#need that man broken beyond relief and repair

[astromechs]

kicking my feet, giggling, twirling my hair as i think about season 2 of andor breaking cassian to the point of the absolute brink of despair and resignation to a fight he's sacrificed too much for to give up now 🥹

[gvfgal]

How to Fall in Love in Ten Days

*New Series*

18+ series

A/n: Day Four, as promised!! Please don’t be afraid to leave your question, comments, and thoughts in the replies or in my inbox, they make my day more than you’ll ever know! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist, and as always, enjoy. 🤍

Content Warnings: hangovers, angst, a *little* sexual tension (it only progresses from here).

Word Count: 3.3k

Day Four: The Ball

"Roslyn, close those curtains at once," Daniel groaned, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the pounding headache. "The sun is blinding me."

He was seated at one of the servants' dining tables, while Roslyn stood at the small counter, cracking fresh eggs into a glass. Daniel had sought her out in the early hours of the morning while you were still asleep, pleading for a remedy to his hangover.

"I do not think it is the sun that ails you, Your Grace," she retorted, sounding every bit the stern matron. "It is more likely the result of your carousing until dawn."

She approached him and placed the glass on the table with a firm thud. Daniel glanced up at her, a look of sheepish curiosity in his eyes. "Do you now find me as appalling as she does?"

This was no mere bid for sympathy; he was earnestly seeking an answer. He felt as though he had managed to alienate not only you, but the entire Sterling household.

Sebastian had been markedly displeased with the Duke's night of revelry, his silent disapproval speaking volumes.

"You know I could never find His Grace 'appalling'," Roslyn assured him, her tone softening. "However, I do believe this rift between you and the Duchess might have been averted had you shown a bit more kindness in the beginning."

"And now you fear it is too late to mend what has been broken?"

Roslyn detected the note of despair in his voice and paused to choose her words carefully.

"I do not wish to suggest it is beyond repair," she said thoughtfully. "However..."

Daniel dropped his head into his hands, the silence conveying more than words ever could.

"I am a dreadful man," he muttered.

"All you can do now, Your Grace, is take things one day at a time," she offered, attempting to provide a glimmer of hope. "The truth of the matter is, it cannot worsen from here. But it will not improve without a concerted effort. And I’m sure you do want things to improve?"

This advice, simple yet profound, struck a chord with Daniel. The discord in his marriage was like a chain of falling dominos, and if he wished to halt the cascade, he would need to exert considerable effort.

He nodded. “Yes. I do.”

"Well then," Roslyn prompted, tapping the table near the glass of egg yolks, "drink."

Seated at your vanity, you observed the delicate ministrations of your maids as they commenced the early preparations for the evening's ball. The room was enveloped in an unusual quietude that might have been unsettling had your thoughts not been preoccupied with other matters.

The clock had just struck three in the afternoon, and the entire day had passed without even a glimpse of the Duke. This absence left you in a state of ambivalence, a tangled web of emotions that you found difficult to unravel no matter how long you meditated on it. You could not determine whether his absence brought you a measure of relief or an increased sense of unease.

Your reflection in the mirror appeared distant, as if the image before you was but a ghost of the person you used to be. The maids worked with quiet efficiency, their whispers barely audible, the rustling of fabric and the clinking of jewelry the only sounds to break the pervasive silence. The preparations for the ball, normally a source of excitement and anticipation, felt strangely hollow.

In the back of your mind, you wondered where the Duke might be and what he was doing. His absence was notable, a stark contrast to the duties he usually attended with such fervor. Yet, part of you was grateful not to face him, not to confront the unresolved tension that lingered between you both like an unsaid accusation.

As the maids continued their work, you allowed your thoughts to drift. What would the evening bring? Would the Billngly’s ball offer a reprieve from the discord in your marriage, or would it serve only to highlight the growing distance between you and your husband? These questions swirled in your mind, unanswered and unnerving.

The room, though filled with activity, felt empty. The opulence of the vanity, the elegance of your waiting attire, and the dutiful attentions of your maids could not mask the underlying disquiet that had settled in your heart. The preparations continued, but your thoughts remained elsewhere, lost in a labyrinth of uncertainty and longing.

Before long, you were attired and prepared for the evening's festivities. Roslyn had entered midway through the preparations, and now it was just the two of you alone in the room, a solitude that always brought you a sense of ease.

Roslyn made a few final adjustments to your attire, her deft fingers ensuring that every detail was perfect. She then guided you to the large, ornate mirror so that you might behold the culmination of her and the maids efforts.

Your reflection revealed a vision of elegance and grace. You were adorned in a gown of midnight blue silk, the fabric shimmering subtly in the light. The bodice, adorned with delicate lace and tiny, glistening pearls, accentuated your figure while maintaining an air of refined modesty. The sleeves, fashioned from the finest gossamer, billowed softly at your wrists, adding an ethereal touch to your ensemble.

Your hair had been swept up into an intricate chignon, with a few artfully arranged tendrils framing your face. Roslyn had adorned your coiffure with a simple yet elegant diamond hairpin, a testament to her impeccable taste. Around your neck, you wore a necklace of sapphire and diamonds, the stones catching the light and casting a soft, luminous glow upon your décolletage.

As you gazed into the mirror, Roslyn stood behind you, her eyes meeting yours in the reflection. There was a silent understanding between you, a shared recognition of the effort and care that had gone into preparing you for the evening. The stillness of the room, combined with Roslyn's reassuring presence, brought you a moment of tranquility amidst the tumultuous emotions that had plagued you throughout the day.

"You look exquisite, my lady," Roslyn said softly, a note of pride in her voice. She gently smoothed a final crease in your gown before stepping back, allowing you to take in the full effect of your appearance.

