving her backpack behind and fleeing the alleyway as he crunched a fist into the wall.

“You alright mate?” it was a man’s voice from the opposite end of the alleyway. He didn’t have her kind of sweetness, but it would do. The tracker pulled his fist out of the brick, the rubble falling to his feet and dust coating his jacket sleeve.

“No.” he said, because truthfully he wasn’t. He never let his prey escape, not once, not even on accident. Feeding was instinctual and natural, something every vampire learned to do from their very first day, so how on Earth after 2000 years of this life had failed at it so badly tonight? Footsteps alerted him to the oncoming man, and the thumping of his heart was enough to send Demetri reeling. His lips curled back over his teeth, thirst flaring once more and the frenzy rapidly flooding his mind.

“Here mate, why don’t we-“ Demetri’s teeth in his windpipe cut him off. They tore viciously through the flesh and muscle, a burst of hot, sweet blood gushing down his throat and soothing the inferno that was raging there. It wouldn’t be enough on its own but for the few moments Demetri let his mind go elsewhere, let his instincts finally take over. This was natural. This was normal. So why the hell hadn’t he been able to do it earlier? Only when his veins were dry did Demetri drop him to the ground with a relieved sigh. With the burn minimised it was easier to think, and the more he thought the more he realised what a mistake he’d made. That woman could easily run to the police and give an accurate description of his face, his clothing. He grimaced. He’d been absolutely foolish, letting her go like that.

Her backpack remained near his feet and he rifled through the contents briefly, looking for anything that might give him any indication as to what was so special about her, where he might start looking for her. There was a work badge stating her name and the logo of a bookstore he had passed while tailing her, and a quick rummage through her wallet gave him a full driver’s license and some debit cards with her signature on the back.

Y/N L/N.

He had been so caught up in the frenzy lapping at his mind he couldn’t honestly say which tenor in his repertoire was her’s, so he was going to have to track the old fashioned way. Inhaling, he winced at the irritating scratchiness in his throat when he caught her scent. He’d need to hunt again on the way but nobody would miss the drunk old man stumbling home from the corner pub would they? He didn’t think so anyway, and nobody would find him anytime soon given the lucky proximity of a wheelie bin. She must have ran part of the way, crossing more ground than he thought she could, but he did inevitably catch up. She was still snivelling, shaking with her arms wrapped around her as she stumbled along. Demetri felt his gut twist again at the noise. She was still so afraid…

“Miss L/N.” he called.

He should have guessed she’d scream.

“Someone-“ he zipped forward and quickly covered her mouth again, his expression pained. The guilt that ate him alive was less frustrating and more exasperating now. He would give anything to stop feeling this way. Heaven forbid he was turning into a self-righteous Cullen – Felix would never forgive him.

“Please do not scream, please, I just – your backpack, I needed to return your things.” He groaned. She stopped screaming abruptly, and Demetri held her backpack up between them. Her eyes snapped up to his, and with his mind clearer now it suddenly felt so obvious to him what had stopped him feeding on her before. Something in his abdomen snapped, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale. Left dumbstruck, his hand dropped from her mouth and he was left gawping at her like a fish out of water. Her scent enveloped him not to taunt his thirst, but to comfort him like a warm hug, his mind halting dead in its tracks to clear all messy thoughts from his head like the clouds breaking to finally reveal the sun.

Mate.

She was his mate.

And she had just kneed him in the balls.

He crumpled like a puppet with the strings cut, grunting in pain while venom stung his eyes – even vampires were not immune to this particular trick. His groin aching horribly, he struggled to force himself to stand as she sprinted flat out away from him, her backpack in hand and ready to swing. Demetri tried to push to his knees and collapsed twice more before he finally found his footing again, swearing under his breath.

“Hey, hey!” She was frantically waving towards a passing cab. He groaned, stumbling forward a few steps until the pain receded enough for him to run after her. Demetri reminded himself to be gentle with her as he tugged her to his side.

“Please, if I let you go now far worse people than me will come for you and I cannot have you hurt by them. Tell him I have booked us an uber, his help is unnecessary.” He urged. She tried to pull her wrist back, her eyes welling with tears again. This was too public a place for this and the way her backpack swung in an arc towards his face was far too suspicious. She would hardly attack a friend or a lover after all.

“Just let me go, no one has to know, I won’t tell I swear.” She pleaded.

“I cannot, they will know, they always know! Please tesoro, do not make this harder, I am trying to keep you safe now and no more innocent lives need be implicated in this.” Demetri insisted, his eyes flickering to the cab driver as he started to pull up. Y/N tried to twist away again with a whimper so he did the only thing he could think to do. He had to cut through the fear, make her feel the same pull he did, even if her human heart felt it to a lesser degree. She squeaked in surprise when his arm curled around her waist to haul her in close, but even if her mind screamed no she melted into his embrace when his lips moulded to hers, her instincts overriding all common sense because he was her mate and with him, she was safe. His embrace was soothing and sweet, his body created solely for the purpose of protecting hers, and the way his mouth slanted across her own was something she couldn’t refuse.

The way they fit together was undeniable, the chemistry behind the simple movement of his lips, so chaste and so respectful with just the right hint of tongue when he was sure he had her following his lead was sublime in ways it had no right to be. It shouldn’t have felt so right to kiss a stranger, especially not a kiss that had been forced upon her, but she couldn’t honestly that, if asked if she’d like another just like it, she would refuse him.

“Miss? Did you need a ride miss?” the driver was leaning across the passenger seat now, the window rolled down. Demetri pulled back to stare at her, tenderly caressing her cheek.

“Say no.” he coaxed.

She swallowed thickly. “No.”

“Are you sure?” the driver asked, his suspicion aroused. Demetri kept his eyes locked on hers, his mouth pressed together in the hopes she would say the right thing. He didn’t want to manipulate her again. Y/N had yet to blink, still mesmerised by his vibrantly red eyes and the soul-shocking feeling of his lips he guessed. He had felt it to, his whole body coming alive for what felt like the first time in all the millennia he’d been alive. The sweet ecstasy in his veins had replaced any thoughts of the thirst he was still minorly enduring and he wanted nothing more than to satiate his every need in her. Demetri wasn’t foolish enough to think she would so much as let him look at her for some time yet.

“Y-yes, sorry, we’ve got an uber coming.” She stammered, blinking herself out of the daze. Grumbling under his breath, the driver pulled away again, and Demetri only let her go when he was far enough out of sight it wouldn’t be a bother anymore if she decided to assault him again.

“Good, you did well. You have to-“ she cut him off with a sharp slap to the face, one that left minimal impact on him but made her cry out and cradle her hand close.

“Don’t you ever, kiss me without my permission again! Just who are you!” she demanded. Demetri frowned slightly. How was he supposed to tell her? If she knew anything about him, even his name, she would become a target the minute Aro read his thoughts. Hell, she was already a target. She’d seen him, been attacked by him. The shame that bloomed in his gut was almost too much to bear and he tensed under her angry glare. He hadn’t done this right at all and Demetri knew he would have a lot to make up for in the centuries to come if she accepted him. Right now…right now he had no choice but to make the situation worse.

“I need you to believe that I truly am sorry,” he said earnestly, “That this was not the way I wished to meet you, that I truly wish you no harm, but understand that I have no choice. I am bound by laws you have to yet understand and the consequences for breaking them are severe. You must come with me now - please do not fuss! I will make your comfort my utmost priority but I cannot leave you here for either of our sakes.” He reached for her hand but she snatched it back, face pale as she took a step away from him. Demetri felt his heart shatter. The physical rejection stung even if she had no clue what she had done.

“I’m not going anywhere with you you nutjob!” she snapped.

“We have no choice. Please do not make me force you.” Demetri pleaded. He didn’t want to lay a hand on his mate but the choices before them were simple. Either Y/N came with him now and travelled in comfort to Volterra with them, or someone else would be sent to fetch her before she could cause any damage to the Volturi, and they would be far less gentle.

“Force me? You’re off your meds, you – you have to be crazy to think I’d go anywhere with you!” she took another step back, and Demetri took one forward. His expression was nothing but sorrowful, the anguish obvious on his face. He really didn’t want to force her to do anything, but she really wasn’t making his life any easier. Granted, he had forced them both into this situation but surely the mate pull should have been enough for her to trust him at least a little? The fact she was to overwhelmed by her fear of him to feel it was heart-breaking. That she had already rejected him because she would rather fear him then know him…

“Please, please Y/N.” he whispered, extending a hand to her. She shook her head, ready to take off running again, and Demetri closed the gap between them with ease. His arm curled around her throat, his lips moving to her temple. She was so fragile and it took a lot of concentration he honestly didn’t have to cut off enough oxygen that she would pass out.

“Stop -ah!” she cried out, squirming in his grip. Demetri winced.

“I had no desire to hurt you. I am so sorry.” He whispered, voice wavering slightly. As she slumped in his grip he buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes. He didn’t need to be a genius to know he had probably ruined everything with her before it had even began, but what could he do? He had no other viable option to him available, or he would have taken it in a heartbeat. He couldn’t stand the disapproving look on Felix’s face when he walked onto the jet with an unconscious woman in his arms.

“If you think I am listening to you play with your food all the way home-“

“She is not my food! She happens to be my mate, though I am sure when she wakes up she would much rather throw herself out of this jet than come anywhere near me.” He snapped. Felix remained oddly silent after his outburst, and with a heavy heart Demetri made sure she was settled in one of the plush leather chairs, her backpack within arms reach and a belt secure around her waist for the take off. Once he was sure she was safe in her seat he slammed the door shut and locked himself in the bathroom, desperate to clear his head of her dizzying scent and bring some clarity to the negative thoughts swarming him. Felix watched him go in mild astonishment. The tracker was usually the cool, calm, collected one of the group. He had never seen his old friend this upset before.

Demetri didn’t remerge from the bathroom by the time she woke up either, stirring slowly and scrunching her nose and eyes when the light hit her full force. Her eyes wandered right over him, not really registering the giant’s presence the first time around. Felix tilted his head when her head snapped back in his direction, her heart picking up in her chest and grip on the armrests tightening.

“I – wh-where are we? You, your eyes…” she breathed.

“I’m a vampire.” Felix told her bluntly. A snort escaped her before her hand slapped over her mouth. She had to take a minute to study him, see if he was lying.

“Your as crazy as your friend. Oh god…oh god where it the demented bastard?” she whispered, curling her knees up as tears welled in her eyes, “What’s h-he going to do to me?” Felix couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Would you like the short or the long version?” he asked.

She gulped. “Sh-short?”

“He’s going to turn you into one of us as the law demands and love you like no other man ever could for the rest of eternity.” Felix shrugged. It was amusing to him, how her jaw dropped open. She couldn’t hear the way Demetri growled at him to shut up from the bathroom. Her hands immediately scrabbled for the belt at her waist and his eyebrows rose.

“You’re all crazy!” she snapped.

“Where do you plan on going? It’s a long way down, little human.” He chuckled.

“The bathroom! Away from the crazy!” she cried. Felix’s laughter echoed about the jet.

“There’s a crazy man in the bathroom to.” he promised. Demetri appeared in a flash, his expression furious.

“Could you at least attempt to be courteous? She is terrified enough.” He hissed. The giant leaned back in his seat, looking thoroughly amused at the way she immediately swung her backpack into his face. “And will you stop hitting me with that bag!” he cried exasperatedly.

“You kidnapped me you freak!” she yelled.

“I did what I had to to save your life!”

“You were the one who put my life in danger! You – you –“

“Now now children play nicely.” Felix drawled. They both shot him frustrated looks, and he couldn’t hide his grin when he realised just how similar they appeared. He had no doubt that this rocky start was going to haunt Demetri for a while yet, if only because his mate seemed quite unwilling to let it go, and yet... Felix watched them argue with keen eyes, the pair going back and forth as Demetri quite honestly told her his motivation for the attack and subsequent kidnapping. Occasionally he would chime in with something witty only to be told to shut up, but it was quite obvious to him what neither of them seemed to notice what he did. With every angry word they seemed to smash through a barrier, the pair gravitating towards each other like magnets.

He doubted they’d last a week apart.

[pro-fangirls-unsocial-life]

Welcome Home.

A/N: So I accidentally wrote this fic in discord while talking with @captainrexisboo and thought I’d post it here as well!! I know that the timeline is off with Kix, but I don’t care. Its my fic and I get to decide what the rules are lmao. Anyways, this is what I think would happen if Kix and Rex met in the rebellion. I hope you enjoy! (Also wow. Two fics in two days look at me go after like a month of not posting anything)

Length: ~1800

Warnings. ANGST. Feeling hopeless. Self loathing. Very much a hurt/comfort thing.

It had been three months since Kix had been woken up. The Empire now raged across the galaxy and Kix’s newfound reality now raged throughout his mind, never giving him a moment of rest.

 After three months of being trapped in a tiny ship, the rebellion had decided that Kix was to be brought to the base on Yavin 4. For what, he had no idea, but now that he’s here, he thought it best not to dwell on what awaits him once he reaches his destination within the main building.

 Walking down the halls, he feels a sense of dread at having stares thrown his way by those who remember the clone wars. All of them are older now. All of them know what he did.

The rebel scavenger who found him keeps leading him deeper into the base until they stop in front of the door leading to General Syndulla's quarters. He had been told that this would be who he was being brought to.

 The door whooshes open to reveal Hera, a soft smile gracing her features. "Trooper?"

 "Yes general?"

 "Follow me.”

 Hera looks to the man who had been escorting Kix. "You are dismissed Private."

 With that, she turns, leading him through even more dimly lit hallways, not speaking a word but still keeping a smile on her features.

 They walk like that for a while, Kix having no idea as to where he is being taken. "Do they want to question me? Torture me for information? Make me go undercover for them in the Empire? What use could I be to them?"

 Finally, as they round a corner, his curiosity gets the better of him. "General?"

 Hera stops in front of a large door. "Yes?”

 "Forgive me, but… where are we going? What do you all want from me? I'm no use to anyone anymore."

 Hera smiles and gestures to the door, laying her hand on the panel to open it. She chuckles, placing her other hand on the shoulder of the man in front of her. "All of your questions will be answered Trooper. I promise. But there was someone who wanted to see you first." She presses a button and the door quickly opens, revealing a large room with a briefing table lit up in the center.

 Kix steps inside, looking around and seeing that it’s empty, all except for one person who hurriedly stands from the chair he was just occupying. He is worrying something in his hand but does not move toward Kix.

 "I'll leave you two to catch up," Hera says, closing the door as she turns away.

 Kix looks back at the man, now studying his features. He has deep brown eyes like Kix does and the same general face shape. He's older, bald and sporting a fluffy white beard that covers his face, almost mirroring the one that Kix had grown against his will after all these years. Only, as he looks closer, he can see that it just covers a small scar that runs over the man’s chin.

 Suddenly, his heart drops to his feet. No. This isn't possible. He was the only clone left who wasn't being used by the Empire. He was the only one left who truly knew what had happened. This can’t be real.

 "Rex?" His voice squeaks out in a barely audible whisper as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

 This has to be a trick. He had already shed his tears, had already mourned all of the lives that he had failed to save. He had already come to terms with his new hopeless reality. This couldn't be real. What would he do if it was?

 What would he do if it wasn't?

 If he allowed himself to believe that the man in front of him was really Rex, but it was just another lie he was being fed by the cruel mistress of fate, it would break him. He could not handle having his spirit broken once more when he had only just begun piecing it back together after so much time being broken.

 No. He would not allow himself to be tricked like this. He attempted to stomp out the small spark of hope that seeing this man had ignited within him. He would no longer be a pawn, an entertainment for those who gained joy from the suffering of others. He couldn't do it again. Not again.

 The man sharply took in a breath at the utterance of the name from Kix's lips and took a small step forward, his hands stopping their movement in front of him. "Kix," he breaths out. His shoulders sag, the tension he was previously holding disappearing as if he had just taken his first breath of peace after escaping a never-ending journey of despair.

 He walked forward, quickening his pace with each step. Kix flinched away, taking two steps back and moving his hand to his hip to grab at a blaster that was not there.

 The man stopped, a questioning pain coming across his features. "Kix?" His voice cracks as he says the name. Almost as if it hurts to say.

 "Don't," Kix snaps out with as much force as he can muster. He feels the tears as they begin cascading down his face. Flowing without any end in sight as Kix's damn keeping them in place shatters at hearing his name from an all too familiar memory. "I won't be tricked by this. Not again."

 "Kix..." The man takes two steps forward, gesturing between the two of them. "It's me. It's Rex. Your Captain."

 "No!" Kix steps back again, shaking his head as he tries to put as much distance between himself and the ghost in front of him as possible. "My Captain, my brother, is dead. All of my brothers are dead." His breathing begins to speed up and his heart breaks as he spits his venom at the image of the man he once trusted more than anyone else in the universe. "My brothers are dead," he quietly chokes out. "And it's all my fault."

 The man stares at him, his eyes tearing up and his heart aching at hearing Kix's words.

 "It's all my fault," he chokes out again. "If I had been faster - if I had been good enough- none of this, the Empire, the Jedi, the death; none of it would have ever happened." He drops to his knees, holding his head in his hands as his tears continue to pool onto the cold stone floor. "I failed you Captain. I failed Fives. I failed Jesse.” A piercing sob tore through him. “All of this happened because of me."

 There is no movement, not a single sound echoing throughout the room except the strangled cries of the still young man. And with each passing second, he can feel his resolve crumbling, until it has completely disappeared.

 He sniffles, his tears still not slowing as they fall from his face onto the floor. "I don't care if your real or not... I wish that you were though.” He pauses. “Just... Just so I can tell Rex that I'm sorry. I'm- I'm so sorry for letting you down. For causing so much pain." He clenches his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms until he feels them cut into his hand and draw blood. "For killing so many of our brothers."

 For a moment, neither man moves, both keeping their eyes trained on the floor until the sound of boots echo throughout the room, accompanying the lonesome sobs of a defeated young man. They stop in front of Kix and squeak as the man who wears them kneels down to Kix's level.

 He gently places his hand on Kix's shoulder, briefly stopping when Kix flinches away before letting his hand travel to the back of Kix's neck. He leans forward, guiding Kix toward him until their foreheads touch. "It's not your fault Kix."

 Kix slowly draws himself back, looking up at the man with red eyes and a tear-stained face, finding a pained stare looking back at him. He searches the eyes of the older man, seeing nothing but kindness and sincerity in his gaze. "Rex?" His broken voice comes out as a whimper, only loud enough for the man in front of him to just barely hear it.

 The man nods, a small smile coming across his face, conflicting with the tear-stained cheeks it moves with. "It's me, vod. It's me."

 "Rex!" Kix cries out as he lunges forward, tightly wrapping his arms around Rex and pulling him as close as he can, feeling Rex do the same thing. Sobbing into his shoulder as his walls come crashing down and the small spark of hope he failed to extinguish ignites the long dormant fire within him once again. "I'm so sorry, vod. I tried. I tried so hard to make everything right. I tried so hard to save all of you." His tears have already made a wet spot on Rex's shirt and his breath comes out in huffs as he breaks down in his brother’s arms. "I'm so sorry Rex. I'm so sorry."