For a brief moment, the anticipation of the evening ahead was overshadowed by a quiet satisfaction with your reflection. Yet, as you turned away from the mirror, the questions and uncertainties of your heart crept back in, reminding you that the true challenges of the night were yet to come.

Roslyn could discern the trepidation in your eyes, and it evoked a profound pang of sympathy within her. She was acutely aware of the desolation that had settled between you and the Duke, and she knew that venturing into society and maintaining appearances would be an arduous task under such circumstances. Yet, her purpose was not to amplify your anxieties.

“I have heard that Lord and Lady Billingly host quite the ball. I believe you shall find some enjoyment there, with or without His Grace’s presence,” she remarked, her tone infused with a gentle reassurance.

You offered her a smile, appreciating her attempt to assuage your worries. Despite your inner disdain for such social gatherings, you decided to indulge her optimism, hoping it might spark a glimmer of genuine hope within you.

“I should hope so,” you replied softly.

Roslyn escorted you from the room, and as you descended the grand staircase, your gaze fell upon Daniel, waiting below. His pacing ceased the moment your presence was revealed, and he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours.

The Duke was impeccably dressed in a tailored coat of deep midnight blue velvet, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that mirrored the delicate lace on your gown. His waistcoat, of the same rich fabric, was complemented by a crisp white shirt with a high, starched collar and a meticulously tied cravat. The ensemble was clearly chosen to harmonize with your attire, a silent acknowledgment of your shared role despite the discord between you.

However, even his polished appearance could not conceal the remnants of his earlier revelries. The faint dark circles beneath his eyes and the slight pallor of his complexion betrayed the restlessness and indulgence of the previous night. Nevertheless, he had made an effort to present himself with dignity and poise, a gesture that did not go unnoticed.

As you descended the grand staircase, Roslyn offered a reassuring squeeze of your hand before stepping back. Daniel extended his arm towards you, his expression a blend of determination and weariness.

It was an unexpected gesture, one that made you hesitate. Yet, with Roslyn and Sebastian observing you, and the Duke appearing almost desperate, you linked your arm with his, allowing him to escort you out of the front door and into the waiting carriage.

This was the first occasion since your wedding night that you were alone together, and the solitude unnerved you. All the attendants, including Sebastian, traveled in the carriage behind, leaving you with a little over an hour’s journey in a stifling silence.

The first half hour passed in oppressive quietude. Daniel seemed to still be recovering from his nocturnal excesses, while you forced your eyes to watch the sunset over the rolling landscape, avoiding looking back even once.

Gradually, you felt his gaze lingering upon you. You sensed every movement of his eyes as they took in your attire from head to toe, resting upon your face with an unwavering intensity.

Despite the intensity, he seemed unaware of how keenly you felt his gaze, but you dared not move, afraid it would break the spell.

You did not want him to look away.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat. “You look exceedingly beautiful. This shade of blue truly becomes you.”

His words caused your breath to catch, but you masked it with a discreet cough.

You glanced at him briefly, but the power of his stare was overwhelming, and you quickly diverted your eyes to your own dress.

“Thank you, Your Grace. You look… well yourself. The color suits you admirably as well.”

His face was on the verge of a smile, but he settled for a nod.

He simpered. “Perhaps we should have Roslyn incorporate more of this hue into our wardrobes, then?”

You wanted to smile at his lighthearted response, but were unsure if he was merely being courteous to maintain appearances at the forthcoming ball.

Nevertheless, it indeed felt good to have a respite from the animosity.

You turned your gaze back out the window, and Daniel, seemingly satisfied with the small but impactful interaction, reclined in his seat, appearing more relaxed and a shade more sober.

All eyes turned towards you as soon as you arrived at the Billingly estate. As the guests of honor, your entrance was eagerly anticipated by all who were in attendance.

You and Daniel, much like the previous day in the Duchy, managed to project an image of matrimonial bliss with remarkable ease. Tonight, it felt slightly more natural, the practiced motions of a devoted couple coming almost effortlessly.

You moved gracefully through the gathering, greeting each person with poise, your hand firmly resting on Daniel’s arm. Daniel had once again adopted his charming demeanor, effortlessly captivating the women in the room with little more than a smile and a few courteous words.

Observing the admiration in the women's eyes, you couldn’t help but understand their allure. Despite his hangover, Daniel did indeed look strikingly handsome, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a glimmer of the fortune that supposedly accompanied the title of Duchess of Sterling.

Daniel led you to the center of the dance floor, where the six-string ensemble ceased their current melody and began a new tune, specially selected for your first dance.

Had all gone according to plan, you and Daniel would have had a dance lesson earlier in the day to prepare for this moment. But strife had interfered, and now you found yourself feeling like a lamb to the slaughter.

Your nerves began to fray, and Daniel instantly noticed.

“Do not worry,” he whispered as the music swelled around you. “Just follow me. I lead, you follow.”

You nodded subtly, willing your feet to move in time with Daniel’s steps and the rhythm of the music.

As Daniel took the lead, you found his guidance surprisingly steady. The familiar steps of the waltz, though unpracticed, began to flow. The warmth of his hand on your waist and the firm yet gentle grip of his fingers on yours lent you both confidence and fluster. His eyes, intent and focused, never left yours, creating an intimate bubble amidst the grand hall's opulence. It was almost a suffocating, how intimate it was.

The ballroom's chandeliers cast a golden glow, the light reflecting off your sapphire gown and Daniel's navy tailcoat, enhancing the visual harmony you both presented. The room faded away as you concentrated on the dance, your earlier fears slowly dissipating with each step.

Daniel’s movements were assured and precise, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. The music enveloped you both, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the discord between you had vanished, replaced by a rare unity.

As the dance continued, you began to relax, your steps becoming more fluid, your movements more in sync with Daniel’s. The whispers and admiring glances of the guests faded into the background, and it was as though you and Daniel were the only two people in the room.

As the final notes of the waltz lingered in the air, Daniel twirled you gracefully one last time before drawing you close. The dance concluded with a flourish, and the guests erupted into applause. Breathless and slightly dizzy, you clung to Daniel for support, your heart pounding from the exertion and the unexpected closeness that your body seemed to take delight in.

For a moment, Daniel’s eyes softened, and a small, genuine smile touched his lips. The applause and the admiration of the guests seemed to validate the performance you had just given. It was a fleeting glimpse of what might have been, a reminder of the potential that may still be hidden beneath the surface of your strained relationship.

After the dance concluded, you and Daniel were quickly engulfed by the crowd, and you were reminded why you loathed such gatherings. The incessant questions about your recent marriage and future plans felt relentless, but to your surprise, you and Daniel navigated the inquiries with remarkable ease. He would answer some, you others, and though you hadn’t discussed any of it due to your ongoing strife, you both went along with each other’s responses as if they were gospel truth.

However, the constant attention soon wearied you. When the throng of guests inevitably separated you and Daniel, you found yourself even more exposed and under pressure. The women of society, with their endless chatter and insatiable curiosity, overwhelmed you. Having spent much of your formative years in seclusion, you were ill-prepared for this lifestyle, and your discomfort was growing.

You stumbled over your words, and as the questions about the Duke grew more probing, your responses became less convincing. Your nerves began to crack the facade you had so carefully constructed. Fortunately, the women were too engrossed in their own gossip to notice your growing unease. When their conversation finally shifted away from you and your marriage, you seized the opportunity to excuse yourself, craving the solace of fresh air.

You wandered out to the garden, relieved to find it devoid of other partygoers. You strolled aimlessly until you discovered a bench positioned before a rose hedge sculpture of two swans. The cool evening air was a welcome relief, and you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply before opening them to gaze at the sculpture.

Tilting your head, you couldn’t help but think the entire arrangement was rather tacky. Though you would never voice it, you found such sculptures outdated, believing they detracted from the natural beauty of the flowers.

The chirping of crickets was the only sound until you heard faint footsteps approaching. You stood quickly, ready to make your exit, but froze when Daniel’s figure emerged from around the hedge.

“What are you doing out here?” His surprise mirrored your own, but you relaxed, knowing it was only your husband who had found you shirking your duties at the ball in your honor.

“I just needed a breath,” you sighed, sinking back onto the bench. “Those women can be quite a handful. And a mouthful. And an earful.”

For the first time, you heard Daniel laugh—a soft chuckle, but the most heavenly sound you had heard in a long while. There was no one around, no need to maintain the charade of a happy couple, yet here he was, smiling at you as he came to sit beside you.

“I could surely say the same thing about the men. I do not remember them always being this way,” he confessed, shaking his head slightly.

The silence that enveloped you was unexpectedly comforting, not the tense affair you had anticipated with the Duke by your side. His hushed company, paradoxically, made you feel less isolated in this whole ordeal, despite his having been the very architect of your alienation. The irony was not lost on you.

“When I was younger,” Daniel broke the silence, drawing you from your thoughts, “I used to escape to our garden all the time.”

Our garden. You wondered to whom he referred. Perhaps it was a slip, an inadvertent inclusion of you in his memories. Yet, the nostalgic tone in his voice suggested he most likely spoke of his late parents. Far from deterring you, this revelation made you listen all the more intently. Never before had the Duke been so forthcoming, sharing fragments of his past that might offer insights into the man you had married.

You remained quiet, your eyes fixed on his face, waiting for him to continue.

“I’d sit out there for hours and hours,” he said, his gaze distant. “Sometimes until Roslyn had to come and drag me back inside.”

You smiled at the image of Roslyn scolding a young Daniel amidst the verdant splendor of the Sterling House garden.

“Our garden used to have a hedge maze,” you commented, feeling an urge to share a piece of your own childhood as well. “It wasn’t large, but it could certainly trick you up. I would get lost on purpose to avoid my lessons,” this made Daniel laugh again, a sound that was becoming increasingly pleasant to your ears. “But eventually, I started doing it simply because I enjoyed it so much.”

You sighed, a wistful note now coloring your reminiscence. Daniel noticed the shadow of sorrow on your face, understanding how deeply you missed the comforts of your former home.

He thought about how disorienting it must be to find yourself so far from everything familiar, in a place that was ostensibly your new home, yet where you felt so alone because of his coldness. It reminded him of his own experience, being thrust into the role of Duke at a tender age.

He turned to you with a gentle smile, “what else did you enjoy doing?”

The question caught your attention, as it seemed a genuine attempt on Daniel’s part to connect with you, free from the pressures of an audience. You smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth.

“Well, I enjoyed riding very much. My father was an avid rider, and it became a passion he passed on to me. I had a horse named Guinevere, given to me when I was only five, and my father taught me everything he knew. Soon, I was quite proficient.”

Daniel looked surprised. “Riding? Truly? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

You nodded, confirming your tale. “I would ride almost every day. When my father passed away, I couldn’t bear to continue, and eventually, my brother sold Guinevere, along with my father’s horse.”

The Duke absorbed every detail of your story, his interest visible. He found himself wanting to hear more, but something held him back from asking further.

A silence fell between you once more until you sighed again, “I hate parties.”

Daniel chuckled, a soft, genuine sound. “As do I, truly. Shall we leave?”

You looked at him with gratitude, “I would like that very much.”

You stood simultaneously, and in an instant, found yourselves startlingly close. Neither of you retreated, remaining instead in a charged proximity. Gazing up at him, you noticed how his eyes were not fixed on your own, but rather on your lips, adorned with a gentle red hue. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and though he seemed to struggle to look elsewhere, he could not.