 Rex tightly squeezes his brother, not ever wanting to let him go. "No, Kix. You have nothing to be sorry for." His own tears return, falling onto Kix's back as the other continues sobbing into his shoulder. "You did everything you could and you would have made it if I had just listened to Fives sooner." The younger man shakes as his cries continue and Rex begins to rub small, soothing circles on his back, rocking them back and forth where they are curled up on the floor. "It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault." He whispers the phrase, over and over and over, until Kix stops shaking and his breathing has evened out against his shoulder.

 Pulling back, Rex smiles as he is finally given a moment to look over the face of his little brother after so many years. His eyes are red and puffy, and there are tears that make his cheeks shine, but it is Kix. The same brave, kind Kix that he once knew. "I see you've copied my beard," he joked, reaching his hand up to stroke at the hair on his face.

 Kix laughs, wiping at his nose as he takes a deep breath to try and calm down. "Believe me, it will be the first thing to go once I get my hands on a razor."

 Rex chuckles, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Kix's neck and guide him forward until their foreheads are touching once again.

 Kix closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "I missed you vod. It's- It's been so long--" His words are cut short by Rex dragging him into a tight hug, fisting the fabric of Kix's shirt so tight that his knuckles turn white.

 He takes a deep breath, grabbing onto Rex's shirt in the same way, never wanting to let go.

 "Welcome home, vod," he hears in his ear. "Welcome home."

[jawritter]

Mirror Mirror

Summary: It can be hard to be married to someone you see as virtually the most beautiful person in the world, when you don’t see yourself that way, and all eyes seem to be watching.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Sized!Reader

Warnings: Floooffff, tooth rooting floooffff!! Lol, Flangst, probably the flangstiest flangst I’ve ever flangsted. Language, self hate, insecure reader. Jensen's is a complete fucking sweetheart. That’s about it I think.

Ward Count: 2249

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons! Thanks so much love!

A/N: Okay guys! This fic was one I wrote before the final and now I’m glad I wrote this baby before hand, because while I’m still working on the comfort fic you all requested, It’s taking me a little to get my emotions under control! So, that being said, enjoy this one guys! The Jensen x Reader comfort fic which will be titled Pieces Of Me, will be here as soon as I can guys! Feedback is gold! Please do not copy my work!

***MASTERLIST***     ***BECOME A PATREON***

You stood in front of the most dreaded object in your house with big, ugly tears rolling down your reddened cheeks. 

The mirror. 

There was a stack of dresses in expensive bags behind you, and a pile of matching shoes scattered across your bedroom floor. You had been at this for more than three hours, and nothing you put on looked right to you. 

Your eyes rake over the image of your disgruntled self in the mirror as you run your hands down your not so flat stomach; all the way down to your thighs that were a lot thicker than what was considered “pretty” by most standards. 

Every dress you put on today seemed to do nothing but accentuate your worst features, and highlight the things that you were the most self conscious  about, and today was the last day you had to pick an outfit for the awards ceremony that your husband had to attend in California. You were flying out first thing in the morning, and you still had nothing to wear. The thought  utterly terrifies you. 

You turn away from your reflection in disgust and sit down heavily on the foot of your bed, your head hanging down as the tears flowed heavier from your eyes onto the black satin material of the dress that went down to your knees. 

You hated awards ceremonies, and this was why. You hated all public appearances where you had to be seen by the fans with Jensen, but awards ceremonies were like next level humiliation for you. 

You didn’t have the body of the actresses and supermodels that walked the red carpet alongside your husband who was WAY the hell out of league. You were a little overweight, and you always had been. No matter how many miles you got up early to run in the morning, or expensive gym memberships you wasted hard earned money on, you were still on the heavier side. 

Diet pills either did nothing, or made you sick. You weren’t heavy enough for surgery, and even if you were you would be terrified to take it that far. Diets themselves did NOTHING, and you had done some pretty extreme diets since you met and started dating Jensen. Once you had  married him, you continued to try and lose weight, even though Jensen insisted you were beautiful. 

You never told him, but you had seen the comments on social media concerning Jensen’s “fatass of a wife,” and how “he could do so much better than that.” The one that stuck with you the most was, “I bet on the rare occasion he does have sex with her it’s when the lights off.”

People were cruel, and when they were able to hide behind the safety of computers they were even more cruel than usual. You knew that if you didn’t look just right on the red carpet tomorrow with Jensen, if you didn’t look like the woman he deserved to have on his arm, and not just yourself, they would tear  you both apart. 

You were so lost in your self loathing that you didn’t hear the front door close, or Jensen’s heavy footfalls making their way closer to your still open bedroom door. When he first caught sight of you, and all the clothing bags and shoes that littered the room, his heart fell to his feet. He wished you could see you the way he saw you, he wished you could see just how beautiful you were. He’d been trying to help you see it for years, but when big events like this come up they seem to drag out all those old insecurities that broke his heart almost as bad as they broke yours.

Jensen made his way over to you as you quickly tried to wipe the tears from your face to hide the fact that you were crying and knelt down in front of you, taking your hand in his own while cupping the side of your face with his free hand, making you look up into his piercing green eyes that looked sadder than you expected them too.

“What’s wrong baby,” he asked you, catching a stray tear with the pad of his thumb and wiping it away before it had a chance to join the other’s on our lap. 

You just shook your head and tried to look away as you attempted to swallow the giant lump of nothing that formed in your throat. Jensen was having none of it, and moved to sit on the bed next to you, shoving the bags out of his way so that there was a place next to you. 

“Come on pretty girl, talk to me please. What’s got you so upset?”

You knew he wasn’t going to let it go, so you tried to take a deep breath to steady your nerves. You didn’t want to melt into a weeping mess in front of him, not over something like this, but everything just seemed so amplified lately. All the stress caused your emotions to get out of control because you really had no idea why you were stressed, you just were, and everything just seemed overwhelming lately. 

“I’m fat Jay,” you tell him, hating how thick your voice sounds from all the crying you’d been doing for hours now. “I’m too fat to fit into anything, and look good enough to go to this awards thing with you. People are going to make fun of you for being married to a fucking whale. Maybe I should just stay here in Austin.” A dark chuckle formed in your throat at the thought you never intended to say aloud, but did anyway. “Maybe you should just divorce me and find someone who’s more your speed.”

“Wait a minute, woah, where is this coming from?” Jensen asked, turning to face you on the bed, and cupping your face in his large hands. “Baby girl, you are NOT fat! Why would you say something like that?” 

You jerk away from his hold, emotions getting the better of you as you stood to your feet in front of him, gesturing to your body that was still squeezed into the black cocktail dress that you hated so much right now. “Are you blind? Look at me Jensen! I’m fat! I don’t need you to lie to me because you feel that you have to because we’re married! I’m not a moron. I look in the mirror everyday! I’m FAT!” 

Your tone was harsh as it all tumbled out of you, but Jensen just gave you a sad look, not interrupting, just letting you get it all out of your system. Once you were done, and just flopped back down on the bed in defeat, Jensen grabbed your hand, and pulled you over to the mirror, stopping you in front of it, and guiding your gaze to the reflection that was staring at you as he stood behind you, brushing your hair away from your face as his eyes raked down your body. 

“Can I tell you what I see?” He asked, but you just shook your head, and tried to turn away, but he stopped you. 

“Jay, please, I know what I look like....”

“I never said let me tell you what you see, I want to tell you what I see.” Jensen said, turning you back to the mirror as you let out a deep breath in defeat, choosing silence in fear of hurting his feelings when he’d done nothing wrong. 

“I see a strong, beautiful young woman, who is way more than I ever deserved. I see a woman who knows just what to do to drive me crazy in the best ways. I see someone that’s stood by me when most people would have walked away from me. I see a woman who I can’t go to sleep at night unless she’s tucked into my arms. I see my reason for waking up in the morning. I see the woman I love with everything in me. I see the woman I want to have a family, grow old with, and be buried next to someday.”

He reached around and brushed the tears aways before leaving a trail of soft, open mouth kisses down the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder. His big hands slide down to lay over your stomach that you hated so much before his eyes met yours in the mirror, his gaze soft and warm laced with love that you sometimes forgot to look for when you needed to feel it the most. 

“I don’t love you because of the way you look, but baby let me tell you nobody drives me as crazy as you do. Do you seriously think some skinny little bitch could handle me? Baby girl, I’d split her open,” he all but growled, nipping at the shell of your ear to drive his point home, sending a warm shiver down your back, letting you momentarily forget what you were even upset about as heat pooled through your body at the slightest touch.

“Those women in the industry, they’re not real women. You have the body of a real woman. Safe, warm, mine.” Turning you abruptly in his arms his lips found yours in a heated kiss that left you breathless and your world spinning when he finally pulled away from you. “I don’t want you to ever say that you're fat again, because you're not a baby girl. To me you're perfect, and that’s all that matters. I don’t give a shit about what people think. If they attack my girl, then they will live to regret it. You're gonna be the most beautiful woman on the red carpet tomorrow night, and when we get back to that hotel room, I’m gonna show you just how crazy that damn dress is driving me.”

Jensen's gaze darkened as his eyes roamed your body, and he licked his lips as if already plotting just how he was going to ruin you when you got to California. 

“Why wait until tomorrow night, when we got all night to pack?” you asked him, running your fingers through his hair that had been getting longer ever since Supernatural had ended, enjoying the almost purr that fell from his lips as he nuzzled deeper into your touch before his gaze found yours again, pulling you tighter into his hold. 

“Because, I don’t want you to get mad okay? But there’s something I really want you to do for me right now,” he said, his eyes searching yours waiting on your response, and when you said nothing, just stood there on pins and needles, he brushed your lips with the pad of his thumb and placed his lips to your forehead before he finally told you what was on his mind. 

“I want you to  take a pregnancy test for me,” he said in a soft voice, so soft that you almost weren’t sure you heard him correctly at first, but pulling back to meet his gentle gaze you knew you had. 

“A pregnancy test?” you asked him in disbelief, still unsure whether you should be offended or not. 

“Baby, hear me out,” he said, sensing your change in demeanor. “You’ve been really emotional for a few weeks now. This isn’t the first time I caught you crying this week, and not just over something like this. You’re also three days late for your period, and we have been trying. I think you might be a pregnant sweetheart. It would explain why you're feeling this way.”

You swallowed hard and nodded as you thought back over the emotional wreck you had been all month long, and the longer you thought about it, the more you thought he could be right. 

Giving him a quick peck on the lips, you slip out of his hold, and make your way to the bathroom to take the test. Your brain and body felt numb as your mind rolled over possible symptoms. The queasy feeling you passed off as bad Chinese food. The headaches. The extreme fatigue. The late period. 

You didn’t even get the cap on before two pink lines appeared on the screen in front of you, and tears filled your eyes as you felt Jensen’s strong arms wrap around your middle, pulling you into a kiss that knocked the wind slap out of you. In that moment, it didn’t matter what the mirror said, or the assholes online said. At that moment, your body didn’t feel like an utter failure. All you could think about was the little miracle growing inside of you as you both held onto each other for a moment, and when Jensen turned you to the bathroom mirror, both of you with wet eyes and happy expressions staring back at you, Jensen brought his lips down to the top of your head. 

“See, I told you. Now baby, do you see what I see, because I see my beautiful wife, and mother of my child. What I saw from the moment I met you.”

You nod and turn to press your lips to his again, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks, now that it all made sense as to why you were all over the place all week. Your body was doing just what it was designed to do, and for the first time, you looked in the mirror, and didn’t hate what you saw.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons​ @rvgrsbrns​ @chevyharvelle​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @i-love-superhero​ @akshi8278​ @lyss-dw79​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624​ @busy-bee-angel-misska​ @justanotherwinchester​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​ @lyarr24​ @amandamdiehl​ @love-jackles-37-blog​ @miraclesoflove​ @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth​ @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​ @softsebastian​ @tatted-trina6​ @anaelsbrunette​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​ @teresa-67​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​ @writers-whirlwind​

Mirror Mirror Tags: @tuataracda123 @woodworthti666​

[kaitwrites]

Part 23: Explanations

Hello bbys! I very much forgot about posting this yesterday oops (It was Christmas I have an excuse lol) but anyway here it is! Once again a very big thank you to @garbagepale-kid for being the best and helping me edit and proof read and everything. I hope everyone is having a good holiday season!!

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,742

Warnings: Uh... none really. It did low key make me sad tho so I mean 

You slowly made your way up to Sero’s room in a daze. Your fingers occasionally danced over your lips that were still tingling from your kiss with Katsuki, and your face was hot and red from what felt like a permanent blush. You had promised to meet him back in his room within thirty minutes before he came busting down Sero’s door to come and look for you, and you were pushing it with your slow pace. 

After what seemed like an eternity, you stopped in front of Sero’s room. You heard soft music playing and hoped that his neighbors were either heavy sleepers or nonexistent. You brought your hand up and knocked three times. After a few minutes you turned on your heel, ready to head to Bakugo’s room when he didn’t answer, but just as you had begun to retreat his door creaked open. 

His eyes were red and the smell of weed invaded your nostrils as smoke drifted from the room, he had a lazy smile plastered on his face once he realized who had been knocking. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you. How was your talk with Bakugo?” He leaned against his doorframe, crossing his arms over his bare chest. 

You shifted anxiously as your gaze fell to the floor, “can I come in?”

 His smile dissipated and he made room in the doorway, shutting the door behind you as you made your way into the room, sitting on his bed. Though the two of you had been sharing the room, there was no sign of this, save for the pajamas that were still piled on the floor from the night before. You had been keeping most of your things in your suitcase, and for the most part he had done the same, but in his assumption that you weren’t coming back he hadn’t bothered to pick up after himself. 

Sero turned the music down and tried to kick some clothes out of the way before he picked up a sweatshirt from the ground, pulling it over his head before taking a seat on the floor in front of you and crossing his legs. 

“Everything okay? How did it go?” He placed a hand on your knee and looked up to you. 

You smiled and looked down at him, placing one of your hands on top of his. “It went well.” You watched as his smile came back to his face, though this time there was something different about it. “It went… really well.” 

“Well that’s good, right? You’re happy?” He asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. 

Sero leaned back, taking in your expression. You had a smile on your lips that he hadn’t seen in a while, a sparkle in your eye that hadn’t been there since Bakugo had kicked you out of his room. Though you had only said a few words since he had opened his door for you, he could hear something different in your voice. He knew this was coming, he had just hoped for a little more time. 

“Yeah,” your free hand made its way up to your lips and you felt the blush come back to your face once more. Your attention turned to his face and you saw nothing but sadness come over his features. Your smile fell and you sighed, not sure if you were ready for this conversation. “I wanted to come and talk to you, though, about what happened earlier.” 

“Right.” He sat up straight, rolling his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I just… I really have no explanation for that.” You could tell he was trying to find the right words to say, he had always been a pretty easy person to read. He bit his lower lip and took a deep breath, looking to where your hands were connected, then back up to your eyes. “I love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too, Han.” You reassured him. He was nervous, it was written all over his face. His sad eyes betrayed his bright smile. 

“No, like… I love you.” He watched you cautiously, waiting for the realization to come over your face. Once he saw the spark of recognition he continued before you could get a word in. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, I just never knew how to tell you, it never seemed like the right time.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. “First there was Monoma, and I knew you were very hesitant to give any affection to anyone after him… But then Bakugo came along. I hadn’t seen your face light up like that since Monoma.” 

“Han…” It was the only thing you were able to get out. You had had your suspicions that he harbored those kinds of feelings for you, but you'd buried them deep down. It wasn’t that you ignored them, it was more so that you just thought he was just being the same old Sero, one of your best friends, because he never acted on them. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but into your eyes. “You had never looked at me like that, and that’s when I knew that there was never a chance for me. Not in this lifetime at least.” . 

You sat there, dumbfounded. Memories from high school sprang to the front of your mind, the pining for the sweet, black haired, toothy-grinned boy came back. You had savored every smile in your direction, every slight brush of your hands, each second of eye contact you had shared. You’d admired him, stealing glances and falling more and more in love with his smile every day, but he had been in a relationship. Then Monoma came along and sucked you dry, made you feel worthless, and by the time that disaster was over you were too scared to let yourself feel that vulnerable to anyone else, Sero included.  

“If you felt that way for so long, why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice was strained. “Sure, I wasn’t ready for a relationship after Neito, but maybe if you’d told me I wouldn’t have pushed my feelings for you so far down that they disappeared.”  

His eyes shot to your face, An intense feeling of self-loathing washing over him at the words coming out of your mouth. You actually had feelings for him? There was a point in time where there was mutual pining? He’d noticed some lingering glances after he’d ended things with a girlfriend in high school, and the ways you always found a way to spend extra time with him,but in his mind that was just because you were worried about him. That relationship hadn’t ended the best, and he thought you were trying to be a good friend to him. Boy was he kicking himself in the ass for never acting on those bubbling feelings way back when. 

“I feel like an idiot.” He admitted, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “You’re telling me there was a time where I could have swept you off your feet...” he trailed off, then let out a remorseful chuckle. “To think, if I had acted on that before Monoma came into the picture… you wouldn’t have been put through all of that pain.” He looked up to your glossy eyes. 

Bringing back the things Monoma had said and done to you were still a very rough subject for you. Even after all of this time, even after finding solace in Katsuki, it was just irreparable damage. He moved himself from the floor to sit beside you, pulling your head onto his shoulder, rubbing your shoulder. “But now you have Bakugo, and I wouldn’t have done all of this for you if I hadn’t known he was a good guy, he just needed a little push in the right direction.”

“Han, why would you agree to do this if you felt so strongly about me?” You whispered, wiping at the tear that had escaped your eye. “If I had known I wouldn’t have agreed to this, to lead you on like this.” 

“There was never a moment throughout all of this that I thought you were leading me on. Y/N I chose to do this. I did it for you. Seeing your beautiful smile and knowing that you’re happy is worth more to me than any reciprocated feelings. I went into this knowing that the end game was always going to be Bakugo, and if that’s what makes you happy then that’s what makes me happy.” 

More tears trailed down your face as he spoke. Never had there been anyone in your life to put your feelings before their own. Never had there been anyone to risk their happiness for the sake of you. There was a part of you that still loved Hanta, and you thought that there might always be because though feelings were never reciprocated at the time, he was your first love. “Thank you, Hanta.” You sniffled and pulled his face to your level, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

You didn’t miss the faint blush that adorned his cheeks, or the sad smile plastered on his face. He squeezed your shoulder and stood up, pulling you with him. “Dance with me, one last time.” He turned the volume up on the Bluetooth speaker in the room and held his arms out to you. You smiled as you remembered all the times he had done this, it never failed to cheer you up. 

He took your hand and pulled you close, holding you tightly to his chest and resting his chin on top of your head and the music played softly throughout the room. He wanted to cherish every last moment of this, because who knew when the next time he’d ever be able to hold you this close, if there would ever even be a next time. The two of you swayed together in the small space that the room allowed, and much to Seros dismay, the song ended all too soon. You pulled back and let him wipe at the tears that had fallen down your face once more. 

“Just remember, I’m always here if you ever need me.” He pulled you closer one last time, placing a kiss on your forehead and holding back the tears that threatened to fall before watching you walk out of his room to go back to Bakugo. 

Taglist:  @hopelesshawks @goustcop @pride-of-persephone @jadenyukis-bodypillow @unawi13-blog @sokka-simp @astroninaaa @pansinspace @oikawasiwa @thelifeoftheshorty @camry-orphanaccount @vhskenma @hallothankmas @pinkquartz19 @reblogs-of-things-i-like @xxoperatexx @kiristanfirsthuman2nd @introvertatitsfinest @garbagepale-kid @calumsfringe @itsmysticalmystery @sirachano0dles @bakugousflowerprincess @fukyouthink @ynfics @hadesnewpersephone @cirtruss @cherryblossom242 @chaichai-the-weeb @sergeant102105 @punicorn999 @definitelynotaundrayah @dangerousluv1 @missalienqueen @coffeeaddictedmay @nxynxy @tansyfleurwhisper @insane-without-delirium @ravenkake @thoretical-theo @overzealous-imagination @delightfulartisancolorauthor @multifixx @emomochi

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

Monster - Part 2

AO3 Link

Characters: Commander Fox (Main), Commander Wolffe, Commander Cody, Captain Rex, Commander Stone, Corrie Medic Triage (OC).

Summary: Fox deals with the aftermath of his actions, unsure as to whether his brothers can forgive him.

Warnings: 16+, swearing, mentions of death.

Word Count: 3.5k

Part 1 here

Author’s Notes: I've been agonising over this chapter for far longer than necessary so please take it from me. Hopefully it's not complete gibberish. Feedback is appreciated as always, it's my first time writing such prominent clones all as proper characters in a fic so would be great to know what went well and where I can improve! This fic ends with this chapter but the ending leaves it open for imagination, if anyone has any cool thoughts for what may happen my inbox is always open to discuss further! Fic is below the cut, enjoy 😊.

When Fox next came around he was on the cheap sofa in his office. The rigid object making his back stiff, he must’ve been out for a while. He groaned as he attempted to sit up. He felt weak, his entire body sore and sensitive as he shuffled about.

“Welcome back, sunshine.” Stone greeted him while Triage appeared and started poking at him. Stone must’ve relieved Thorn from Fox babysitting duty. The thought made the Commander groan.

“How you feeling, boss?” The medic questioned as he started shining a small light into his eyes.

“Shit” he replied truthfully. “What happened?”

“You had a breakdown, a bad one.” The matter-of-fact bedside manner of the Guard’s chief medical officer was something Fox usually favoured, except when he was on the receiving end of it of course.

“Oh”

“It’s lucky Thorn found you when he did.” Triage chided while tapping away at his Datapad. His clean-shaven face focused as he went about the task. “You’ve got a visitor by the way”

“Hey vod” the gruff voice was followed by an even gruffer Commander strolling into view. What was Wolffe doing here?

“Thorn called.” Hm apparently he’d asked his question aloud.

Fox hadn’t seen Wolffe in months, he was always away on missions and rarely got down time when his Jedi had to return to Coruscant. His scar still stood out prominently against his tanned skin, but it looked better each time he saw him again, like it was slowly settling in to being a part of him. His armour was tattered, the grey paint scratched and chipped while the white plastoid was covered in the dirt of battle.

“Well I’m fi-“

“Don’t try it mir’sheb. I know what happened.” Fox flinched. Wolffe’s tone was flat when he spoke, his face unreadable and despite being one of the eldest of their batch, Fox felt very vulnerable under his little brother’s gaze.

As cadets and during command training, their batch had always been close, but Fox could confidently call Wolffe his best friend out of the lot. Their competitive nature pushed them to always be the best, their dry humour so cutting that only the other could truly understand it for what it was. Both of them were blunt, but over the years, the war had moulded them slightly differently. Where Fox was hardened and distant from his time on Coruscant, surprisingly, some of Wolffe’s ragged edges to his personality had softened. Not really noticeable if you didn’t know him from before, but Fox chalked it up to the friendship and mentoring of his wise Jedi and also his position as a Commander. Wolffe had lost his entire battalion early on in the war and Fox had held his heartbroken vodas he swore he would never let anything come between him and his men ever again. From that point on, Wolffe had gotten to know each member of his squad personally, always ensuring that they knew that despite his hard exterior, he’d always be there for them if they needed it.

Despite all this and how well Fox knew his brother, all that knowledge was doing nothing for him in his current situation. Wolffe knew that he’d killed another clone, yet he hadn’t lashed out yet. Was he just waiting until they were alone? The tension in the air threatening to smother them with each second that passed. Fox wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“We’ll give you two some privacy.” Triage announced before dragging a worried looking Stone out behind him.

Fox didn’t say anything, he just waited for the onslaught from his younger brother. He was sporting his signature frown which could mean a hundred different things.

“Before we even get into this, I just need you to know that we don’t hate you, Fox. We’ll always love you, you di’kut.” Wolffe’s voice finally carried some emotion now that they were alone. It held a mixture of things, brotherly frustration at Fox’s self-loathing, a fear for finding out things he might not want the answer to and the smallest twinge of betrayal for what Fox had done. But among the rest of it, among the words said, there was love. Fox huffed out a humourless laugh.

“Beats me as to why”

“We’re family. We don’t need a reason. We’re stuck with each other, whether you like it or not.”

Silence lingered between them as Fox finally found the courage to speak about the elephant in the room.

“I don’t know why I did it. I didn’t mean to.” His voice was faint, almost like if he said it any louder it’d all be real.

“I know ori’vod”

Fox finally launched into an explanation of what happened. His chest constricting further and further, threatening to rob his body of air as he pushed himself to get the story out. His hands shook in fear of what his closest brother would think of him, of what he’d done. Wolffe hadn’t spoken during the entire story, resigned to just watching him from his perch on his desk. Fox was panicking.

After what felt like the longest silence of Fox’s life, the younger Commander exhaled roughly, his bare hands rubbing at his scar out of habit as he processed the information. “You told Rex this?” Fox was shocked that out of everything to ask, that that was his question. The Guard Commander shook his head.

“Well, we better get him over here” Fox jumped out of his seat and placed a hand over his brother’s comm link.

“Kriff Wolffe, the poor guy has suffered enough. Last thing he needs is me begging for forgiveness for something he can’t forgive. I killed one of our own, one of his last few best friends. He hates me. And I really don’t blame him.”

“Maybe so, but he deserves to hear the truth from you. Whether or not he believes it is up to him.” Reluctantly, he let his arm go and stalked back over to the sofa. “I’ll comm Cody, he’s over there with him now.”

“Didn’t realise you were both planet side.” Fox grunted out, he could really do with some caff, his body was exhausted.

“The 104th were on their way back since Plo had some Jedi stuff to do, we touched down this afternoon. As for the 212th, they finished their last mission and once they heard about everything that’d been going on, General Kenobi requested they come back to help out. Though I have a feeling that was Cody wanting to check in on Rex.”

Fox wanted to ask how Rex was, but the searing guilt that burned in his chest couldn’t bear to ask the question. So he decided to check on some people who potentially hated him a smidge less, only a smidge though.

“Have you heard from the others?”

Wolffe nodded and went on to tell him about what the rest of their batch had been up to. Gree had recently been assigned to General Yoda, who he was absolutely terrified of. Fox didn’t blame him, the Jedi was extremely powerful for someone so pint sized, he’d also heard that he had a wicked sense of humour which would definitely stress Gree out, much to the amusement to the rest of his batch. Ponds was getting on nicely with Mace, they’d recently had a successful campaign near the outer rim and were due back on Coruscant soon. The eldest of their batch, Bly, was doing well too. Apparently Wolffe thought he had the hots for his General as Bly apparently refused to shut up about how amazing and strong and caring she was. Fox wasn’t sure if he was messing with him or not, but the thought brought a small smile to his face nonetheless. Trust Bly to fall in love with his Jedi General.

“What about you? How’s life in the Corrie Guard?” Wolffe asked.

Where could he even begin. Fox never offloaded about his problems onto anyone, except maybe his fellow Commanders in the Guard who he shared the burden with. Wolffe wouldn’t understand. A part of him also wanted to be the dutiful big brother and not place any worries or fears onto his vod’ika.

“Not much to report, same as always” he wasn’t lying at least. It was easier this way, for them not to know. They could keep thinking he was safe away from the battlefield. Their hopes in this war were already pretty low, they didn’t need to know about the horrors that lurked away, hidden among the senate corridors and the low levels of Coruscant.

——————————

Anxiety gripped at Fox’s chest as he paced a hole into his metal office floor. Waiting for Cody and Rex made him feel as if he was waiting for a death sentence. He thought of all the ways he could potentially escape but he knew Wolffe would be all over him. The 104th Commander always was a fan of tough love and things didn’t get tougher than this.

There was a slight commotion outside which pulled the both of them to attention.

Rex came storming in, his face set like stone, an angry frown marring his features and deepening the creases in his forehead. Once he set his sights on Fox nothing could deter him. “Rex, wait!” Wolffe shouted but he couldn’t stop him in time. Rex’s fist slammed into Fox’s nose with a sickening crack, sending the Commander sprawling backwards, catching himself on his desk as his nose started gushing blood.

Cody ran in from nowhere and locked Rex’s arms behind his back, trying to calm their little brother. “Rex, will you just listen to him.” He shouted down his ear while Fox recovered from the blow, cradling his now broken nose as Wolffe came to his side to help him back up.

“Why? Why should I listen? He didn’t listen to Fives!” Rex screamed back as he writhed in Cody’s arms. His words cut into Fox, making him grimace.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Rex.” Fox apologised with a burning sincerity, but it only deepened the frown on Rex’s face.

“I don’t want your apologies.” The Captain shouted back, gone was his usual professional composure. Right now he was a broken man who’d lost one of the last few people he’d let get close to him. There was no rank in this room right now, they were just a group of hurting vod, trying to pick up the pieces.

Rex spat his words out at Fox with a look that could kill, he probably wanted it to. He looked like he wanted Fox to hurt as much as he was right now. “Maker, I know Palpatine had you wrapped around his finger, I just didn’t realise how much.” Ouch.

“Rex” Cody reprimanded, his Marshall Commander voice coming out as he tried to defuse the situation. The Captain’s face was still masked in hurt and anger, but he did back down slightly after his verbal blow. “The past couple days has been hard for you vod, we know that and we’re here for you. But we wouldn’t be asking you to listen to Fox right now if we didn’t think it was worth it. Please, just give him a chance.” Once he finished, he nodded at Fox to signal him to get started. He took a deep breath and readied himself to try and explain the unexplainable.

“I know it sounds ridiculous but what happened back there, It wasn’t me” he started, and Rex just scoffed, still struggling against Cody’s hold. “Look, I can’t explain it. But I set that gun to stun, I swear to you, Rex. I know you all think I’m some cold, order-following droid but I would’ve brought him… I would’ve brought Fives, in for questioning. You- you have to believe me.” Fox pleaded, blood still trickling down his face from his broken nose. He wasn’t their usual, sarcastic, caffeine deprived big brother. No, Fox was a complete mess as he tried to reason with Rex. He couldn’t bare his brothers thinking that he did this willingly, that he’d turn on his own kind with just a simple order.

“What do you mean it wasn’t you?” Rex’s gaze was still unsure, but he’d never seen Fox like this before. He looked desperate, much like Fives had.

“I- I blacked out. One minute we were moving in and as soon as I saw Fives, and I know this sounds crazy, it’s like something else took over. I was just watching from the sidelines.” Fox gave an exasperated sigh as he tried to explain himself.

“Like something was controlling you?” Rex asked, the cogs in his brain turning as he waited for a reply. Fox just gave an ashamed nod and dreaded realisation dawned on Rex’s face.

“Maybe Fives wasn’t crazy” he said it as barely a whisper but with the silence in the room they all managed to hear it.

“What do you mean?” Cody questioned as he finally let his vod’ika go, content that he wasn’t going to assault the Guard Commander further. Rex used the freedom to go and lock the door to Fox’s office.

“What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room, understand? No one can know, not our vode, not your Jedi, nobody.” The three of them nodded.

“Before he died, Fives was trying to explain what was going on to General Skywalker and me, he said that there’s something in our heads that could make us do whatever someone wanted… Even kill the Jedi.” Wolffe and Cody’s eyes widened at the thought, finding it impossible to even comprehend hurting their Generals who they cared for deeply.

“And if, if, he’s right about that, well, he said the Chancellor is in on the whole thing. That he set him up. And as insane as it sounds, that could explain why he sent Fox, of all people, to hunt him down.” Rex finally spared him a glance that wasn’t filled with complete hate, there was a slight bit of pity in for good measure instead.

“You’re saying that the Chancellor has some sort of control over me?” Fox replied. The colour draining from his face as he considered the option.

“I’m saying… it’s a possibility. After seeing what happened with Tup, what you’re saying happened to you doesn’t seem far off. He had no idea why he killed General Tiplar. Said he didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Okay hold on, so you’re trying to tell us that Fives uncovered a plot by the Chancellor which involves all of the clones having something in their heads which allows them to be controlled, with the likely purpose of it being to kill the Jedi?” Wolffe asked with the hopes that he might wake up from this weird dream he found himself in.

“Pretty much” Rex replied.

“Ozik” Cody cursed. “And you believe him? Fives? You sure he didn’t just lose it?” The Marshal Commander needed this final confirmation from his brother.

“I-” Rex exhaled and dragged a gloved hand down his face “I think I do. I wasn’t sure before but with what Fox is saying, it’s all a bit too much of a coincidence. I believe him enough to at least look into what he was talking about. He wouldn’t have risked everything he did for nothing.”

Fox tried to keep breathing as the conversation went on. Controlled. A plot to kill the Jedi. Maker this was too much. Surely they had to be wrong. But then he remembered his shit show of a life, the things that the chancellor made him do, things he’d never do willingly if he had the choice like a true sentient being. Maybe it wasn’t such a faraway reality. He repressed the shiver that threatened his body.

“You do realise we’ll get executed on the spot if we’re found looking into this. This is treason. If what you’re saying is true, then it sounds like they went to some pretty serious lengths to keep Fives from outing them.” Wolffe added, ever the pessimist. Not that Fox blamed him, they were moving into dangerous territory with this talk.

“You three can walk away, but I owe this to Fives and Tup.” Rex said, conviction written all over his face.

“I’m in” Fox announced as he wiped most of the blood away from his nose and mouth. The ache from his broken nose setting in as the adrenaline from his and Rex’s confrontation started wearing off.

Wolffe and Cody shared a glance, a silent conversation taking place between the two of them. They both shared strong bonds with their Jedi in different ways, they wanted to do everything in their power to protect them, but could they keep this a secret for long enough? Obi-Wan and Plo were very in touch with their Commander’s emotions. There was a chance they’ll figure out something was up sooner than they’d like. They would just have to work fast. Cody nodded at Wolffe, and the decision was made.

“We’re in too” Wolffe confirmed. “I don’t want any more of our brothers to die if we can help it.”

“What about Skywalker? He was with you and Fives, do we at least have him on side?” Cody asked and Rex pulled a disappointed face.

“As soon as Fives mentioned the Chancellor being involved, Anakin wrote the whole thing off… It’s just us.”

“We can work with that” Cody comforted with a hand on his little brother’s shoulder and a small smile. The Commander’s comm link started chirping and he gave them all a sorry look. “It’s the General, I better take this and head back. But we’ll catch up later.”

“79’s?” Wolffe offered. Despite none of them fancying a night out, there was no better place to get privacy than a noisy bar filled with identical faces. Cody nodded and quickly departed.

Eventually they had to call Triage back to deal with Fox’s nose. He’d done well to hide the pain during the chat between the four of them, but it had quickly started to take over his thoughts. Thankfully his CMO came armed with pain stims and for once, Fox didn’t get absolutely ripped into by the medic as this injury wasn’t a result of his own stupidity. Well, to be fair, he was sure that assessment was up for debate, especially from Rex who was talking quietly with Wolffe around Fox’s desk.

Fox poked at the metal brace and bandages on his nose, the Bacta patch under it was a squishy texture. Triage knocked his hand away like a parent would a child who was reaching for the last cookie. “Don’t touch it” he warned, and Fox moved his hands back down to his side. “Given our accelerated cell regen and the Bacta patch, you should be good to wear your helmet again by tomorrow” Fox gave his thanks to the medic by clasping his wrist in a handshake before he was left alone with his vode again.

Wolffe conveniently dipped out to use the fresher, leaving Rex and Fox alone for the first time since the incident. Fox’s heart rate sped up as he thought about it, the scenes of Fives’ death playing over and over again in his head like a horror film on repeat. That look on Rex’s face when their eyes met over Fives’ body, seared into his brain as a constant reminder of what he did.

They stared at each other from across the room, Fox was still sat on his cheap, rock solid couch while Rex was stood by his desk.

Fox couldn’t hold the eye contact; he broke it off and shifted his gaze to his hands.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. It’s not what I’m asking for, you're well within your rights to hate me. But I just want you to know that I wouldn’t hurt you like this willingly. It’s the last thing I’d ever want.” Fox broke the silence. Still not brave enough to meet Rex’s eyes, to see the disappointment and betrayal which would likely be waiting for him.

He heard some shuffling and the couch sink down slightly beside him. He dared a look over and saw Rex’s scratched leg armour.

“I don’t hate you, Fox. I know you were put in a tough situation. I know I like to think I would’ve handled it differently, but truth be told, I don’t know what could’ve happened if Fives didn't put us in that ray shield. And while I don’t want to think about it, I have a feeling someone would’ve got to him eventually. It was inevitable.” He paused and took a shuddering breath. “I just… I just need a bit of time.”

“I appreciate that, take all the time you need.” They both shared a small smile, content that they’d get past this together. There was light on the other side of this dark tunnel.

Rex really did care about Fox; he’d always looked up to him over the years. He remembers the small stuff, the words of encouragement when a training simulator went wrong, the proud look on his face when he got promoted to Captain, the many nights of drinking Thire’s rocket-fuel moonshine in Fox’s office when Rex needed to escape from the war for a few hours.

They’d be fine, time was always the best healer. Fox just hoped that they had enough time left.

Back to Part 1

Back to Masterlist

[harmoni-me]

Hello! I’m not sure if your requests are still open but, if they are here you go! I wanted to ask if you could write me a request of Nagito Komaeda x a reader who is the ultimate Chess Master? I kinda wanted to imagine him falling in love or already dating his S/O who plays chess as a professional and is more on the kinder side when it comes to him. Good luck! 💖

Ooo! This is such a unique concept, and I absolutely love it! Writing it was an absolute joy! Thank you so much for the amazing request <3

Nagito Komaeda x Ultimate Chess Master Reader!

The ultimate nurse, the ultimate swords-woman, the ultimate photographer…everyone in this class seemed to posses such interesting talents. It made you feel quite jealous, in some sort of way.

Now, of course you never thought of your talent as boring, useless, or unnecessary in the slightest! After all, you were the Ultimate Chess Master. You believed that everyone should try chess at least once before inflicting their nasty opinions on the strategic game. Unfortunately, that was already too late when it came to…basically your entire school life.