Your eyes fell to his lips in return, slightly parted, and trembling with an unspoken desire. The moment was ripe; you could have kissed him, he could have kissed you, you could have kissed one another. He was your husband, after all, and there was nothing to hinder such an advance. If someone were to discover you both here, it would not have been scandalous. A newlywed couple sneaking off at a party was not unheard of.

Yet, neither of you made a move. You stood there, struck and yearning, Daniel’s fists clenching at his sides as he restrained himself, swallowing harshly.

"Shall we?" he finally broke the stalemate and gestured towards the small exit that would lead you back to the party.

You nodded, though it was barely convincing. Slowly, you began making your way out of the garden, and Daniel lingered behind, watching you before following a few paces behind.

Outside, Daniel had you wait while he went inside to fetch your staff. You bid farewell to a few guests passing by before seeing Daniel return several minutes later with the Sterling household staff in tow.

He and Sebastian were engaged in earnest conversation, and Roslyn took the moment to send you a small wink before making her way towards her carriage.

Daniel and Sebastian spoke for a moment longer before parting ways, Daniel coming to assist you into your carriage while Sebastian joined Roslyn.

As the coachman set off, you and the Duke sat side by side in tranquility. Steadily, the gentle motion of the carriage soon lulled you to sleep.

When you awoke again, the carriage was at a standstill, and you felt velvet against your cheek. Realizing it was Daniel’s coat you were resting on, you shot up quickly. You must have leaned onto him when you dozed, yet the fact that you remained there until returning to Sterling House felt peculiar.

Daniel watched you with an unreadable expression. "We’re home."

"Good," you cleared your throat, "I was beginning to grow tired."

Daniel laughed softly, sensing your embarrassment for falling asleep on him. Sparing you further discomfort, he simply opened the carriage door and helped you out.

As the staff began entering the house, you noticed Sebastian’s absence, but you were too weary to ponder it.

In the foyer, you and Daniel stood alone, several feet apart yet still very much in each other’s space, feeling just as close as you were on the dance floor.

"Goodnight," he spoke firmly but sincerely.

"Goodnight, Your Grace." You gave a small curtsy and immediately turned to ascend the staircase to your bedroom, eager to fall into bed and put some distance between you and Daniel before he stirred up those first-night emotions.

Though, you were afraid it had already begun.

Taglist: @jakekiszkashangnail08 @josh-iamyour-mama @freyjalw @gvfsstardust @peaceloveunitygvf @positivegvfthings

[indigofyrebird]

Waking Dreams and Nightmares

For the @summer-of-bad-batch prompt "nightmares"

Word count: 705

Warnings: death, survivor's guilt, Wrecker feeling like a failure

I'm sorry, this turned out depressing!

***

Wrecker dreamed of falling. A lot. He hadn't always been afraid of heights, but in the aftermath of his head wound and permanent eye injury, he had become more and more bothered by them. He could still function, pushing through his fears, but it was a challenge. 

Mostly, his dreams would end in the floor abruptly falling out from under him, waking him with a pounding heart, his hands gripping the sides of his bunk. 

He was good at hiding it from his brothers. It was just a dream, only a dream, he would tell himself, hugging Lula closer. 

He was good at his job. His brothers knew how much he hated heights by now, but every single one of them had one hundred percent faith in his abilities and trusted him with their lives.

Wrecker lived to take care of his brothers. From the time he could remember, he had been the strong one, the big kid. Protection from bullies, the one a brother called when you needed a door manhandled open. 

He could also set or disarm any bomb they threw at him, sometimes literally. His trainers had loved to test his coordination along with his mind, throwing complex explosive devices at him to see what he would do. They were no match for his strong hands and quick thinking. 

Wrecker prided himself on his strength. He found he was addicted to the rush of endorphins he experienced after a heavy lifting session, even if it was just Gonky. It felt the same as completing a difficult mission, marking the wall in their barracks afterward. 

Sometimes, he dreamed of his brothers falling. Those were the worst nights. Those were the real nightmares. He had to resist the urge to hug the particular brother he had dreamed about when he would wake, not wanting to relive his dream enough to discuss it. Lula was well used on those nights.

The day his brother actually fell, Wrecker watching in slow motion as he disappeared into the clouds below him, he thought in a small part of his brain that maybe this was just another dream. He heard his own hoarse scream, his stomach feeling like it might come up out of his throat to follow Tech into the abyss, and he knew it wasn't. He knew he had failed. For the first time in his short life, he had failed. Failed in the most horrific way possible. 

In the days that followed, after Omega was taken, after Echo left them again, he couldn't help placing the blame on himself. If he had only been stronger, if he had only been faster, braver, if, if, if.

He knew Hunter blamed him, too. Knew it by his silence, by the way he wouldn't even say their brother's name. The few times he had attempted speaking about him to Hunter, the other man had silenced him with a look, leaving the area hurriedly. 

At least now his exhausted brain had been letting him sleep. He didn't dream of falling, as if that one major fall had been enough to reset his subconscious. It was a small relief since he couldn't stop replaying the fall in his waking mind. He wished every day that he could go back in time and take his brother's place. Hunter would be happier. Tech would be so much more useful than himself. 

He was stupid. Stupid and weak. He hadn't been strong when it mattered the most. He cried silently in his bunk at night. Cried for his brother. Lula lay in a forgotten heap under his bunk, useless now. 

Maybe Hunter would forgive him someday. 

****

Hunter leaned forward in the co-pilot's seat. He held the broken goggles like they were something fragile to be protected, not already ruined beyond repair. 

He listened to Wrecker, who was crying himself to sleep again. For the hundredth time, he started to stand, to go to Wrecker, to offer comfort but instead remained sitting. 

He knew Wrecker blamed him. He was their sergeant. Everything that had happened on Eriadu and after had been his fault. 

He rubbed his thumb over the broken rim of the goggles and bowed his head. 

Maybe Wrecker would forgive him someday

[todorokis-girl]

Shattered Boundaries - Midoriya x Reader

Midoriya crosses a dangerous line to save Y/N, shattering his moral code as he brutally ends Shigaraki, leaving behind a hero forever changed.

Requests are open!

Masterlist

The night was thick with tension, the air electric as Midoriya crouched on the rooftop overlooking the warehouse. His mind raced, heart pounding in his chest as he replayed Shigaraki’s threat over and over. The League of Villains had Y/N, the person who meant everything to him, and they were holding her as leverage to force him into making the ultimate sacrifice.

He had always been a hero. He had always fought for justice, for the greater good, even when it meant putting his life on the line. But tonight was different. Tonight, he wasn’t just fighting for the world. He was fighting for her.

He knew what he had to do, and it went against everything he had ever believed in.

With a deep breath, he launched himself from the rooftop, landing silently in front of the warehouse entrance. His hands trembled as he pushed open the door, slipping inside. The shadows swallowed him, but his eyes quickly adjusted, and there she was—Y/N, tied to a chair, looking bruised and terrified.

Her eyes met his, a mix of relief and fear. “Deku…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please don’t do anything reckless.”

But he was already past that point. Recklessness had taken root in his heart the moment he realized what he was willing to do to save her.

Footsteps echoed through the darkness, and Shigaraki emerged, his grin wide and cruel. “I knew you’d come, Midoriya. Love really does make fools of us all.”

Midoriya clenched his fists, his whole body tensed, ready for what was to come. “Let her go, Shigaraki.”

Shigaraki’s smile only grew. “You know the deal. One for All in exchange for her life.”

Midoriya took a step forward, the room crackling with the energy that was building inside him. “I’m not giving you One for All.”

“Oh?” Shigaraki tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Then what are you going to do? You’re out of options.”

Y/N’s voice was a desperate whisper. “Deku, don’t…”

But he had already made up his mind. His breath came in ragged bursts as he focused all his power, every ounce of strength and rage, on the man before him.

“I’m going to end you,” Midoriya said, his voice cold, a darkness in it that had never been there before.

Shigaraki’s grin faltered, just for a second, before he laughed. “You? You think you can take me down? You’re just a kid playing hero.”

But Midoriya wasn’t listening. He moved like a blur, his body a force of nature, driven by the fear of losing Y/N, by the overwhelming need to protect her at any cost. He unleashed a devastating punch, One for All roaring to life, the power amplified by his desperation.

Shigaraki barely had time to react before the blow connected, sending him crashing into the wall with bone-shattering force. The sound was sickening, the impact reverberating through the warehouse. But Midoriya didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Every punch, every kick was fueled by the image of Y/N hurt, by the memories of everything Shigaraki had done, the people he had killed, the lives he had ruined. Midoriya’s vision blurred with tears and rage, and he struck again and again, each blow more vicious than the last.

Shigaraki tried to fight back, but Midoriya was relentless, a storm of violence and fury. He didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care that he was crossing a line he could never come back from. All that mattered was making sure Shigaraki could never hurt anyone again.

By the time Midoriya stopped, Shigaraki was barely recognizable, his body broken, beaten beyond repair. The villain lay on the ground, motionless, barely clinging to life.

Midoriya stood over him, his chest heaving, hands shaking, blood splattered across his face and clothes. He had done it. He had crossed the line.

Y/N’s voice cut through the silence, soft and filled with horror. “Deku… what have you done?”

He turned to her, his eyes wild, the adrenaline still coursing through him. But when he saw the fear in her eyes, the tears streaming down her cheeks, something inside him broke.

“I had to,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I couldn’t let him hurt you… I couldn’t…”

She reached out to him, her hands shaking as she touched his face, trying to ground him, to bring him back from the brink. “You’re not a monster, Deku. Please, don’t let him turn you into one.”

But it was too late. The darkness had already seeped into him, staining his soul with the blood of the man he had just destroyed. He had saved her, but at what cost?

The warehouse was silent, save for the sound of Y/N’s sobs and Midoriya’s ragged breathing. The man who had always fought for justice, who had always been a beacon of hope, had done something that could never be undone.

And as they held each other in the cold, empty warehouse, they both knew that nothing would ever be the same.

[asha-mage]

Rand, prompt: pain

(CW: Chronic Pain)

Rand peered down into the cup. It was filled with a murky, slightly foul smelling brew, still frothy with crushed herbs and other things Nynaeve had mixed into it. That wasn’t what held him back though- he had taken far worse smelling and tasting droughts from Nynaeve when she had been Wisdom.

"It's Spider's Breath mixed with, Andaly Root and Callum Seed." Nynaeve said over her shoulder. "It should at the least take some of the sting out."

“I don’t think-“ Rand began, trying to make his voice gentle. He did not succeed. There was to little gentleness left in him to put any into his words.

“Don’t you start with me Rand al’Thor.” Nynaeve said without turning around form her scrip of herbs. “If you do we’ll see if you can sit your fancy throne with a sore bottom.” She paused half way to putting a jar full of what looked like tubers back into it’s holster. When she spoke again her voice was soft. “If you can’t even trust your Wisdom to mix cures for you…”

Rand shook his head, eyes widening in shock. “No! No it’s not that! I just….” He put a hand to his side. “I trust you Nynaeve. But I don’t think herbs can ease this.”

Nynaeve turned then to face him and for a long moment they just stared at each other. She knew him better then most, almost as well as his own father. Maybe better in some ways. When you grew up without a mother in the Two Rivers, many of the duties that fell to a mother- from explaining certain facts of life, to teaching the basics herb lore, to matters of manners- fell to the Wisdom instead. She had soothed his fevers, and bandaged his cuts, and taught him which plants never to touch, and which to look for if he needed aid.

She knew when he was in pain, even when no one else did.