In Elementary, you would ask the kids on the playground to play a quick game of speed chess, because you thought it was a fun way to spend time with friends! But all you got in return were child-built insults, saying that chess was stupid and boring. It’s quite ridiculous to admit, but those comments still float around your mind sometimes. Kids were harsh, still are…

In Middle School, you had a few close friends, and when you asked one of them to try playing a game of chess with you, all they did was look at you weirdly, a look that only seemed to scream “uh, are you serious?”. This was when you started to question your liking for chess. Was it that weird? Am I the only one my age that thinks that chess is actually a fun game?

Now, you were sitting in class at Hope’s Peak Academy, a school full of the elite, yet…

This was the first time you felt truly, whole-heartily ashamed about your love for the game of chess.

“Are you kidding me? Chess? You got into this school for an old-people game like CHESS!? Pfft-!” A girl in twin blonde pony tails and an orange kimono let out a shrill of laughter.

“An…old people game….?” You muttered to yourself, steadily becoming a little closed off from the rest of the class.

You’re love for chess was parallel to how you played, which was almost unbeatable on a professional level, yet…

Why were these comments crushing your heart? Why did it make your love for the game waver?

Class continued like normal, just a little lecture to start off the rest of our high school lives. You honestly weren’t paying attention, your focus more attentive to your little chess notebook, filing it with strategies you wanted to try against high-level computer AI.

Though, it would be nice to have even a complete beginner to play with every once and awhile, though, you might be asking for too much.

Thump

Great, more harassment.

You turned around slightly in your seat, and looked down at the ground it see a crumpled piece of notebook paper that had hit you in the back. You picked it up, and looked around to try and figure out a potential culprit, but it seemed as if everyone was acting normal. No dice, then.

Unfolding the messy ball of paper as quietly as possible, you read what seemed to be words written on the inside.

Meet me in the library today after school, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to be seen with trash like me

The wording on the letter was…strange, but that didn’t stop you from feeling a tiny firework of joy in your heart. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel more nervous than joyous due to how the letter was written. It was surely vague, but it really seemed like the writer as quite the low self esteem.

You were suspicious, but honestly, what could go wrong? It had to be someone from the class that you were just introduced to, so at least it’s not like a blind date sort of thing…

The more you thought about it, the more it actually seemed like a blind date. Nice.

Time seemed to move incredibly slow for the whole rest of the school day, but eventually, the bell had rung, and you were out the door in a heartbeat.

After a little while of asking for directions to the school library, you finally reached your desired location: An absolutely humongous cavern of probably any book one could think of.

Only a couple of students were residing in this literal book mansion, and none of which you recognized.

“I guess they’re not here yet…” You mumbled, sitting yourself by a large, lit fireplace. As the warmth from the flames licked your skin, steadily causing you to naturally relax all of the tensed muscles that were stuck to your bones.

You pulled out your phone, and automatically started a game of online chess with a random opponent. The game was done in a mere ten minutes. The other player was no doubt new to the game, but that’s ok, you were there once too.

You suddenly heard a subtle clunk next to you, making your gaze wander to that direction. It was that boy from your class, the lucky boy. You remember him clearly because you thought his hair resembled a fluffy cloud. The two of you made eye contact, his foggy green eyes squinting a bit when he smiled at you, warming your heart a smidge.

“Y/N L/N, correct? I hope you don’t mind my presence, though it’s ok if you do, I would never blame you on something that’s not your fault.” The thin male crouched down to take a seat on the floor with you, sitting cross-legged.

“Yep, that’s me…and I actually kind of appreciate the meeting, honestly. Even if you just came for simple company, I think that’s very nice of you, especially since everyone in the class already thinks my talent is boring and all…Nagito Komaeda, right? I’m happy to meet you.” You shot a warm smile to the boy, causing him to reciprocate.

“You’re too kind to such untalented scum like myself, all I have is the Devil’s luck, after all! I can’t even control any of it! So I’m glad someone like me can be used as a stepping stone for you to be a beacon of hope!” Nagito chuckled, humored by his own self loathing.

You flipped your whole body to face the living incarnate of a four-leaf clover, “Well, um, on a personal note, I don’t think you’re scum. At all. I think your talent is anything but boring…I also think you’re…quite kind, for hanging out with someone like myself.” Fiddling with your uniform sleeves in nervousness. You just want him to feel better about himself.

The boy went quiet, his smile dwindling from your comment. Was he not used to compliments?

After a few moments in silence, Nagito gazed into your eyes, a new type of smile prettily stitched onto his features. It was almost like this expression was more…vulnerable, uncovering itself under layers upon layers of facades. His face almost made you breath out a sigh of relief at how comforting and relieving his genuine expression was.

“I would like to play with you. I-If you would let me, of course.” Nagito gestured his hands downwards to the chess set he had placed onto the ground since the very beginning. And how did you not notice that? It may or may not be the fact that the boy in front of you seemed to be way more intriguing.

You’re eyes widened as sudden happiness started to flow through every vein within your body. The excitement washed over your soul, rejuvenating it’s prior state of melancholy dreariness. Was…he was serious, right?

“Really…?” Was all that you managed to squeak, causing the lucky student to tilt his head in wonder.

“Hm? Well, of course…I don’t really know who else I would be aski-“

“C-Can we please play speed chess!?” You sputtered, the passion and the fireplace flames reflecting off of your eyes to reveal in an enticing glow.

“Speed Chess?” Questioned the frizzy-haired boy, though he did seem quite interested at your sudden burst of energy.

“Yeah! It’s also commonly referred to as Blitz Chess, and it’s like chess, but you have a very short amount of time to make your moves! It’s super duper fun, and if you want even more fun, then we could also play Bullet Chess! It’s even faster, and a game only takes roughly three minutes if you…keep up…the…pace…” Your words started to get quieter and more mumbled. God, you totally forgot the two of you were in a library, how embarrassing….

A hearty laugh spilled out of Nagito’s mouth, the corners of his lips turning upward to the ceiling. You looked down in pathetic nature. That was totally something to laugh at…

“Though I would consider myself a newbie when it come to chess, speed chess sounds lovely.” Nagito smiled, his pointer finger playing and twirling around the queen piece’s crown.

“Ah, a-alright, well, lets get started, shall we?” You stuttered, with joy obviously evident within your voice.

                                       .   .   .

Unsurprising to you, you had won all three games of speed chess against Nagito, though, it was surprising how close each game was. the more you thought about it, the more you realized his luck most likely aids him whenever he plays. Definitely one of the most interesting opponents you’ve been up against, whether it would be for casual online play, or in-person tournaments.

“Ah, bummer, I guess someone as useless as me shouldn’t even try to come close to beating you!” The boy ruffled his cloud-like locks, laughing at his loss.

“Hey! You had me worried for a few turns there, you were no pushover at all, Nagito!” You proclaimed, frustrated on why he would still think that, even thought the game results were all obviously pretty close.

“Also, please don’t say that your useless…it makes me really sad, because it’s not true at all.” You looked up at him with eyes that reflected something that had never burned so brightly before, and Nagito noticed.

Those eyes, previously clouded from the despair given from others, were now shining with a glimmering hope…and he drew that out from you…by simply playing a mere few games of chess.

For a moment, and only for a moment, he believed your words. Maybe he wasn’t so useless, he helped you find your smile and joy, right? Maybe…maybe…

“Oh yeah!” You shot up, causing Nagito to snap out of his thoughtful daze. You stuck your hand out to him, waiting for reciprocation.

“A handshake, to wish a good game among equals.” You encouraged the boy, wanting for him to fully indulge into what it was like to play the game in a professional, yet somewhat casual setting.

The boy looked at your hand, observing everything. Your nails, your fingertips, your knuckles, all the way down to your wrist. Equals, huh…

Nagito then slowly reached out to your hand, grasping onto it gently, yet it felt like it was the most comfortable fit he could’ve imagined. He wanted the warmth from your soft skin to seep into his cold hands, wanting that heat to slowly fill the rest of his frozen body, all the way up to his thawing heart. Though he didn’t linger any more on the handshake than he needed to, not wanting to make it uncomfortable for you.

But god, did he want to hold on forever.

[medli20]

I saw Brendan and have rarely been so instantly infatuated with a character. Will you be dropping more lore about him? How did Curse of Strahd go?

Thanks anon, I’m so glad you like him! I’m always unsure about posting about my OCs since I’m worried about coming off too self-absorbed whoops. BUT SINCE YOU ASKED 👀👀👀👀

Curse of Strahd is still ongoing-- we’re fairly close to being done though. Our DM estimates that we have anywhere between 5-10 sessions left before the end of the campaign. I’ll go into more detail about the campaign (spoilers included), Brendan lore, and a lot of art/sketches under the cut. CW: blood/dismemberment, mentions of abuse:

(☝ the status icon we use in our campaign on Roll20 to keep track of who has Bardic Inspiration btw)

So before becoming an adventurer, Brendan was a violinist in the Neverwinter Philharmonic. He’d always lived a pretty sheltered life since he was born to two human parents, and his mother was ashamed of how “un-normal” he was. 

Joining the orchestra gave him the opportunity to actually socialize with other people, and-- surprise, surprise-- he was actually pretty good at it. Doing so helped him realize that the way his mother treated him was NOT in fact the norm, and that he should probably move out, like, yesterday. He also realized that despite his best efforts, the orchestra was not in fact giving him the recognition and individual attention that he was craving. After being assigned to the “boring” 2nd violin parts one too many times, he quit his job and hit the road to try and make it big elsewhere-- clearly Neverwinter’s music scene had too much competition to be able to stand out. He needed somewhere to grow.

So upon leaving the city border, he was almost immediately accosted by a starving owlbear that chased him up a tree. Trapped and unequipped to deal with the situation, he did the only thing he could think of in the heat of the moment: scream and hurl insults at it.

Well anyway, the owlbear died and Brendan immediately leveled up 3 times, at which point we actually started playing the campaign.

Anyway CoS stuff started happening, and Brendan immediately becomes attached to the grannies in the old mill, because we’re not playing exactly according to source material and they’re actually really sweet in our DM’s version of the game instead of being overwhelmingly obviously evil. Ireena is there, and while Brendan and the rest of the party was initially super excited about finding her a safe place to live, lately he’s starting to have some second thoughts. 

Anyway at some point or another the party arrives in Vallaki and nearly burn the orphanage down while dealing with the shadow-thing that was living in it. The police arrive and we all put on our best liar faces to try to talk our way out of the situation when we meet Izek.

Turns out our DM re-wrote him to be less of an asshole and more of a friendly supportive Chad of an older brother who has been having dreams of watching Brendan grow up. He’s absolutely thrilled to find out that this pink tiefling is actually real and not the product of an overly-active imagination.

Then more campaign stuff happens, Izek quickly becomes a party favorite, and Oh No! Strahd shows up and starts wrecking shit in Vallaki!! So obviously this is too much for a group of level 5 adventurers, and we run to the biggest, strongest NPC we know and ask Big Bro for help.

Well, tl;dr: Strahd took Izek’s cool demon arm off and Izek very nearly died. Brendan blames himself for this.

(yeah, we uh, might’ve immediately fucked with the suspicious caged cart near the coffinmaker’s house)

(we also did not side with the Wachters.)

So obviously we all feel bad about Izek losing his arm, but also I’m an asshole when it comes to fictional characters and drew our party dabbing while Izek looks mournfully on, completely dab-less:

Anyway all sorts of miscellaneous shit happens including way too many people mispronouncing the word “brazier” 

And Brendan (the kissless virgin) miscalculating with Dimension Door, leading to a painful, awkward moment with Ezmeralda.

Our Eldritch Knight, Korag, also came with a couple NPC retainers as part of his background feature, and one of them in particular has been falling into a deeper and deeper spiral of self-loathing because the entire party (except our Cleric, Diana) bullies him mercilessly. We’re awful people.

And then we went to the Amber Temple. Brendan’s fortune was there so he ended up getting pulled into a tentacle-sarcophagus where he had bad dreams about being at home in Neverwinter with his mother, who would physically beat him whenever he underperformed in her eyes. I’ve already posted this pic on Tumblr but it’s relevant so here it is again:

Reviewing your marks from yesterday’s lesson, an icy pit forms in your stomach as you hear a noise from the hallway.

It’s far too early for this. You haven’t even had the time to make yourself presentable.

It’s Her.

Cons: He got dream-stabbed by a bizarre corrupted version of his mother and now he has a weird necrotic hole in his chest.

Pros: He got a sick new cantrip out of it.

Oh also we met a lich who took all this info and was able to deduce that Brendan isn’t actually a tiefling and his mom isn’t actually human.

Anyway we’ve just recently made it out of the Amber Temple since then and now we’re off to wrap up a couple more things before we head off to Castle Ravenloft to kick Strahd’s ass and (hopefully) find Ireena someplace safe to live.

other tidbits:

He actually has hooved feet and is designed to walk on his hoof-toes, but he’s extremely self-conscious about it and is still hung up about looking “abnormal” so he just kinda crams his feet into human shoes and forces himself to walk around on his heels.

He’s gay but suuuuuuuuper in denial/closeted. He has a huge crush on an oboist in the Neverwinter Philharmonic, but he chalks it up to it being admiration for a fellow musician.

(IDK IF THIS WILL SHOW UP PROPERLY; IT’S ALL FUZZY AND PIXELLATED AAA)

if the above image doesn’t display correctly I’ve also got a link here

Anyway that is my pink boi and WOW this ended up being a long post

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Seven: The One with Her Sister

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2915

    "No! You flip them after three minutes, or when you see bubbles popping across the top!" Lily laughed as she nudged the taller man that was arguing against her. He seemed to flinch gently at the way her arm brushed against the cool metal of his prosthetic, causing goosebumps to pop up on her fair skin, "Too long on one side will cause it to burn."

She could feel his eyes baring down into her. Trying to read her small movements and the different mannerisms she had. Trying to decipher the thoughts that ran through her head at a mile a minute. He was studying her, learning about her, just simply by watching. The way her hands gripped onto the spatula firmly, but not too hard. How frail and thing her fingers were, the way her neck dipped gently before hitting her collarbone. The marks under her eyes, more likely than not, being the results of countless hours at work. The dips in her cheeks whenever her slightly dry lips upturned into that charming half-smile she did.

But most importantly, how her chest would rise and fall at a quicker rate when someone spoke directly to her. Her mouth parting gently as the rapid breaths were sucked in and pushed out. The tinge of pink that hid beneath the surface of her cheeks, creating a rose hue around her.

"and done," Lily stated, flipping the final pancake onto the stack that sat opposite of the two, ready to be devoured by the enhanced individuals around her.

The second Lily placed the plate at the end of the bar, the team snatched them away in seconds, including Bucky. Lily pursed her lips and slid her hands across the soft material of the grey kitchen towel that sat in front of her on the silver countertops. Watching everybody's eyebrows perk up positively, causes Lily's pure heart to swell three sizes larger. Knowing that it was because of something she created alongside the man that had luckily grabbed her attention. Something no one has everthanbeen able to do for the last four years of her life. It was...surprising.

Ever since her divorce, Lily has busied herself twenty-four seven. Denying that there were still fresh wounds carved into her heart like preteens initials carved into a bridge. The damage that was done to her self-esteem becoming borderline permanent because she refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's even there. Lily had convinced herself, that if she were to admit the pain she was in, and come to terms with the suffering she had been through, Scott would win. He would succeed in breaking her completely, which seemed to be his goal from the moment they met. To take that joyful innocence of Lily's personality and twist it into something darker, colder, and more damaging. But if she continued to act as though there was nothing wrong, that she had healed from the divorce...then he wouldn't win. He would continue to be the jerk who was unsuccessful in his plan to manipulate her personality and destroy her internally.

Whether she admitted it out loud or not, Lily knew, deep down inside of her heart and soul, that he had done exactly that. And by ignoring, a beast was created. A hungry, no, ravenous, monster of insecurity and self-pity, feeding off of the anxiety that coursed through Lily's veins on a day-to-day basis. Growing stronger as the days passed, absorbing more and more of Lily's once peaceful and loving personality, turning her into a distant, self-loathing, ball of pain. All because of one man who managed to entwine himself into her life, and rip it apart from the inside.

"These are amazing, Lily. Much better than Bucks," Steve teased, shovelling another fork-full of pancake into his mouth, "They kind of taste like the ones we had at a nice little cafe yesterday."

Lily nodded along as he spoke, but didn't find herself looking at him. Instead, her eyes wandered to the scruffy man that sat to his left. Hand gripping the fork with an indescribable amount of care, as though he would break it if he held on too tight. Lily figured it was due to the fact he was a trained killer, an assassin for all of those years of his life. Being a doctor, she dealt with psychiatric issues in children, but adults and youths aren't that different when it came to mental health and damage done to their brains. She could tell from his gentle lingering over everything, that he believed he was still dangerous. Tip-toeing through life, praying he wouldn't cause a ripple in the waters around him, sending off tidal waves.

"Yes, that's where you met my son. My best friend, Gen, owns the cafe," Lily commented, letting her blonde tresses out from the constricting ponytail she had wrapped around it, "I helped her create the recipe for them."

Just as the captain went to make another comment, a small body crashed itself into Lily's legs. She gripped onto the counters as her son hugged her shins, a bright and beaming smile evident on his face. Chuckling gently, Lily ruffled the soft blonde locks that laid atop of his youthful face. It had been ages since she had seen a smile like that grace Hunter's facial features. To see him so genuinely happy, and letting those emotions shine through in their raw state. His breath was quick, and Lily assumed it was due to the tour, before bending down to his level.

"Did you say thank you to Mr. Wilson for taking you around?" Lily whispered, adjusting the boy’s jean jacket while her dark green eyes glanced over his shoulder at the taller man that had returned as well.

"Mhm! And he said we can come back any time we want." Hunter giggled, his voice hushed as he looked behind him at the group that admired the two's current interaction. A few had longing looks evident in their eyes, as though the domesticity of Lily and Hunter's lives were something they wanted or wished they had. Others were in awe at the similarity between the two, whether it be the quiet tones or their facial features. Whatever it was, it didn't compare to the look Bucky gave them.

Adoration.

"Oh did he now?" Lily laughed while standing back up, sliding her hand into her son's much smaller one, "Thank you all for letting us stop by. May have to come back again in the future. And I will send the pancake recipe to Sam, so you all can enjoy them again." Lily blushed a common thing that seemed to happen with her. Especially when surrounded by these gorgeous people.

"Oh no, text Barnes that one. I gave you his number, he's the one who's newly obsessed with blueberry pancakes." Sam commented while leaning on one of the pillars, sending a quick and not-so-discreet wink Lily's way.

A nervous laugh slid through Lily's lips as her head nodded along to the words that he said. Giving curt and sincere farewells, the blonde lead her starstruck son back out towards their car that was parked at the end of the long driveway. When the two sunk into their seats, as if rehearsed, exasperated sighs were set free from their lungs. Lily rolled her head to face the young boy to her right and a gentle giggle made its way out of the back of her throat, a nimble hand reaching out to ruffle her son’s blonde hair.

"Nice surprise?" Lily asked, glancing down at the rear-view camera on the dashboard of her car, backing out of the parking lot. Her heart clamoured against her rib cage as her mind continued to reel from her previous interactions. Whether it was because of the interest they took in her, making the Avengers pancakes, or the intoxicating smell of Bucky Barnes that permanently attached itself to the inside of her nose.

The musk. The hints of cedar and cinnamon, creating a potion of perfection to mask the smell of anything else around Lily. How his breath was clean and smelled of mint. The way his metal arm felt against her skin, or how warm his flesh one was in contrast. The feeling of callouses gently brushing themselves against her in a way that made her wonder what it would feel like to hold his hand in her own. Whether or not their hands would fit together perfectly, her soft and supple against his worn and historical. The man was a historical celebrity, a man that Lily had to study in high school, alongside his best friend, Captain America. and Lily Osborne had just made him blueberry pancakes.

"It was...incredible. I have no words mom, none." Hunter beamed, leaning back in his seat as his hazel eyes glanced out the window at the winding forest that sped past them in a green and brown blur. His chest rose and fell at a feverish rate, and Lily furrowed her eyebrows at it, before simply chalking it up to overstimulation.

Just as the Doctor went to return a comment, the sound of her ringtone filled the car around her. Her sister, Rose's, contact popped up on her ApplePlay screen, and Lily answered quickly. Typically, Rose only texted. And whenever she called, it was either something super important or one of the dumbest things she's heard. Most of the time, it was her gushing over a celeb who she had styled for a red carpet premiere or photoshoot. Rose made her living as an extremely successful stylist/designer who has worked around the world with names as big as the Kardashians. Apparently, she had styled Tony stark a few times, but Lily figured he either didn't care that much, forgot, or didn't put together that his old stylist and this random woman were sisters. who would?

"Hey Rose, I'm in the car with Hunt, what's up?" Lily wondered as she turned her blinker on, merging onto a street.

"Hey, so I'm out front of your house and kind of need somewhere to crash for a while so can I go in? I know your system lets you know when the code's used and I didn't feel like giving you a heart attack." Rose rambled, the sound of her chewing on her nails echoing through the microphone and out of Lily's speakers.

"Woah there, back up. Why do you need somewhere to stay? Aren't you living with Levi? Thought you two were going strong?" Lily questioned, motioning for Hunter to put his earphones in, in an event that this conversation became a bit too mature for him, even though he probably had heard worse at his dad’s.

A small and cracked laugh had managed to escape Rose's lips, and Lily immediately bit down on her bottom lip, knowing something had gone wrong, "Well Lily since you ask. He told me to get out of his house and life."

Lily not only grew increasingly concerned but became extremely confused. Every time she and Rose had spoken, the younger Osborne seemed to be happy and giddy. And the two were close, so if there was any sort of suspicious behaviour, Lily would have picked up on it. The two would facetime, and Rose's boyfriend that was previously mentioned, Levi, would join in every so often. So either Lily wasn't as observant as she had believed, or something went horribly wrong very fast in her sister's relationship.

"Go inside, I'll be home soon," Lily stated calmly, her foot pressing harder on the gas pedal of her car, "Tell me why he said that. Hunt has his headphones in, I want every detail."

"I'm pregnant."

-----

The moment Lily pulled into her driveway, she tore open her door and rushed into the two-story home she was lucky to afford in such an area in New York. Her purse dropped from her shoulder as she spotted Rose sitting comfortably on her sofa with Joey, whispering to the dog and stroking the top of his head gently. Running forward, Lily practically launched herself onto her sister, frightening Joey and sending him off to run towards Hunter. The elder sister wrapped her arms tightly around her twenty-eight-year-old sister, causing a small tear to roll down the latter's cheek and onto Lily's exposed shoulder.

"He was having an affair," Rose whispered into her sister's neck, a small weep rolling out of her lips like a broken wheel rolling down a hill, "with his assistant."

Sadness and anger had begun to grow inside of Lily's heart. Half of her wanted to drive to that assholes place and slap the living daylights out of him until his grandchildren felt the repercussions. The other half, aka the rational and sentimental half of Lily, knew she'd stay home with her sister and be there for her. Help her through everything. Give her all of the tips for pregnancy, as well as breakups caused by affairs. Her experienced hands ran up and down Rose's back in a soothing pattern, just letting her get all of her emotions out. Before Lily knew it, Hunter had joined the party. His small and cold arms wrapped around his Aunt and mom, somewhat, and the three sat there for around an hour.

Finally, Lily peeled herself away and let out a shaky sigh, wiping the tears that spilled from her eyes, Hunters, and Rose's. Clearing her throat, Lily stood from her couch and brushed off her dress. There was no way in hell that Lily would let her sister sit here and suffer. No, Lily would even raise the poor child if she had to if it meant that Rose was happy. One thing about all three of the Osborne siblings, despite the large age gap between them all, they three were tighter then a screw in a wood board. The first people Lily told about her own pregnancy were Cedar and Rose. Whenever Cedar was annoyed with their parents, he would drive out to stay with Lily in the suburbs or with Rose in upper Manhattan. Nothing could break the Osborne children's bond, and Lily knew for a fact her parents were proud of that because having children that despised being in the same room as each other would probably break a parent’s heart. That was a part of Lily's fear of starting a family, but luckily, she only had one child. So far at least. But she didn't have any plans to procreate with anyone shortly anyway.

"C'mon, we're going to Gens cafe. Auntie Rose needs some chocolate therapy right now." Lily stated after feeding Joey, before letting him out into the backyard.

Side rant. Joey loved the outdoors. But he was also an introverted dog. He didn't seem to mind when Lily went out, and in fact, was always the happiest when he was left to run wild in the backyard, chasing the endless amount of squirrels that seemed to set up shop in Lily's backyard. End of rant.

The three Osborne’s piled into the car once again and set off into the city again.

-----

When they arrived, Lily noticed a familiar car that she had seen earlier at the compound. Her heartbeat rose and she wondered if she'd end up coming face to face with the Avengers for the second time that day. Her mind spiraled and twisted her into thinking they'd believe she was stalking them or something. That now that she had been to their home, she was obsessed with them. Of course, this was far from the truth and wasn't at all what the group of heroes believed. Gen's cafe was simply a staple in Manhattan it seemed, and people congregated there often. And, Lily's suspicions were soon confirmed, as the entire team was gathered around three tables pushed together in the side of Lily's best friend’s workplace.

Speak of the devil.

"Rosie! is that you?" Gen's voice exclaimed from across the cafe, causing many heads to turn into the direction of the door, where the three blondes stood. Lily's eyes immediately turned towards the Avenger’s table, locking with those steel-blue ones that were engraved into her memory.

And lo and behold, there the man sat with blueberry pancakes in front of him, and a blush tinting his cheeks. If it weren't for the lighting in the cafe, the rose hue would have gone undetected under the overgrown stubble that covered his face. Something Lily couldn't help but admire and grow to enjoy seeing. But it were those ice-blue eyes that stared directly through her that sent the shiver down her spine. Her heart picking up its pace as what felt like hours passed of the two just admiring each other.

"...So I'll be staying with Lily for a bit." Rose's voice sang, pulling Lily out of her trance.

The hustle and bustle of the dinnertime rush resumed, and Lily managed to tear her eyes away from Buckys. The power he had over her was unmatched, and he probably could have made her fall to her knees if their little staring match continued...as in she was weak at the knees not in a perverted way. Her legs felt like they were made out of jello whenever he looked at her, and once again, she barely knew him. If even at all. All that Lily knew about James Buchanan Barnes was the things in history books and his name.

But thanks to Thor Oinson, that would change very soon.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Dee Little Snake

Series Summary:  Janus uses age regression as a way to destress but has little control over it whenever he grows upset. Trying to keep a secret like that can be hard when you're only four years old, and thus family bonding ensues in a way nobody expected, least of all Deceit.

Chapter 2: Bottled Up

Chapter Summary:  Janus finally gets his best friend back.

Warnings: crying

Taglist (ask to be added) @a-different-s1de

It took Janus a few days to join the others at the breakfast table again, twisting his gloves behind his door in an uncharacteristically nervous way as he sucked in a breath. He didn't have anything on him to break this time, unless things somehow turned violent and his bones became a target. Shaking his head he threw his shoulders back and relaxed his face into a neutral expression. He and Patton were attempting to fix things, his relationship with Virgil was...smoothing, Logan had never really had a problem with him and Remus was well, Remus. So that just left Roman who needed to be tread especially carefully around. The odds were certainly in his favor should another altercation occur around one of the others.

But...he had cried. He had lost his cool over a seemingly insignificant item and had been so close to being small in front of one of the worst people to be small with, princely image smeared in his head with anger and petty malice reserved solely for him. He knew he had messed up, insulting Roman the way he did but his name was so much more to him than just something to call if you needed something. A name held so much weight with each and every individual who learned it and used it. A name held the entire history of the individual with it, and to have it said with such flippant mocking in a moment of such desperate trust that would change things for everyone- the implications of the act were clear. Roman hated him.

With good reason, he mused as he took another breath and opened the door, he had used him as a means to an end in his desperation to get Thomas to listen to his own self preservation. Roman had no reason to forgive him for what he had done and he didn't expect him to. He did, however, expect a bit more tact from the royal. Ignoring him and throwing insults was one thing. Blatantly destroying his things without a care was another.

Roman was sitting at the table already writing something or other in an old sketchbook, Patton frying up bacon with an endearing level of concentration at the stove. He grabbed a regular glass from the cabinet and filled it water, stomach flipping at the thought of anything else. Patton offered him a bright smile but didn't say anything; Janus didn't miss the way his eyes flicked worriedly over to Roman.

Thankfully the creative facet paid him no mind, Janus taking his seat a couple chairs away to avoid intruding and hoping he wasn't in anyone else's spot. Hearing shuffling from the doorway he turned and locked eyes with Virgil, who froze momentarily before giving him a tentative nod and walking into the kitchen. Thankfully the awkward air was somewhat saved as a plate of eggs and bacon and toast was pushed under his nose, muttering out a small "Thank you" before shoveling slightly overcooked scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Thanks Pat." Virgil plopped down heavily beside him, taking the empty space between him and Roman, and he had only a moment to be confused and grateful before a familiar thermos was set down in front of him. Turning to Virgil with bacon still halfway to his mouth he smiled as the other shrugged and looked away. "Rem and I were able to fix it so- yeah."

Hope fluttered in his chest even as Virgil refused to look at him. He knew it was a lot to hope for, to ask for- but he couldn't help but think maybe this could be their clean slate. Maybe Virgil really would want to talk things over with him, fix things, and they could go back to how they used to be. He shook his head minutely as he put his fork back down. No, not how things used to be. He realized now their relationship had always been a bit rocky. Maybe this time...they could make things better.

He had just opened his mouth to thank him when Roman scoffed loudly, reaching forward. "I still don't understand why this is even such a big deal to you. Are these-"

He was cut off as his hand was halted with a vice grip from the anxious side, who sat still and quiet not looking at anyone. "Lay off Princey."

Roman tugged at his arm. "I just-"

Virgil's head snapped up, eyeshadow black as pitch but with a glare that could kill a man if they weren't imaginary. "Don't."

It felt as if everyone and everything in the mindscape was holding their breath as Virgil's voice, distorted as it was, rang out with a finality not even Patton dared question. Janus saw the fatherly side tense and turn, ready to dispell the situation if need be, spatula held out in front of him but whether it was to use as an a weapon or a shield Janus couldn't guess. He felt words stick in his own throat as he cursed himself for not being quicker to come up with some witty remark, dish out a glare, hell even sink out in a fit of dramatics as he was want to do. Instead he sat frozen, wide eyed and slightly hunched behind Virgil.

Anxiety protecting Self Preservation, now where was the irony?

Roman stilled and swallowed loudly, fear passing over his features before an angrier expression took over. Ripping his arm away he stood abruptly and scowled. "Great. You too? I thought you hated him!"

Before anyone could say anything he turned sharply and stalked off, his door slamming loud enough moments later to make all three of them jump. Virgil's arm was still in the same position, fingers tensed around an arm that had long gone before he flexed them with a wince and buried himself in his breakfast without another word.

"Awe, look at the little tongues!" The gentle coo brought Janus' attention to Patton who had placed the rest of breakfast on two other plates and was now looking at the thermos with adoration. "I'm glad you were able to have it fixed, kiddo!"

"I- Patton I'm older than you?" The irony definitely wasn't lost this time as Patton shrugged and settled down gesturing to a plate without looking at him.

"Logan, good morning! I made you a plate and there's some coffee left in the pot still!"

"Thank you, Patton." Logan glanced over briefly and nodded towards Virgil and Janus before pouring himself a mug and sitting down to eat, the silence a bit more comfortable with the still angry prince gone from the table.

Breakfast was a quiet affair however, conversation stopping and starting at awkward intervals. Janus noticed Virgil eating a lot slower than he would normally but nobody commented on it. He watched as Logan then Patton got up, washed their dishes and left the kitchen to go and do whatever they did during the day, leaving him and Virgil alone.

Taking a breath and shoving the last bit of bacon in his mouth Virgil stood up finally and swiped both their plates for the sink. Surprised Janus simply watched as he scrubbed them off and put them away, turning and nodding towards the thermos.

"Still like apple juice?"

"I- yessss?" Janus grimaced as a nervous hiss left his mouth but if Virgil noticed he didn't comment, unscrewing the cap of the newly fixed cup and filling it with the juice.

"Okay." Virgil slid the thermos over to him and sat down across from him with a sigh. "I'm the last side in the world who ever wants to say this, but we need to talk. We can do it here, or wherever but...yeah."

Janus nodded slowly and reached over to grip the thermos, happiness bubbling up briefly to see it fixed and functional and void of shards digging into his hands. "You'd be most comfortable in your room right?"

"This isn't about me so it doesn't matter." Janus snapped his head up and squinted at the anxious side. His eyeshadow was a shade darker than usual and his sleeves were twisted in his fingers almost painfully. Pursing his lips he nodded again.

"Why don't we go to my room then. No one goes in it anyway and I just recently cleaned so it would be a neat environment. Tidy space equals a tidy mind and all that."

"Right." Virgil huffed out a laugh as he stood up. "Now a good time?"

"Of course." Janus had a feeling what this would be about but it didnt make it any easier. He didn't particularly like discussing his regression. There wasn't anything wrong with doing it or why he did it; it was just something that happened and though he would be loathe to the idea of the others knowing he was far from ashamed of it. It was just....he and Virgil hadn't spoken- really spoken- in such a long time. He knew this would be a serious conversation, especially since the closer they got to his room the darker his eyeshadow was getting, but the determined set to his face told Janus he wasn't getting out of this. He'd be proud of his former friend if he didn't feel so much like puking.

Opening the door he gestured inside, Virgil immediately curling up in the comfortable desk chair while Janus sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. They didn't make eye contact for a minute, the tension in the room so tight he could barely breathe. And then Virgil took a steadying breath and the air became easier to suck in again, reminding Janus with a start just how much influence Virgil had to his surroundings. While he waited for the atmosphere to calm he took a swig of his juice, happiness bubbling up again as he realized how long it had been since he'd had it.

"Janus."

"Yes, Virgil?" He looked up to see the anxious side slightly more relaxed, legs curled underneath him with his hands resting on his knees. He looked tired though, slumped over with barely hidden bags under his eyeshadow. He had a feeling now was not the time to bring it up however worried the image made him.

"Have you- did you- damnit." Virgil ran a hand through his hair and took another breath. "You still regress. Which is fine! It's perfectly healthy and there's nothing wrong with it- but...has it been happening a lot? Without...without me there?"

He gripped his cup tighter and said nothing, watching with regret as Virgil's eyes widened.

"Janus...you weren't alone when it would happen right? Remus, or at least-"

"No. I was fine on my own for the most part. I simply locked my door."

"Locked your-! Janus you can't, okay. Okay, I- Janus I'm so sorry. We need...fuck okay." Virgil was sitting up straighter now, gripping his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the other so worked up other than when he had left after their final argument. Janus leaned forward and cleared his throat, holding out his hands which Virgil gratefully took in a steel grip.

"I know the way we left things was...less than ideal," he started, looking at Vjrgil directly to try and drive home his point. "But I feel like we're at a point now where we can try to see where things went wrong and fix it. My habit has nothing to do with it."

His fingers were gripped tighter as Virgil laughed. "Your habit? Is that what we call it now? Janus- I need to apologize-"

"You don't."

"Shut up asshole and let me be sentimental." Janus grinned and nodded for him to continue. "The way I acted- it wasn't okay. Neither was the way you acted but that's beside the point. I'm very willing, now that the anger's cooled off, to start fresh. It's something we should have done way before this and I'm sorry for being so stubborn but...I guess it doesn't matter now. I just-"

Distangling their fingers, Virgil gripped his chin gently and tilted his head up, making him look directly into pleading eyes. "I didn't think about how my leaving would impact our trust that badly. You had no one to take care of you, and when you're small you should never have to be left to your own devices. You trusted me all those years ago to be responsible for you and I've been...I've been failing you for years. And that isn't okay."

Tears pricked his eyes and he internally cursed himself for not being able to handle this conversation. It had been years since they had been this close, years since Virgil had looked at him with anything but disdain and borderline hatred; to have him this close now, watching him with such an open expression-

Arms were around him before he even registered Virgil had moved and that was the last straw. Choking off a sob Janus gripped the back of the other's hoodie and buried his face shamefully in his friend's shoulder, years of emotions pouring out in front of the person he expected to care the least. He felt himself being shifted so Virgil could sit beside him, thighs pressing together as he was rocked gently back and forth.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Janus and I'm so sorry. I promise we'll be okay. We're okay now, I'm not leaving again. Let it out it's okay, I still love you, it's going to be okay."

And if that last statement didn't just make him sob harder. His scales itched and his face was hot and he had probably ruined the patched jacket with all of his snot but Virgil loved him. It would be okay because he was holding him and rocking him and telling him everything would be fine. They were okay. Finally, after so long of wanting to talk but never knowing how, he had finally gotten his best friend back.

Neither of them had the will to let the other go for a very long time, but Janus found himself content, as his tears finally slowed and the gentle back rub tapered off, to just sit and be held and loved.

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[jbbarnesnnoble]

Cry

Summary:  Anxiety eats away at you, twisting the way you see everything around you and pushes you closer to a breaking point. 

Features: Anxiety. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU. This story contains depictions of severe anxiety based off my own experiences in dealing with untreated anxiety. This story includes: reader with a loss of appetite, allusions to reckless reader, low-self esteem, depictions of panic attack, reader having a breakdown 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader/Natasha Romanoff

Notes: Please heed the warnings. Reader’s experience with anxiety has been heavily drawn from my own experiences. If I’ve missed any warnings, I sincerely apologize. 

Word Count: 2681

In. Hold. Out. Hold. Repeat. You sat against the wall, knees brought to your chest. Tears fell as a silent sob wracked your body. You wanted your family. You wanted a hug. Neither were things you could have at that moment. You had been stuck in the compound. The only one not on a mission. Injury had sidelined you, along with a suspension. FRIDAY was your only company. 