“You hide it well.” She said softly. “You bare up that stone mask of yours, never letting it crack, except when your temper flares so hot you can’t help it.” She turned back to her scrip and slipped the bottle into place. “But you are still flesh Rand al’Thor. Flesh and bone and blood. And you can’t keep ignoring that fact. You must care for the flesh, or it will be the death of you.”

Rand felt his mouth thin. “I can’t afford to be flesh Nynaeve. I must be iron. Steel. Cuendillar.” He sighed then forcing his shoulders to slack. “Besides I’ve gotten…used to it.” He reached towards his side with his hand but stopped short of touching the never healing wound. It still felt like it when he had first awoken on Tomon Head: like a hot coal sitting on his skin. It would flare hotter sometimes, with the wrong move or the wrong gesture or even just when he dwelt on it to long. But he had had learned to live with it.

What was one more mark, one burden on his shoulders?

Nynaeve shook her head and pushed the cup forward. “That doesn't mean we shouldn’t try to soothe the pain if we can’t. There is nothing noble in suffering Rand al’Thor. Nothing noble in being in pain when you could have relief.”

Rand shook his head. She didn’t understand. To be a man was suffering, and being strong enough to survive it. But he knew if he said that, she would call it ‘hairy chested drivel’ and force the concoction down his throat anyways.

Nynaeve sighed when he didn’t move to pick up the cup and tugged once on her braid. “For me Rand.” She said, keeping her voice soft even as anger clearly bubbled up beneath. “As a favor, to the woman who was once your Wisdom, and doesn't want to see you hurting.”

There was no way to argue with that, so Rand sighed and raised the cup to his lips. He was right, it tasted just as foul as it smelled, and did nothing for the ache in his side. But he smiled anyways and threw back his shoulders.

“You where right. Better.” He said.

Nynaeve shook her head. She was not fooled. But she said nothing as she turned back to her scrip.

She would learn eventually Rand knew. There was no point dwelling on what could not be mended- and Rand had long ago been broken beyond repair.

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: “So, that’s where they keep the monsters.” It’s not a question, but rather, a statement. Focus lingering on the structure until it disappears behind the dense woods. She doesn’t sense the look to fall on her. Confusion was written in the other's expression, waiting in anticipation for her explanation. “That thing and me.” wc: 2,444 warnings: therapy, abandonment, lack of parental figure

To surrender is to admit defeat. To admit you’ve struggled, and that you cannot face the world on your own. You stomp out your pride to accept a helping hand, letting everyone see your weakness. Beaten down by a never-ending storm, so you’re left with no other options. Vulnerability is something worn on the sleeve. A fragile heart is easily broken until it can no longer repair itself. Other times, it’s a well-kept treasure hidden behind towering walls. It’s something to fight for - even if the wall only chips away little by little.

“I know how you must feel. Lost and frightened. Just like you were all of those years ago. And now, you’re desperate.”

Desperation seemed like such a far-off term. Autumn wasn’t desperate - she was dying. It was slow and agonizing, feeling every seam of sanity rip and tear even as she fell into Steve’s tight embrace, holding her pieces together. He had sighed out in relief when she came back to him that night, while she remained frozen under his kind touch with fresh tears in her eyes. No one could understand, even if they tried to.

But the man behind his desk promises he can follow her down the darkest path without fear. Ready to illuminate and give clarity on what she can’t understand. He says she may find peace. She may feel more alive, though despise him for the journey needed to get there.

Dr. Owens is all smiles the moment they reconnect. Busying himself as he organizes notebooks across his desk before facing her with pen in hand. “Why don’t we start somewhere simple? How’s your day going?”

There’s a look of confusion etched into the teenager's face, perhaps even some irritation. She had spent hours predicting how their sessions would go, and something so mundane was not on her list of topics. “S’okay, I guess. It’s Winter Break, so, I guess that’s nice.”

He makes a few notes, still smiling down at the paper as he does so. “I always loved Winter Break. Christmas, the New Year. Lots of fun. Lots of getting up to no good, too.” The girl's fingers tap along the armrest, anxiously chewing away at her gum with a drawn-out, “Yep,” in response.

“Do you like school? Do you have any favorite classes? Favorite teachers-”

Hidden from his stare, Autumn casts a bizarre look toward the only other man in the room; Hopper. He sits in total silence, slouched in a chair up against the wall with an intense gaze. A deal had been struck where he would never leave the girl. Not unless she forced him out that door, closing it at his back. Blue eyes meet her halfway, seeming on the same level as her - annoyed.

“S’alright,” she says in a minty sigh. “I like being busy.”

There’s a light chuckle radiating from him, eyes beaming up at her from the scribbled notes. She suddenly feels small under his gaze, palms running back and forth until the sleeves crumple up to her wrists. “You and me both, kid.”

Her avoidant stare falls on him, narrowed with fingers now tight around one another. He speaks with less formality, something more casual. As if knows her. Knew her. A level of undeserved comfort, letting his own walls down to welcome her in. But she won’t step beyond that threshold. Not yet.

“Meet anyone new at school?” He’s unshaken by the stern expression on her features, still holding a gentle smile in hopes it will warm a frigid heart. But it’s slow to thaw. Never shifting safe for the rise of a curious brow, clearly confused. “Any boyfriends? Or…other interests?”

She can’t help but scoff, posture slouching until she’s nearly one with the chair. Knees spread and up against the desk. “Sorry, but, what does my love life have t’do with anything?”

Dr. Owens seems caught off guard by the sudden tone and question. Eyes wide for a second as he processes.“Well, we’re building a connection.” He begins. He seems honest and remains strong against the force of teenage angst. All bottled up and ready to burst like a volcano. “A sense of trust, which…I’m sure you may find difficult. Given what’s happened.”

“Oh, you mean like, my dad leaving me for dead? Someone trying to kidnap me?”