You couldn’t remember when you started feeling this way. Maybe it was when you entered the kitchen to find the entire team was sitting down for dinner and no one had told you. Maybe it was when Natasha brushed you off for training just after you got out of the medical wing. The past few weeks had sent you into a downward spiral with no one there to catch you. Your appetite was nearly non-existent. You were subsisting on toast and water at this point, unable to force anything else down. You could spend countless hours pacing your room, trying to focus on anything else but the pit of anxiety that had made itself at home inside you. 

You heard them return as you tried to calm yourself, the lights dimmed in your room. You knew no one would check in on you. They never did anymore. It was like you didn’t exist. Since the injury, things were different. Steve had lectured you for what had seemed like hours about why what you had done was the wrong thing, even if it had gotten the team what they were looking for. If you were being honest with yourself, the struggle you’d been having internally had been going on for longer than your injury. You’d been taking risks. Risks that not even Steve would take. You had almost gotten killed on that mission. But all you could see in the reprimand was Steve telling you that you were no good at your job. You’d heard Bucky talking to Sam later that night when they’d thought you were asleep the room you were staying in for observation. Bucky had sat with you for the evening. 

“She’s a danger...Natasha..injury...get...killed,” you only picked up a few words in your sleepy stupor, but it was enough to put the picture together. Bucky thought you were a danger to the team, that you’d get someone injured or killed. You felt your heartbreak at that. Out of everyone on the team, you’d become closest to him. If it wasn’t him, it was Natasha. The three of you leaned on each other, or at least you had thought you did. 

“Desk duty...leave the team...she goes...It might be for the best at this point,” you heard Sam say. Leave the team. You couldn’t help the tears that started falling. You’d make yourself scarce, you reasoned with yourself. Stop getting in the way. You’d make an attempt to be better.

You had been released the next day. You were cleared for a light workout and had gone to ask Natasha to train with you. She had brushed you off. You tried not to let the hurt show when that happened, and instead went and changed, only to have her go off on you in the gym.

You had been on the treadmill for fifteen minutes when Natasha entered with Wanda. You tried not to let the hurt show. You turned the intensity up on the treadmill, ignoring the twinge of pain in your knee. The cradle was as close to a miracle worker as the Avengers had. Helen had said you could do light exercise, including the treadmill. What did it matter if your idea of light was different? You missed the concerned look Natasha shared with Wanda. The only thing you saw was Natasha storming up and turning the treadmill off.

“Out of the gym. Now,” Natasha said. You looked at her. You knew that tone of voice. Usually it was reserved for the bedroom or when someone was doing something dangerous.  

“What? You’re not the boss of me Romanoff. Last I checked, I’m allowed in the gym,” you said. 

“Not right now you aren’t,” she said. Where she was trying to be stern, you only heard coldness and anger. You held your hands up in surrender and walked out, ignoring the pain in your knee the best you could. Bucky walked in with Steve as you made it to the door, tears in your eyes. You wondered what you had done to make Natasha not even want to be around you. You had been the only one injured on the last mission. You hadn’t put anyone at risk, not really. It hadn’t been your fault that the building was rigged to explode and no one realized it until it happened. Except for you. You knew and you told them you’d go back for the data you needed, barely escaping before the building exploded behind you. You missed the conversation that unfolded when you left, opting instead to revoke the access to your room that Natasha and Bucky both had. 

Things had been icy since then and you had only spiraled more, lost in your own head. You never ate with the team anymore, if they even remembered to tell you they were having dinner together. As you took deep breaths, you felt yourself calm down enough to go grab some toast. You were shaking as you entered the kitchen, blood sugar low from a lack of food. You poured a glass of orange juice as you waited for your toast. Your glass fell to the ground, shattering when someone wrapped their arms around you saying something you didn’t quite catch. You yelled, pulling away from whoever it was and forward onto the broken glass. You heard Natasha gasp as she released you. 

Your toast popped up at that moment. You felt pain in your foot as the glass sliced it. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from crying out. Ignoring the toast and the pain, you made a beeline for your room, feeling a wave of panic set in again. You felt like you were losing control. It was all too much.  

“Sergeant Barnes and Agent Romanoff are entering your quarters ma’am. You are experiencing high levels of distress,” you heard FRIDAY say. You shook your head. You pushed them away as they sat on either side of you.

“Enough. Enough sweetheart. Just focus on me, focus on your breathing,” Bucky said. You just sobbed. It was like everything crashed over you at once. The self-loathing. The feelings of inadequacy. Feeling unwanted. You let out a stream of incoherent thoughts, enough for them to piece together what had been going on with you. 

Bucky knew they shouldn’t have left you alone, that something had been off. Nat had been so sure you’d work through it. You had struggled before, but never like this. He had seen you pulling away, retreating into yourself. Even before the disastrous mission where you had almost gotten killed. The fallout from the mission had only worsened things. Natasha had wanted to give you space. Bucky had wanted to stay by your side. Nat thought it would only worsen things. So, they gave you space, perhaps too much space. Bucky knew all too well how easy it was to twist things in your mind into something else. 

He had spoken to Sam that night, just outside your room in medical. He had been worried about you, they all had. 

“She’s a danger to herself right now. Natasha’s worried that next time it won’t be an injury, that next time she’ll get herself killed,” Bucky said, running a hand through his hair. Natasha had barely left your side since you’d been brought in. You had spent a full day in the cradle, unconscious, before being moved to a bed. Helen had said you’d be waking up any time. You’d just have to take it easy for a bit.

“Steve’s putting her on desk duty. He’s worried about her. He thinks she might want to leave the team after this. And where she goes, you and Romanoff do. Maybe a vacation is in order when she’s up to it. It might be for the best at this point. Take a break from all this. We’ve all noticed she’s been on edge lately,” Sam said. Bucky sighed.

“I’ve been worried about her. She doesn’t talk about it, but the signs are all there. I don’t think she’s been going to her appointments with Ansley for a while. But she’s an adult. Can’t force her into doing something she doesn’t want,” Bucky admitted. Sam frowned.

“What happened out there, Barnes?” he asked. Bucky glanced behind him, seeing you were still asleep. Natasha had returned. No words passed between them, but with a nod toward you from Bucky, Natasha headed into the room, closing the door behind her. Bucky would catch her up later. 

“The mission in Australia. It was bad. I think...I think it stirred up things she didn’t want to think about. Taking down the last of that organization. I should have checked on her more,” Bucky said.

“You couldn’t have known. She’s good at hiding things, Bucky. She’s good at putting on a brave face,” Sam said. 

He remembered the day you were running out of the gym, limp apparent. FRIDAY had alerted him and Nat when you’d gone to the gym. Natasha was concerned. She had passed on training with you because you needed to rest and recover fully. She had walked into the gym with Wanda only to see you going too hard on the treadmill. When you had stormed out, everyone was concerned.

“She’s pushing herself too hard. I figured when I told her I couldn’t train with her today, she’d decide not to,” Natasha said. Bucky sighed.

“She needs time, Tasha. This scared the hell out of everyone. She’ll come to us. She always does,” Bucky said. Natasha frown and shook her head.

“This feels different. I’ll give her space, but I’m keeping a closer eye on her. You know what it’s like to get lost in your head,” she said. He nodded. Steve and Wanda stood listening to the two. The team was concerned about you, but deferred to Natasha and Bucky. They knew you best. Nothing was ever said to the team but they could read between the lines on what your relationship was with the two. 

“Do you two need time off?” Steve asked, interjecting into the conversation. A look passed between Bucky and Natasha before Bucky nodded.

“If you need us, we’re there. Otherwise,” Bucky trailed off. FRIDAY’s voice broke the silence, informing Bucky and Natasha that their permission to come and go from your room without knocking had been withdrawn. The duo shared a look of concern at that development, knowing nothing good could come from it. 

That had led to the mission they had just returned from. It was all hands on deck, except for you. You were physically ready to go back out, but you hadn’t been cleared by Dr. Ansley. As it was you were refusing to talk during your appointments, worried that if you said the wrong thing, she would never clear you. Bucky and Natasha had done their best to get out of the mission but there was no way around it. 

FRIDAY kept them updated when it was possible. They knew you hadn’t been eating well, barely managing toast some days. A sign of your worsening anxiety and overall mental state. Natasha hadn’t meant to startle you. She was sure you had heard her. She had been deliberate with her steps to prevent the very thing she had caused. 

Your breathing slowed and you found yourself becoming more aware of the pain. Bucky scooped you up in his arms and brought you into your bathroom, setting you on the counter as he grabbed the first aid kit you kept in there. Natasha hopped up next to you.

“You want to talk about it?” Natasha asked, trying to distract you from what Bucky was doing. She knew how much you hated having injuries treated. 

“Why do you care?” you asked, your tone void of emotion. Bucky chose to let Natasha take the lead on the conversation.

“Because we love you,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You let out a bitter laugh.

“Right. Not like I heard Bucky say I was a danger to the team, that I’ll get someone injured or killed. Sam said I should leave the team. And you brushed me off for training. And the team doesn’t even tell me when we’re having a team dinner,” you said, repeating things you had said in your panicked state. 

“Doll...you didn’t hear the whole thing,” Bucky said as he picked glass from your foot.

“I heard enough,” you snapped. He sighed.

“I told Sam you were a danger to yourself, that Nat was worried you’ll get yourself seriously injured or worse killed. Sam said he thought you were going to leave the team. No one here wants you to leave,” Bucky said.

“We were giving you space. We read the situation wrong. What are you talking about with dinner, sweetheart?” Nat asked.

“Before the mission, before I got hurt. No one told me we were having a team dinner,” you said, your voice soft. Natasha sighed.

“We were planning a surprise party for you,” she murmured. You looked at her, expression full of doubt. 

“Yeah right. It’s not even anywhere near my birthday,” you said.

“You’re right. But it has been two years since you joined the team, slightly more. Two years since you met James and I. It’s unconventional but, we wanted to plan a surprise party to celebrate you joining the team, to celebrate us meeting you. Because you deserve it, sweetie. You deserve to know how much we love you. How much the team loves you. We know how easy it is for you to get lost in your head sometimes. We wanted to do something to reassure you that we aren’t going anywhere,” she said, running a hand through your hair. You couldn’t help the tears that started falling, not even bothering to try to blame the pain. 

“I should’ve come to you,” you said. She shook her head.

“Sweetheart, you take things one day at a time. We could say we should’ve pressed more, should’ve made sure we didn’t leave you alone as much. You, my dear, are good at pretending you’re okay. And that scares the hell out of us,” she said. 

“Have you given any thought to trying medication again? I know you’ve been hesitant about it,” Bucky said as he finished pulling glass from your foot. You sighed.

“It might be time. What I’ve been doing...it hasn’t been working. Dr. Ansley has always told me it’ll be up to me if or when I try medication again,” you said. You weren’t opposed to it, it was just another one of those unknowns after an adverse reaction the last time you’d gone on medication to help manage your anxiety. 

“How about I make some pasta for dinner and we put on a cheesy movie?” Natasha asked. You eyed her suspiciously.

“Last time you made the pasta, you somehow managed to burn it. I’m not so sure you should be the one to cook,” you said. Natasha huffed as Bucky let out a laugh.

“We’ll order out. I’ll grab an order of mozzarella sticks and order you your favorite, just in case you’re up for something a little more substantial,” Bucky said. You nodded as he lifted you off the counter and brought you back into the bedroom, setting you down in the middle of the bed as he pulled his phone out to place the order.

You felt at ease for the first time in days. It wasn’t an easy road, and there were sure to be more bumps. But you had a feeling everything would be okay. 

[gothedistance-herc]

Every Mile Will Be Worth My While ⚡ [Hercette]

In which after Hercules hurts Adella, he makes a decision with the help of the Fates...[takes place: idek honestly, late august??]

@perfectisme-georgette

[tw: talk of blood, injuries, self-hate, mentions of sexual assault, arguing]

HERCULES: Hercules stumbled home in a daze. He was sure any minute the police would be after him. If not for blatant injury, then death. He was sure that he had killed Adella. His mouth was dry, his hands were shaking. He felt like he was going to be sick. Once he managed to get his key through the door (literally, he accidentally shoved his fist through the keyhole, blasting out part of his door), he fell into the house and collapsed in a chair, immediately putting his head between his knees.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that for before he heard Georgette’s voice. She must have opened the door when she noticed it wasn’t locked (due to the huge hole.) 

Shit. He’d forgotten that they were going out to dinner tonight. 

“Shit,” he said out loud, jerking up as if someone had prodded him with a taser. His hands were still bloody. His face and shirt too. He stood up, scrambling back like an injured, abandoned dog might. Forgetting that his girlfriend was nearly indestructible. All he knew was that he could feel his own power pumping through his veins and knew that it was out of his control right now. Which meant he couldn’t, shouldn’t touch anyone. 

“Just--just stay over there,” he basically pleaded with her. 

GEORGETTE: Georgette was looking forward to her dinner with Hercules. She was even thinking of skipping the wh loool ole dinner part and just hopping straight into dessert. Hey, she was already undead, she figured she should enjoy all the best parts about it.

At least, those had been her original thoughts that were now quickly vanishing out of mind as her eyes fell over the broken through door knob in front of her.

There was a sickening feeling that began to gnaw at the pit of the blonde’s stomach, something felt wrong… and she immediately opened the door.

There was Hercules fully upright, frightened with big skittish eyes and covered in crimson red blood. An immediate rush of concern filled Georgette as she dropped her purse and walked up close to Hercules in a sprint.

Georgette had heard his plea, but she was far too shocked by the blood and clouded by fear that he was hurt that the plea hadn’t registered. All she cared about was knowing if Hercules was okay.

“Hercules, are you okay?! You’re- you’re covered in blood! Are you hurt?! Did you get hurt?! What happened?”

HERCULES: Georgette got closer and Hercules froze, becoming stiff as a board. He felt his heart, even, freeze in his chest. Terrified of hurting Georgette. He knew that he could. He didn’t remember her own strength and magic now, all he remembered was pulling her broken body from beneath the tree trunk. In just a flash, Hercules was pulled back to that moment. That agonizing moment. The pain flashed through him like a lightning bolt and he stumbled backwards, away from Georgette.

He tripped over the coffee table, smashing it to pieces as he stumbled and tried to regain his balance again. “Stay away!” he repeated, his voice tight as a violin string. Tears flooded his eyes, blurring her figure in front of him.

“It happened a-again,” he choked out. “I-I hurt someone. I’m--I’m always hurting someone.” 

He bowed his head and scrubbed at his face. He didn’t deserve to cry. 

“And it will keep happening, as a matter of fact,” came a voice that was at once foreign and familiar to him. 

Hercules blinked the tears out of his eyes and then, they widened as he noticed three women, with cloaks like smoke, sitting in his living room. Clotho, in her square glasses, was poking through the rubble of the coffee table. Lachesis was standing next to Georgette as if she were sizing her up. And Atropos was lounging in the armchair lazily. It was her who spoke next:

“Yes, it would do you good to learn some tact.” 

GEORGETTE: Hercules had all but stumbled on his own feet and landed sprawled on the floor breaking the coffee table with him. Georgette knew that he was still pushing her away and even still her immediate reaction was to approach closer and get down to his level the minute he had hit ground.

She was never good at listening especially when what asked of her was not something she wanted and in this case, all she wanted was to comfort Hercules.

This other person that was supposedly harmed was not even a concerning thought for Georgette, honestly, they didn’t even cause a blimp in her thoughts all she cared about was making sure Hercules knew she was here for him.

He wasn’t a monster to her like she was sure he was feeling of himself right now.

Tears began to coat the skin of Hercules’s cheeks and they made her heart ache and her chest bruise. Georgette very gently caught the rest that continued to spill from those beautiful dark chocolate eyes she has grown to love so much with the pad of her thumb. She inched herself closer to place a very soft kiss on Hercules’s forehead.

“Oh Hercules I’m su-” Georgette wasn’t able to complete her sentence stunted by the sudden feeling of a presence beside her. Turning her head,  just to make sure that she wasn’t going crazy, sure enough there was someone or something…? Right up next to her! 

Georgette immediately jumped right up, caught completely off guard and now staring at three women of the likes of which she has never seen before. (That was saying a lot since she has been through the Underworld)

“Who- who the fuck are they?!”

HERCULES: The feeling of the kiss was still lingering on Hercules’ forehead as he blinked and tried to register the fact that the Fates were standing in his damn living room. For a second, Hercules’ gaze jumped around. Looking for Hades...or maybe Ashton Kutcher to jump out somewhere and tell him that he was being punked.

The Fates didn’t show up in just anyone’s living room.

Hercules was just anyone. He had always felt like a just anyone, even with his powers and how he hurt people. He was still just a just anyone. 

Except he wasn’t.

Son of Diana. Demon. Demi-god. Amazon.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your pretty little friend?” pouted Lachesis, standing up with Georgette and reaching out to tug on a piece of her hair playfully. 

“Introduce us and you’re one more step on the mend.” This was a command from Clotho.

Hercules cleared his throat. “Er, yeah--these are the...Fates,” Hercules stammered, clearing his throat. “Clotho.” Her eyes glinted behind her glasses. “Lachesis.” She gave a little bow. “And Atropos.” She waved her scissors lazily at Georgette.

“They’ve come to help...I think. I have met them once before when you--”

“Died. So sad. So pretty. It was never supposed to happen, what a pity.” That was Atropos, her voice lilting like she was singing an advertising jingle. She laughed afterwards.

GEORGETTE: Let this important fact be noted: Georgette did not like people touching her hair, especially strangers she didn’t know a lick about. Don’t touch her hair unless you are someone she cares about and honestly that list stretched out to like three people only. Don’t touch her hair, she will verbally assault anyone who was so stupid enough to do so.

That being said, one of the Fates was currently touching her hair and a verbal assault should have followed except that Georgette was currently standing motionless and quiet.

The Fates. 

The Fates were currently standing in Hercules’s living room.

See, Georgette knew of the Fates, in the mythological sense. Her mythology was pretty on point and has only gotten more so advanced with Hercules. They would spend time together where Hercules would share mythological stories with her and she would love the excitement in his voice and the spark that would catch his eyes whenever he did. 

So, she knew of the Fates, but she often got this picture of three old shrew women who own like three pieces of yarn for hair and passed a mythical eye ball around to share in her mind.

That was not at all what she was seeing now. 

Thankfully, or rather un-thankfully really, one of the Fates had said something that immediately erased all of the shock that had settled on her features switching them over to one of a stuck nerve.

“Thank you for that recount of my death, I wasn’t at all very personally aware of it.” She snapped sarcastically. 

It probably wasn’t the best idea to throw attitude at three immortal beings who controlled the very tapestry of your life, but they had aggravated a very personal chord and Georgette had an exceptional temper.

“What are you doing here?” 

HERCULES: If Hercules wasn’t in the middle of a near-to-full-on break down, maybe he would’ve laughed at Georgette’s peevish attitude towards the Fates. He wasn’t surprised by it, even through the haze of his self-loathing, he could recognize that. He wished there was room for the fondness that he was sure he felt deep down beneath the panic. 

All the fates found it amusing, apparently, as they tittered with their dark and ghoulish chuckles that sent shivers up the spine. 

“We’ve come to help, do not doubt us. Listen close, you’ve no reason not to trust.” They chanted it in unison like the choruses of old.