He was warned of her sarcasm. The way she turns on a mocking smile out of spite, before snapping like a viper. It could be chopped up to the twist and turn of hormones as she morphed into someone new. But her bite only grew sharper by the end of that night. When she fully began to understand that she had been left behind. It was a defense.

“Do you want to talk about that? About what happened that night?”

It’s the one question that douses the flames of her spirit. A yearning for more - for truth. What was his purpose as he crept down darkened hallways? What would he have done? Would she ever live to see the light of day again as his hostage? Would she wish for death instead?

But something screams loud enough to drown out the need for clarity. Something unseen telling her to keep the door shut. Lock him out and keep him there where she couldn’t see. A piece of her seeking protection from the reality. It was a painful existence. Voices pulling her back and forth on what she wanted versus what was needed.

Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. “No.” Is her quick response, arms now moving to cross over her chest. Another barrier kept up between her and the doctor. And he accepts her answer with a small nod, agreeing in silence to go at her pace. Uncover what she was ready for.

“How about before that? What life was like.”

The final school bell rings for the day, and she follows their lead like a lost sheep. Everything was packed away, nice and neat. Her small frame vanishes in the sea of children as they pile out into the hallway - a once quiet space overwhelmed by their high-pitched voices and laughter. Others move in the opposite direction - toward the office. It’s far from the double doors set alight by the afternoon sun. A beacon, begging for them to bask in its warmth as parents envelop their children in love. Hours spent apart felt like a lifetime to some. A look of pure wonder and devotion as their child fumbles over how the day went.

Then, they vanish. One by one, they pile into their family cars and pull out of the small parking lot. One by one, the world around the child becomes a little more empty, while she stands patiently at the curb for that familiar Marina. The boy named Steve says goodbye with a frantic wave, following after his mother. She can feel the tension in her fingers as they threaten to mirror his gesture, but they remain firm at her sides.

She wonders what it feels like.

To be so free.

She sits in a cold chair inside of that office - waiting in total silence, with a faint murmur of gossip in the distance. They talk about her father. Some pitied the struggles of living as a single parent, while others spit on his name for leaving his only child behind.

He arrives with a promise it’ll never happen again. Work had him staying too late - traffic was a nightmare. Any excuse he could find to smooth the rough edges. And when they reunite, his smile fails to match the brilliance of the sun, unlike so many others she had seen.

“It’s different for everyone, isn’t it? Everyone-” A heavy sigh escapes her lungs. Unaware of the bruises she afflicts on her skin from a tightened grip. “Everyone has their normal.”

Dr. Owens nods along with her words, leaving the pen abandoned in the fold of his book, choosing to focus on her words, instead. “But what was it like for you?”

She stands prideful in the den of their home. Toes wiggling inside thick socks, twisting up the loose threads with excitement until the knots come free. The girl studies his face in silence, watching as it shifts from aggravation to something more bright. A lost spark glistens in his eye as he reads over the report card. He says nothing at first, encouraging quiet anxiety to rise and spill across the threshold. “I can get an ‘A’ if I do extra credit. I brought the packet home-”

But he doesn’t sing a song of praise. He doesn’t announce the pride he feels in having such a hardworking daughter. Someone so determined to make something of themselves. Ian wears a mask of joy - congratulating his girl with a warm embrace. He promises a celebration that never comes. Too engulfed in a world much bigger than her. Something she couldn’t understand as she stood at his closed door, eagerly waiting for his approval.

“I don’t know if he cared.” Tense shoulders are now relaxed. Skin littered with unseen goosebumps and a familiar heat in her cheeks. Soon, her vision blurs. Filled with the flow of heartache. The dam is breaking - letting the tides rise and consume. The girl wipes a soft sleeve across her cheek, averting her gaze to an empty wall, where no one could see the broken structure. “Not the way others do.”

“You don’t think he loved you?”

“N-no, I-I think he loved me. Just…in his own way. I used t'think he had the wrong kid.”

“Maybe it’s too late. Because when I actually needed you, you weren’t fucking there. I had t’beg you t’look for him. And when he showed up - when I needed somebody, you were busy working on your goddamn projects, which is clearly more important than ‘family.’”

The man across from her says nothing, catching the interest of the girl as she spares a watery glance in his direction. His smile is tight. Forced. A pained look in his eye as the pressure of all he wants to say, grows. It builds and presses at his insides, and yet his teeth clamp hard enough to keep it all at bay, rather than ridding himself of the silent burden. He holds her pain for now, like a wounded bird, waiting to grow strong and take flight. But her wings are still delicate, unlike her spirit. She searches for freedom, now. He protects her from the fatal fall by simply nodding along, and adding notes to the paper.

The sessions only last an hour, though it feels like time has stretched on forever. He says this is only the beginning - and that in time, she may find days where she won’t want to leave. Autumn doubts that. Her throat is dry and her mind is filled with only static. Exhausted from the life she had to re-live with a semi-present father, and absent mother as the supernatural spilled out from her veins.

Her body is slouched in the passenger seat, eyes locked on the building that grows smaller with the distance added. Just like the morning, there was a sensation of nausea as it loomed above like a dark cloud. Something threatening, but without a clear reason for why. Autumn hated this place, but Hopper stood at her side in support. It gave her enough courage so she could face this unknown fear.

And it seems so far from this evil, menacing thing. The rooms are set alight by the sun, curtains pulled back for life to sweep through. The staff wears only smiles - though timid as they quickly turn away from only a girl. There are secrets buried in this place. Jonathan’s warning sounded off like a siren about the creature that came crawling through dimensions.

“So, that’s where they keep the monsters.” It’s not a question, but rather, a statement. Focus lingering on the structure until it disappears behind the dense woods. She doesn’t sense the look to fall on her. Confusion was written in the other's expression, waiting in anticipation for her explanation. “That thing and me.”