Hercules laughed once, humorless, but he sat up so that his elbows hooked around his knees. “Well, you can’t make anything worse.” 

“You must go to the land of your mothers,” they recited, “and once you’re there--seek their guidance. It is only through them that your powers manifest and you have a chance.”

Hercules stared and then he stared some more. He knew that they spoke of his birth mother. Someone he tried not to think about often. The wound was still fresh. The confusion over who he was and what it meant was fresh. He hated her, in a way, for damning him to this life due to her own selfishness, but Hercules was too soft to really hold that hate in his heart. So, he pushed it out and ignored it.

But now: the Fates were telling him that she was the key.

“The--Amazons? You want me to go to the Amazons?” 

“We know you’re thick, but we thought you were more quick.”

Hercules scoffed. “Thanks. I can’t just go to the Amazons. What makes you think they’ll even listen? Or want to train me?”

“That is for you to decide, we do not see why they cannot coincide.” 

“Great.”

GEORGETTE: The Fates wanted Hercules to ask the Amazons for help?! They wanted him to return back to the Underworld and ask the very people who had left him out in this world like some worthless dog without warning or guidance as to what he was going to face?!

Georgette hadn’t even realized when she let out a steely and very unrelenting no. 

That was the thing about Georgette, she often spoke before she thought and when angry even more so. It wasn’t something she was planning to change about herself either. She had already learned what staying quiet could do to you. She had stayed quiet once about her rape and look at how that had left her later on in life. 

“No.” Georgette repeated clearly so if the Fates didn’t get it the first time they were definitely going to get it now.

“You want Hercules to return back to that god-forsaken hell hole?!” 

Quite literally and she had every right to call it as such since she had gone through the Underworld herself. She still remembered every bit of it, every ounce, second, minute and hour of that journey back to the world above. Georgette had images of the Underworld seared into her brain and she had gone through the Underworld once. Hercules had gone through it twice and these fucking hags wanted him to live through that some more?!

“To ask those heartless, barbaric bitches for help?! The same ones that left him to fend for himself in the fucking first place! Those same sorry excuses for beings that knew exactly what he was and didn’t give two flying fucks. If they didn’t care the first time why they hell would they care now? What, would you like Hercules to get on his knees too and beg for that help even though they are the reason for all of it!” 

Georgette was seething. 

None of it was fair. 

Hercules had gone through so much already. He has gone through enough, gone through more than the average person has in a lifetime and the Fates wanted him to do this? Like-like if he wasn’t worth some dignity? Or worth being treated right? 

“Did I get this all straight?” She snarled.

HERCULES: Georgette went off.

It didn’t surprise him. Georgette was always going off about something. He found this quality endearing most of the time. She was passionate and he loved that about her. He appreciated her standing up for him, because he could never find it in him to stand up for himself. She had always been good about not making him feel like a monster, like someone worth forgiveness and someone worth protecting. (People didn’t think he needed it, considering that he was nearly indestructible.) 

Hercules stayed quiet, though. 

He stayed quiet and he thought. Something that Hercules rather spent much time on. He was reactive. He acted. But, there was nothing to act on. Not this moment. He still felt shell shocked by all of this. What had happened to Adella. The Fates in his living room. And more than all of that: the instructions they gave him.

To go see his birth mother. To go venture to the Amazons. To ask them for help.

It had never occurred to him to do that before and he felt like an idiot now. It made sense. If they had the same abilities as him, of course it would make sense for him to train with them, to ask for their help. They knew how to control their abilities. He’d seen it himself.

Thinking over.

Hercules got up off the floor. 

Atropos smirked from where she was sprawled in an armchair, touching the tips of her scissors to her fingers. 

He walked towards Georgette, putting a hand on her arm.

“It would be that easy?” he directed this at Clotho.

“Easy has nothing to do with it, we’ve told you what to do. Now it is up to you.” Her eyes flicked to Georgette and back to Hercules. She smirked and then, in a blink, the three women disappeared, leaving his apartment just the way they’d come. 

The air was heavy with silence. 

“I’m going to go,” Hercules said. He turned to face his girlfriend. “If they can help me, I have to go. It doesn’t matter all the rest. I can’t live like this anymore, Georgette.” 

GEORGETTE: The Fates disappeared as quick as a batting of an eye and the room was left with a piercing silence. The silence didn’t really bare down on Georgette or cut as deep until Hercules had placed his hand on her arm. The moment he had done that gesture the blonde already knew what his decision was going to be. 

And so, she walked away, she placed some space between them and kept her back to Hercules. 

She was just so angry and in all that anger was a storm of different emotions whirling around chaotically that Georgette didn’t even know what she was supposed to feel. She wanted to shove him, yell, pound her small fists over his chest again and again. She wanted to strongly and very clearly reiterate all the damage those Amazon hags had caused since Hercules seemed to have missed it all the first time she said it. 

She wanted to plead with him not to go. She wanted Hercules to see himself the way she saw him, see how big and how entirely she really loved him because maybe, then maybe he would get it. He would understand all of this anger that was eating at her insides and why the last thing she ever wanted was for him to go back to those women.

And Georgette got it, she did, she understood why all the rest didn’t matter for Hercules. She knew how big his heart was. It wasn’t like hers that only expanded for those she cared about, his heart always yearned to stretch out to everyone, to care for everyone. All injury to himself in the process of it all didn’t matter to him, but it mattered a great deal to Georgette. 

He would go, go back through hell and swallow everything else in, risk getting hurt and humiliated and Georgette never wanted that for him.  

Was that really so bad? Was it so bad for her to want to protect him? To want more for him?

Did it even matter? He was going, he already said he was as clear as day and that was Hercules. He would go through his decision like a bull in a china shop. Georgette was proof of that herself, she was undead. 

Georgette didn’t realize how long she had been staring at the wall or when her hand had wrapped itself around her wrist, her nails sinking into her skin. She took a deep breath in for what purpose she wasn’t sure because it did nothing to suffocate her emotions but she did so anyways before she turned around to look at Hercules. Georgette knew herself very well, she knew that when she looked at Hercules, her eyes wouldn’t even try to hold a single emotion back. 

“Then it doesn’t matter what I have to say does it? You’re still going to go.”  

HERCULES: “Yeah, I am,” Hercules said hotly.

He rarely put his foot down like this. Pegasus always lovingly referred to him as the strongest pushover they’d ever met—and it was true. Sometimes, Hercules wondered if this was an instinctual habit due to the fact that…Hercules hurt so many things when he stood his ground. He became a solid wall, impossible to break through. And he hated that. So, in all other aspects of his life, he tried to be soft.

But he couldn’t be soft about this. It was tearing him apart, already. He knew that this was what he needed to do. The bloody Fates had told him so! And, besides, it felt like the right decision.

“You don’t have to understand, but it’s what I need to do, Georgette. You—you don’t get it. I can’t keep living my life like this!” His voice rose, surprising even himself. Hercules rarely got this worked up. He had always been afraid of his own temper.

He sighed harshly, his shoulders collapsing. “Look, I’ve got to at least try, Georgette. I can’t live like this. I can’t—make a life for us like this.”

GEORGETTE:  Hercules’s voice rose, something Georgette was not used to. It almost took her for a loop and made her flinch. Hercules was not the one that entered into a temper that was Georgette. She was the one that always unleashed her anger not giving a flying care where and how it landed. 

But Hercules’s voice rose and it reminded Georgette of Ryan. 

She felt awful that such a thought had even crossed her mind because Hercules could never be like Ryan, he wasn’t a monster, he would never seek to purposely hurt her. Even still the thought had formed and it left her muscles debating if they should still go ahead and flinch or make her fingernails sink even deeper into her own skin to stop her from attacking. 

She did neither.  Instead, she spoke.

“Then go!” Georgette spat venomously, releasing her hand from the clench it had on her wrist. “Go have your damn try and do everything those hags want you to do! Because apparently none of it will affect you so I’m just being the stupid one here actually giving a rats ass and worrying about how this can all just finish only fucking hurting you in the end.”

Georgette began to move now because well one, standing still never worked for her when she was angry, it always made her feel like a caged animal and two she wasn’t about to stay here when her opinions and concerns meant absolutely nothing so she needed to start looking for her purse so that she could leave. 

“So be my fucking guest, Hercules!” Where the hell was that stupid purse?!   

HERCULES: Hercules had no idea what this meant for him and Georgette...but he knew what it meant for him.

Did it hurt that she didn’t trust him on this? That she wasn’t going to support him? Definitely. However, he needed to do this. That was all he knew. That he needed to do this, with or without help. If he didn’t, he’d never be able to take care of Georgette the way he wanted. Their lives would always be plagued by this decision. This moment. Maybe, it wouldn’t matter in the end and Georgette would stay pissed at him, but for the first time in a long time, Hercules had hope. Which meant that he hoped that when all this was fixed, when he was fixed, Georgette would forgive him and see why he had to do it.

So, he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he handed her the purse that she was looking for. He didn’t need to be told that was what she was doing. He’d seen her lose it a thousand times before, especially when in a huff.

Silently, he handed it off to her. There wasn’t much to say. Georgette could see the hurt on his face. He could see the hurt on hers. There was nothing for it, though. 

This had to be done. It was destiny. 

So, the door closed and Hercules packed his own bag. Then, he went to the only place he knew to get the gates open: to Hades’. 

His wife let him inside, heavily pregnant and clearly tired. It made him nervous just looking at her. She was so fragile. He thanked her and waited awkwardly for Hades to come down the stairs. When he did, Hercules rose quickly, but carefully. Then, he explained the situation. 

“You don’t have to come into the Underworld with me,” Hercules assured. “I know the way.” 

With that, they set off through the forest. Unlike last time, Hercules didn’t say anything. He was quiet and determined, his jaw set. The trip was silent and felt both long and unbelievably short. It was Hades who alerted him that they had a tag-a-long, as soon as the Gates had opened. The blue flames flickered silently in the backdrop.

“Georgette?” 

Hades left without preamble, telling Hercules he had about two minutes before the gates shut tight and, no, he wasn’t coming back to open them again. 

“What are you doing here?” Hercules demanded as soon as Hades disappeared.

GEORGETTE: So, Georgette hadn’t exactly thought out this decision of hers to the extent that it probably should have been thought out. She just knew that once she had made it, she immediately went into action and found herself in the forest.

By no means was it a pleasant trip reaching the Gates of Hell. Georgette was not a nature girl. She did not appreciate dirt, or grass, branches, leaves, insects and disgusting creepy crawlers. 

She hated this forest and it’s trees. They, after all, had taken her life from her.

Yet here she was trying very hard not to be daunted by her surroundings or think back to those painful memories this exact entrance could make her relive. Even against everything, against her better knowledge because this was a trip through the Underworld after all, here she was. Wasn’t that how it always ended though?

Georgette coming right back to Hercules. 

“I’m still really upset.”

She stated because it had to be well known that her being here didn’t forfeit what she felt regarding this situation. She was still pissed and she still believed all of this was a terrible and very unfair idea. 

“But I don’t want you going through hell alone.” She admitted, her voice growing soft. “I know how that feels.”

Maybe not so much literally going through actual physical Underworld hell alone, but Georgette had gone through a rape alone. She had gone through the trial of her rapist alone. The rape, the trial, both were very real.  Both had been hard and both had been excruciating painful. They were her hell.

And being alone through hell, that was something she never wanted for Hercules. If he did this alone, she would be like every other person who had deserted him in his life. She wouldn’t forgive herself, so yes, she was still pissed off, but her anger wasn’t worth deserting Hercules.

“And I don’t want that for you so… that’s what I’m doing here.” 

HERCULES: Despite the circumstances, Hercules laughed.

It wasn’t a loud laugh, more of a chuckle than anything, but it felt very out of place, here at the entrance to the Underworld.

He was just surprised—delighted, suddenly, by this turn of events and he couldn’t help the smile that showed on his face. How fond he felt of Georgette, as she glowered at him. He wanted to kiss her, even if she’d just said she was upset with him. And he would. He’d wait, maybe, but he would.

There was a relief, too. It meant that if she was here, Hercules wouldn’t have to be alone. If she was here, she couldn’t be too upset with him. Hercules could handle pissed off Georgette, but he couldn’t handle a Georgette that wasn’t speaking to him, a Georgette that hated him. He was plenty familiar with his girlfriend’s temper and while it was a sight to behold, as long as she was still talking to him, he wasn’t going to worry.

And, y’know, he didn’t know when that had happened. Once, Hercules would’ve worried at every fight, every annoyance that he caused her (which was a lot.) But now, he just—wanted to laugh.

He softened, though, at the next thing Georgette had said and he stepped forward. Reaching out, he placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her a step closer so that he could kiss her forehead. His hands moved to her cheeks and he smiled at her.

“Thank you. I didn’t want to do this without you.” He leaned in and kissed her once, softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

[1-1snailxd-art]

Libraries are for Meetings

Master List —– Chapter 11

Chapter 12 - Dark Shadow

Warnings: negative thoughts, swearing, implied abuse, homophobic comments, alcohol abuse

Summary: Logan finally has a chance to confront Virgil and the encounter leaves them both shattered.

Word count: 1763

Note: reading on mobile can remove the paragraphing sometimes. Use desktop site or visit my Ao3 page if it bothers you as much as it bothers me.

____________________

It felt like Logan had only just closed his eyes when his phone alarm went off. He assumed he had slept through the night, but his mind and body were still exhausted from the emotional release of the evening. In a chain reaction, they all slowly woke and began cleaning the area in an exhausted but calm silence. Roman, Patton and E were the first to head out, leaving Logan and Katie to finish the cleaning and prepare the library for the day.

 “Looks like Tate will be a little late this morning,” Katie commented after hanging up her phone. “That old car is giving them trouble again.”

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her oily hair and sat up on the desk.

“Go home, Katie.” Logan offered, placing a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “I can watch the library until Tate arrives. You’ve done more than enough already.”

The rough sleep on the floor hadn’t served Katie well and she gladly accepted Logan’s offer with a hug  before leaving.

 Hidden from view, Virgil watched Katie lock the backdoor and waited patiently for her to pull away before going to let himself in. His evening on the street had left him cold to his core and the warmth from inside the library was an immediate relief. Wasting no time, he headed straight to the bathroom to clean up; blissfully ignorant of Logan’s presence at the front of the library. It wasn’t until he came out and found a coffee sitting in the kitchen that Virgil realised he wasn’t alone.

“Katie and I cleaned up this morning, Virgil.” Logan’s voice was calm and pleasant, but it immediately put Virgil on edge. ”I didn’t think you were working today.”

“Just last night.” Keeping his head low, Virgil stepped passed Logan to head to his office. “If nothing is needed, I’ll just grab some things and head out.”

Logan watched cautiously, sensing something off about the other but unsure of the best way to approach. Ben’s message came to mind again as he watched Virgil leave his office with a loaded bag and head toward the back door to leave.

 “Did I do something wrong?” Virgil stopped but didn’t turn to face Logan. “I know yesterday didn’t go well but-“

“I told you to let it go, Logan.” The harshness in his voice felt wrong, but Virgil wasn’t going to let Logan get caught up in his mess.

“If something is wrong, you can tell me.” Stepping closer cautiously, Logan noticed Virgil’s shoulders growing tense. “I only want to help-“

“I DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKING HELP!”

Logan quickly stepped away, taken aback by the others sudden anger.  “You might not want it, but you clearly need it.”

“Oh, would you take the hint, you fucking moron.” Virgil kept his face hidden by his hood when he turned around, words burning his throat as if each were acid leaving his mouth. “I’m not interested in your fucked up, gay ass. I got my free food, now leave me alone.”

The words stung Logan, but he kept his face neutral and firm; heart breaking as his mind cruelly brought an old fear back to the surface. Once silenced, the dark thoughts re-entered his mind with a vengeance.

“For the record, I am not gay.” It felt like Virgil’s heart stopped at Logan’s words. “I prefer to identify as a Panromantic-asexual. If you are going to insult my sexuality, at least do it properly."

“Whatever,” Virgil turned and headed towards the door again. “Have fun with your dead boyfriend, faggot.”

 The air was left sour and heavy with Virgil’s words. Neither man believed the words, but their burn was real enough to have an effect. Virgil carried the last of his belongings away to sell in hopes of spearing everyone from his burden; Logan on the other hand, sat in deathly silence until Tate arrived and mindlessly headed out to get ready for work. The old ghostly fear growing and twisting into a dark shadow, until  a soothing voice urged him to return to an old habit.

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

Nothing but the clothes on his back, Virgil walked the streets with a measly $50 in his pocket. Each step echoed in his ears and he felt disgusted by every breath he took past his cursed lips. Regret and guilt a heavy stone in his gut as Logan’s face and his words echoed in his mind. Staring down at his phone he had the urge to call Logan and tell him everything; his debt and his past, the heavy weight that held him back.

 “Virgil Sparks?”

The moment Virgil paused and looked up in response to the voice, he regretted it. The men who climbed out of the black van parked beside him were not comfortingly familiar.

“Get in the van, Virgil.” Ben motioned to Virgil from his position in the back; his expression darkened by bruising to his cheek.

“You said I had till Monday. I haven’t got any-“

“Get in.”

A firm hand gripped Virgil’s forearm and he felt all sense of hope finally fade away before climbing inside. There was no running now. The only way out would be messy no matter which way he looked at it. But then again…it was what he deserved.

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

Patton was terrified as he ran down the streets towards his home. He had received Katie’s message 5 minutes prior and turned his calming walk into a complete workout.

 Kit-Kat: are you okay?

Pit-Pat: fine. Just taking a casual walk home.

Kit-Kat: something has happened. Virgil’s office is completely empty, Logan isn’t answering his phone and his work said he left early to take care of you.  

 He should have felt bad leaving Katie on ‘read’ but all he could think about was how broken Logan was last night. Even before he had shared Jason's video, he’d seemed more distant than usual, but Patton had been so caught up in his own feelings he hadn’t even registered it until now. Worry gripped his chest like a vice while his feet beat roughly against pavement. Air rushed uncomfortably into his lungs with every breath until he finally reached the doorstep and shoved the key into the lock.

 “Logan!”

Patton spotted his roommates bag and shoes roughly discarded in the entry and raced up the stairs; calling again until he reached Logan’s locked bedroom door.

“Logan? Logan, open the door.” He pulled at the door fruitlessly; the silence from the other side feeding his fear with every unresponsive second. “Logie, please, you’re scaring me.”

Hands shaking, Patton eyed the door lock and remembered the same locks on his childhood doors; his mother could always get in when he was sad by using a butterknife to unlock it from the outside. When Logan didn’t respond again, he raced downstairs and decided this was just the situation to invade his privacy.

 The knife fell from Patton’s hands the moment the door unlocked and he rushed into the room. Bottles of spirits were discarded and spilling on the floor; the sight alone made Patton’s blood run ice cold. Logan’s glasses were shattered by the wardrobe with what had probably been a full bottle of alcohol. Worried eyes darted around until her spotted his friend crumpled at the far end of the room by his bed; eyes open but unseeing through a blur of tears. Patton was thankful for his shoes as he crunched into the room and cradled Logan’s head between his hands.

“Be honest with me, Logan, how much did you drink?”

Blinking, Logan’s features contorted as his fogged brain processed Patton’s comforting presence and realisation hit like a tidal wave sending sobs through his body again.

“I-I c-nnn-n-t”

“It’s okay. You’re okay, sweetie.” Pulling him close, Patton took in the intense scent of alcohol that he had not dealt with since the first months of Jason’s passing. “I’ve got you now. It’s okay.”

 Though Patton would have loved to simply hold Logan, he knew it wasn’t safe to stay in the room as it was. Carefully pulling back, Patton locked Logan’s eyes and kept his tone level and calm.

“It’s not safe here, Logan. Can you stand for me?” With a small nod, Logan carefully rose to his feet with Patton as support. “Okay. There’s lots of glass around so I need you to just stand here while I grab you some shoes. Can you do that?”

Using the wall for support, Logan released Patton so he could retrieve a pair of slippers from the back of the wardrobe. Gingerly slipping them on, Patton guided Logan to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet lid while he went to fetch clean clothes.

 When Patton returned, Logan had his face buried in his hands with fresh sobs shaking his shoulders. The déjà vu hit him hard as he felt himself repeating an old routine of helping Logan shower and dress, before shuffling down the hall to set him up in his bed. No one else knew of Logan’s brief struggle with alcohol after Jason. It was a short-lived but intense battle. Night after night of alcohol fuelled sadness and self-loathing was eventually brought under-control thanks to Patton’s support. Sadly, Patton was now reminded that it was a battle they would apparently have to always be aware of. A lingering shadow in their lives that would remain, even after Logan allowed Patton to coax him into an unsteady sleep.

Katie knocked on the door an hour later and Patton carefully shuffled off the bed; thankful that Logan didn’t stir from the movement.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this from the beginning?” Katie asked sadly, moving the wet-vac away so they could scrub the stained carpet further.

“You were grieving at the time.” Bubbles formed on the carpet as Patton began scrubbing, filling his nose with a scent to drown out the alcohol. “You didn’t need Logan’s added burden and we had it handled. For a while, I guess.”

“Had it handled?”

“He’s not an alcoholic, Katie.” His voice was defensive, hoping not to regret pulling Katie into their secret. “You know Lo. He has one drink and that’s it, but after Jason…he went too far. He’s been fine this whole time. I swear this is the first time since that he’s done this.”

With a solemn nod, Katie went back to scrubbing. She believed Patton; he had no reason to lie.

“Something happened with Virgil, Patton. I’m sure of it.”

“Any idea what?”

“No. But I’m going to find out.”

“Me to.”

____________________

End Note

Released at the end of the week, just like I promised.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be removed. It has been so long I understand if you don’t wanna hang around)

@notalwaysthebadguy​      @thequeensphinx​    @ollyollyoxinfree​   @celeste-tyrrell​     @pumpkinminette​    @ahyeahisurehopeit-does

_____________________________

Chapter 13 (coming later)   — MasterList

What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary, healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton)

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles​

Also now doing Cosplay and storylines on TikTok: 1_1snailxd

[jawritter]

Second Chance

Part 2 (Final)

Warning: Angst, heartbreak, unrequited/requited love, young mistakes, light smut, unprotected smut, depression, panick attack, language, domestic voilence (a slap), I think that’s it.

Summary: No one has life figured out at 18, but can one mistake made and twenty-one years of hurt and regret be fixed with an “I’m sorry?”

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 3885

A/N: This is one of my older stories from WattPad that I wanted to bring over here and clean up a little. This is completely unbeta’d, and all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold! Part two will be posted tomorrow! Hope you all enjoy this one!

Want More? Check out my masterlist!

***MASTERLIST***

Jensen's POV:

Jensen pulled his baseball cap down lower over his face to hide his features from unsuspecting passing customers, his eyes glued on the door, as he ideally ran his finger over the rim of his coffee that had gone virtually untouched in front of him as he sat in the back booth at the little coffee shop in Dallas that he quite honestly couldn’t even remember the name of.

Jessie had said she'd meet him here over an hour ago, now she was late, and he was quickly losing his patients.

The coffee shop was already filling again for the second time since Jensen had taken his seat. He watched the people closely, afraid at any moment someone was going to figure out who he was and blow his cover. 

He'd gotten pretty good at hiding mind you, he'd been doing it since he was roughly eighteen years old, so he'd learned a few tricks to keep people kind of at bay when he really didn't want them around, or want to be noticed.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot Jessie the third text of the morning.

"Where the fuck are you?! I've been waiting for you for over an hour!"

Sitting the phone back down on the counter he waited for her reply, but no response. There were even more people filtering in and out of the coffee shop now, she must not be coming. It's probably for the best if he just leaves, and gets her to meet him somewhere else later. The longer he sat there, the longer he ran the risk of someone he knew walking in, or some fan figuring out who he was.

He’d just shoved the phone back down deep in his front pocket and was about to pick up his coffee and head towards the door when the shrill ding announcing someone’s entrance into the little shop made him look up, finally she was here.

Jensen watched her as she made her approach with a cold, dead look he usually reserved for his ex-wife. She looked at him completely unfazed by his sour temper as she made her way closer, and flopped down at the little table across from him. 

“What took you so fucking long?" Jensen almost snarled. 

"Fuck you asshole, I can walk out of her right now, and without me, you have zero chance with Y/N again? So what's your choice? You can either start treating me with some respect, or you can figure out how to get her to talk to your sorry ass all by yourself? Dealer's choice." she said coldly, looking at him like he was the most disgusting thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

"Fine, fine!" Jensen said, throwing his hands up in frustration and then glaring at her like if he could get away with it, and she wasn't a girl, he'd probably punch her in the face.

Another few moments or so silence passed with the two of them glaring at each other while Jensen's blood pressure simmered back down to a normal rate before he dared to speak again. 

"So, have you talked her into going out again?" Jensen said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. 

"No." 

"Well, then why the fuck did you say you wanted to talk to me! If you don't have information for me on where she's going to be then you're not...."

"Jensen!" 

"Ssshhhh!! Someone will recognize me!!" 

"Ugh!! I'll be so glad when the two of you kiss and makeup so I don't have to look at you anymore!"

"Feelings mutual, sweetheart!"

About that time Jessie's phone started to ring, effectively ending the argument between them. Looking down she saw it was Sherry and quickly silenced it. Jessie was already late for work, and if she kept this up she was going to get fired, and also caught in the middle of this drama, which is exactly what she had told Jensen she didn’t want to happen when he’d messaged her, asking for her help in fixing his fuck up.

"Look, let's just get this over with, I don't want people to know I'm still in Dallas, they'll start to ask questions," Jensen said with a huff of frustration, sinking lower into the booth seat.

"Fine, Y/n will not leave her apartment again, not with us or with anyone else. She's been locked in her apartment since the night we dropped her off when we left the bar, she's been working from home, she hasn't left the house at all. It's almost like she's slipped into some sort of depression. I don't think we're going to get her to go out with us again, so we might have to take a different approach." Jessie said, staring coldly at that man sitting across from her.

"Okay, then what do you suggest we do? " Jensen said, taking his hat off and carding his hands through his soft hair in frustration before putting the cap back in place harshly.  

Your POV:

It had been three weeks since you saw Jensen at the bar that night. It had set you back worse than you thought it ever could. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was his face. You'd even been dreaming of him more than you had in the last three years. It wasn't healthy to say the least, and you were seriously starting to wonder if you had just dreamed it up, and had that nervous breakdown your therapist had warned you about.

All the progress you had made over the years in getting over him had seemed to spiral, and it had taken you three days to even get out of the bed once you stumbled through the apartment door. 

There was no doubt in your mind that after all these years you were still in love with this man, even though you were sure he'd ever loved you. Still, the heart wants what the heart wants. 

Over and over again you kicked yourself over the past three weeks for not accepting his offer to just talk. That damn ring when you saw it on his hand was like being nailed in the gut, by a ball pin hammer, just as hard as he could swing it.

He'd been able to do what you couldn't. He'd been able to move on, he'd been able to find love, and here you were alone. 

You hated him, but you loved him. To you that made no sense whatsoever, but there it was. 

You hated him for abandoning you all those years ago, you hated him for pushing you away, when all you'd ever done was love him, you hated him for giving up on you.

You loved him because it was something you just couldn't control. The way he smiled, those beautiful jade-colored eyes that always seemed to dance with an air of mischief that made your knees weak. You could still remember his scent, the way his strong arms felt when they wrapped around you all those years ago. You loved him because just with one smile he made your heart feel like it could leap out of your chest and fly around the room, you loved him, and for a lot of reasons, you didn't even know why still you did.

There were no denying things had changed in him. Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see that boy you fell in love with in Dallas was long gone, and a man had taken his place. The deep lines around his eyes, the way he carried himself, strong, confident. His voice was much deeper than it was back then, and even though his eyes were the same, the grey in his beard told you the boy he was back then was long gone, and really, you were in love with someone you didn’t even know anymore. He was a far cry from the boy that had taken your virginity all those years ago. 

He’d lived, and you hadn’t, simple as that.

He chose money, fame, and fortune over you. You would have given him everything, a family, a warm home to come home to. 

Then again, you guessed he'd found someone to do that for him, so again that rendered you useless.

Supernatural had been playing on your TV through Netflix for days. You just couldn’t stop watching it, and you couldn't stop kicking yourself. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and more than anything, you couldn't fill the hole that was in your chest, one that had almost closed, and was just a piece of you that was missing, now was ripped open and bleeding, and there was no way to make it go away.

Thank God your job allowed you to work from home. You just could do it. You couldn't deal with people, not in person, you couldn't go pretty yourself up and act like everything was fine, because it wasn't fine, and you didn't feel pretty. 

You weren't pretty enough for Jensen all those years ago, and you're not enough for him now, so why even try?

A loud knock on the door disturbed you from your self-loathing.

It was probably Sherry or Jessie. They were just worried about you, you know that, but you just hadn't been able to face them. The way you just completely broke down in the Uber on the way home was just embarrassing, and the fact that you couldn’t seem to pick yourself back up again was borderline humiliating on a whole different level.

Now apparently they'd given up on calling you and had just decided to show up. Well, you were a little impressed it had taken them this long actually.

"Go away! I don't feel like talking yet." 

Nothing, just another pounding knock on the door in response.

After sitting there a moment in confusion, you remembered Sherry knew where the spare key was, so it couldn’t be them. Getting up slowly you made your way to the door, pulling it open you looked through the crack and who you saw nearly knocked you on your ass.

"JENSEN!" you half yell, shocked to see that beautiful face on the other side of the door, and for just a moment you thought you were hallucinating. 

"Hey, can I come in or you just going to make me stand out in the hallway?" he said, looking around like he was afraid you were going to slam the door shut in his face. 

To be completely honest you thought about it, you just couldn't deal with the guilt and the “what ifs” this time if you did like you'd been dealing with for the past three weeks.

Pulling the door shut just enough to remove the chain lock that was placed on the door you open it, stepping back and letting him into your apartment. 

When you shut and relocked the door you turned around to find him staring at you, a look of concern painted over his God-like face as his eyes raked over you.

You walk around him and head for the TV, turning it off before he could see himself walking with a flashlight across the screen.

"What are you doing here Jensen?" you ask him, sitting down on the couch to keep your legs from falling out from under you. You didn't realize how weak he still made you, even after all these years.

"I wanted to see you, to talk to you." 

"Why? You said all you had to say to me 21 years ago." you watched as he visibly flinched at your sharp words. 

"Y/n, I'm sorry, I was young and stupid, I should have never let you go, I should have never let you walk away from me, I've regretted it since you have. I just haven't been man enough to tell you..." 

Standing up you cross the floor and get right in his face. A boldness you didn't have just five minutes ago springing out of nowhere, and anger burns deep, deep down in your belly. 

"Don’t come at me with your lies Jensen!” you scream at him. 

Bringing your hand up you slap him hard across the face before you could stop yourself. Not able to even control your own actions anymore, all you could see was red.

Your own pulse quickened in your ears as your slap staggered him back against the bar, and his hand flew up to the side of his face that was quickly turning red. You didn’t care, at that moment you didn’t even see it, all you could see was years, and years of hurt, and rejection.

“You’ve suffered so much huh?! With your perfect little wife, and kids that live in a fucking mansion on the lake in Austin! You really just expect to walk back into my life, say your sorry, and all the years of hurt would just magically go away? Fuck you!

You raised your hand to slap him again, but this time he caught it with his left hand, standing to tower over you he backed you against the wall, pinning you there with his solid form, using his sheer size and body weight to hold you there and keep you from hitting him again.

Through all the anger, through all the hurt, through the blinding tears that were now rolling down your face, there were two things you registered. First was the overwhelming feeling of his body weight pressing you, grounding you, and by some miracle, pulling you back down from your fit of rage his apology had triggered. 

The second and most important thing was that his wedding band was gone.

All your strength at that moment was gone.  The adrenaline crash hit you hard, and your knees buckled, a loud ringing taking the place of your pounding pulse in your ears, and your vision going white at the edges.

Jensen reached down and scooped you up into his arms before you could hit the floor, pulling you tight to his chest and bringing you over to the couch. Sitting down this you wrapped his arms, cradled in his lap like a small child. 

It was hard to breathe as the tears flowed down your face now, your chest felt so tight that you were almost certain you were breathing through a straw, even though your breath was coming in pants, the overwhelming feeling of passing out made your head spin, and your body began to shake.

Jensen shushed you over and over again, running his fingers through your hair, which gave you something else to focus on. “Breath for me Y/n, come one breathe with me.” 

You focused on the steady rise, and fall of his chest against you, the scent of his cologne, the steady brush of his hand through your hair, and before long you were able to focus enough to take a breath.

“That’s it, baby girl, fuck I’m so sorry sweetheart, this is all my fault.” 

This was a result of twenty-one years of hurt, hurt that he caused, and he knew it.

When you'd finally calmed down he put a finger under your chin and forced you to look up at him.

"I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you, I'm sorry that I did this to you, I'm sorry that I was a fucking coward, I was afraid to find you, afraid to admit I was wrong, I'm sorry it took me twenty-one years to get enough balls to apologize to you. I know that’s enough, but I plan to stick around and do everything I can to make this up to you. I'm not married anymore. I didn't love her, I tried to, I really did, but I just couldn't, So I did the right thing, and I let her go so she could go and find someone that can make her happy."

You sat there staring at him like he'd popped out a third head. You wanted to pinch yourself to see if you were dreaming, or if you were dead. 

"So I came here to find you, the one person that has ever really made me happy. Your parents wouldn't tell me where you were, so I found your friend Jessie, she was going to get you to come to the bar that night so I could try and talk to you. I'm sorry about that too. I didn't know I'd hurt you this way. If I did I wouldn't have sprung myself on you." 

Crawling off of his lap and sitting down on the couch next to him you tried to make sense of what he was telling you.

"So what do you want from me? After all these years, what do you want from me now?"

You tried to understand, but you just couldn’t. Hell if you weren’t good enough all those years ago to make him want you, why the hell did he think you would be enough now?

Moving to the floor, Jensen got down on his knees in front of you, grabbing your hands in his. He looked like it took all the strength he had not to start crying himself, which only made more tears flow from you as you watched him bite down on his lower lips for a moment before he spoke.

"I want a second chance with you, I know I have no right to ask you for one, and you have every right to tell me to fuck off, and if you do I'll leave, and I'll never come back If that's really what you want, but sweetheart please, please give me a chance to fix this. Let me fix what I broke all those years ago." 

His thumb made little circles on the back of your hand, and he broke eye contact with you, looking down at the floor as he waiting for you to tell him to go fuck himself.

All those years you'd prayed he'd come back. All those years you'd dreamed he wanted you again. Here he was, and if you didn't give him another chance now, he was gone for good, and that would be all, you'd die right here, you'd never be able to recover.

Jensen took a shaky breath drawing you back to the present. 

"Please Y/N, say something?" 

Putting your hands on either side of his face you did the only thing your brain would let you do. You pulled him to you, crashing your lips to his. 

At first, he sat there shocked, but he caught up quickly though. Getting off his knees he crawled his large frame over yours, laying you both back down on the couch you were sitting on, holding his weight on you just enough to make you feel safe, for the first time in a long time.

"So I guess that means yes???" he said, lifting a perfect eyebrow and looking at you with the cutest little expression on his face, his eye crinkles showing just enough to make your heart melt.

"Yeah, but you got a shit ton of makeup to do Ackles," you tell him through tears, smacking him on his solid chest playfully.

"Well darlin’, let me start now," he said, bringing his lips softly back to yours before standing and dragging you with him, pulling you towards the open door of your bedroom.

Your mind worked on autopilot as he backed you into the room, closing the door with his large foot, and like jolts of electricity being shocked to a still heart, every lingering touch of his hands trailing your body, and every passionate kiss that made you breathless seemed to wake you up again. 

This wasn’t some quickie in the back of his truck in the middle of the wood. There was no rush to this, there was no hurry in the way he lowered your body on the bed, and crawled his way over every inch of skin, leaving a trail of kisses he went. 

There was no uncertainty in the way he looked into your eye as he pressed himself slowly into you, rocking slow and deep, stretching you, in the most intimate way possible, breathing life back into you as his lips found yours again in a slow lazy kiss, as he continued to work you both higher in an almost painfully slow pace. 

This wasn’t going to fix it all together, twenty-one years was a lot of time, and there was a lot of damage, to the both of you, but the way his body moved inside of yours, the promise that he made not only with his words, but with his body, and with his soul that he’d never leave you, never hurt you again, it brought you back in a way that you thought was long dead to you. 

When your release came, and he held you close to him, your name falling from his lips as he spilled himself deep inside of you, you felt like your heart really started to beat for the first time. 

There were still a lot of unanswered questions, and there were some things you just never wanted to know. Right now as he pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around, and caging your body close to him, promising to never let you go again would be enough. 

Not everyone gets the second chance the two of you were having now, and this time you would follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took, because he was the other half of your heart, and it just didn’t beat if he wasn’t there.

Jessie's POV:

“I can’t believe you sent him here!” Sherry hissed as Jessie dug around for the spare key to your apartment. 

It had been hours since she had sent Jensen here to try and talk to you, and they had heard nothing. Then when Jessie let it slip on her lunch break what had been going on with Jensen and herself over the past couple of weeks, Sherry had blown her top, and insisted on coming to check on them.

“Would you shut up! I’m sure they’re fine!” Jessie hissed back, finding the key and turning the knob slowly. 

The apartment was quiet as the two women pushed the door open, and closed it silently behind them. 

“If he’s done something to hurt her I swear to God!” Sherry hissed again, making her way over to where Jessie was standing by the bar, staring through a crack in Y/N’s bedroom door.

She pointed towards it, and Sherry silently made her way to peek inside, seeing Jensen and Y/N curled into one another sound asleep, clothes strewn all over the floor, and long forgotten. Sherry smiled to herself as he turned around and looked back at Jessie, who was leaning against the bar, grinning like she’d won the war, and that’s all that mattered. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here, I think those two are gonna be just fine.” She said, leading Sherry towards the door, and closing the door to the apparent behind them. Leaving the world outside unknowing, while two hearts did what it took to heal.

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