The truck suddenly lurches forward as his foot slams on the brake, the seatbelt digging into her skin from the force. Hopper acts without thought, hastily putting the Chevy into park before turning to fully face her, no matter the strangle of the belt that confines him. “You listen t’me,” he begins. Face stern and leaving the girl to shrink away under his stare. “You’re no monster. You’re just a kid.”

The pressure builds and she’s unable to keep eye contact, her gaze shifting towards the window as a familiar warmth dusts along her skin. The feeling of vulnerability as he pries open a weakened shell - if only just enough for her to hear his plea.

“You didn’t ask for this t’happen t’you. These - these things are just a part of you, and you deserve t’find some sort of…comfort.”

The word tastes like poison. It’s soaked his tongue and drips down his throat - scorched and burning as it eats him up from the inside. Dr. Owens says he’ll take things slow and base it all on her responses before unveiling the truth. Pulling back the curtain that hides away her past. There is no peace within the shadows - only clarity, accompanied by the heavy burden of knowledge.

“Tell me you don’t see something worthy of less.”

The girl at his side is lost in silence. Unable to speak with honesty for fear of the heartbreak it would cause. Unable to confess her reflection only held memories of trauma. From the mocking voices dancing through school halls - to the whispers in her mind that keep her awake through the night. A slumbering demon was rising from a long rest, clawing its way out now that she’d opened the door. It was too late, now. Succumbing to the death it brings and unable to close it off.

She twists at the stone around her neck; Tigers Eye. One of the few remaining in the loss of her home - her life. A kiss laid to its surface from relief - hoping it would bring power as she walked through those doors. Steal away her anxieties and clear her mind from a haze. Trembling fingers fiddle until the thread is tight against her neck, pinching at the skin. A steadying breath fills her chest, and cascades like a waterfall - all pressure leaving her chest and releasing the necklace to lay flat beneath her palm.

“I want t’see Jonathan.”

[missiletoe]

another fill for bonus round 3 of the yuri shipping olympics!!

Ship: Kitty/Yuri Word Count: 711 Prompt: "Associated with Buddhism, the white lotus is the flower of spirituality by excellence. This pond plant, which blooms in summer, symbolizes purity, mysticism and reincarnation. With its roots submerged in the mud, the lotus will always produce beautiful flowers above the water. For this reason, the lotus represents the elevation of the consciousness and the spirit." - [hanakotoba] (reincarnation, you say...? 😮)

CONTENT WARNING FOR BLOOD AND GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE - i mixed some doomed yuri and yuri women with swords into this fic

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There are white lotuses blooming on the day they die. The battlefield is spilled with blood, the mud caking flesh and metal alike but in sporadic patches across the valley, there are beautiful white lotuses blooming in the sun. Yuri sighs and thinks that there could be worse last sights.

She shifts in her armor, feels the wood dig into her ribcage as the spear that’s got her through the heart tears against her chest. She lets out a hiss of pain as she tries to claw at it.

There are no medics to find her on this field–they won’t come for a fortnight at least–and even if there were, she doesn’t need a doctor to tell her that she’s broken beyond repair. The last of the Emperor’s Guard, slain in an ambush like this. Outnumbered ten to one, but at least they fought valiantly before they died. At least they fought tooth and nail, scraped the bottom of their souls for resolve until they had nothing left to give and hopefully that’ll earn them a line in a two-thousand line sonnet and a seat at the golden table of heaven.

The last of the Emperor’s Guard–unless. Yuri turns on her side, gnaws through her tongue to dull the pain to find her.

Ah. Yuri doesn’t know if it’s relief or guilt that crushes her chest when she turns to see Kitty speared right through the neck. Still hacking wheezy breaths out of her chest–but the breaths of a dying man, not a living one.

They’ve always been together, attached at the hip by more than just sworn loyalty to the Emperor and it seems only fitting that they go out together. At least Kitty won’t have to continue on without her. At least Yuri won’t have to live without her. (She wouldn’t see the point in that.)

“Kitty,” she says, gripping her hand in hers. Kitty’s gaze is loose and languid as it tracks her face. Her blade is shattered on her knee, the tip impaled in a skull next to them. “Kitty, look at me.”

“I,” Kitty swallows, a line of blood trailing down her face. Yuri wipes it away with her thumb and licks it clean. “I guess I shouldn’t have skipped so much training, huh?”

Yuri laughs, her nose in the petals. Kitty makes her shredded heart feel light in her chest.

“You were a shitty lieutenant,” she spits out. It’s all spilling out of her–sincerity mixing with the blood that dribbles down her mouth. “But you’re not bad company to go out with.”

Kitty licks her lips and scowls, defiant even in death.

“Partner,” she insists stubbornly. They’re toying with the semantics even on the brink of death.

Yuri laughs and concedes because it’s Kitty–it’s always Kitty and she’s never been able to say no to a face like hers.

“Partner,” she echoes quietly and her arms buckle under her as she lands with her chin on the dirt.

She wonders if in a hundred years, they will remember the sorry excuse of a battle fought here. She wonders if in a thousand years, the Empire will still stand. She wonders if in ten thousand, there will still be people to walk the path of her graveyard.

She wonders if she will become fertilizer for the next batch of white lotuses, witness to another pair of star-crossed lovers meeting their untimely end.

She closes her eyes. Beside her, Kitty’s chest has gone still in her armor and her fingers have gone cold. Yuri stops wondering after that.

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There is a girl standing alone at the entrance ceremony, looking like a child abandoned on their first day of daycare. Yuri raises one arm in a greeting.

“Hi!” she yells across the field. “You lost?”

The girl turns and there’s something heavy in the weight of her expression. She’s drawn in bold, brash lines against the outline of the crowd, like she’s done in charcoal on a watercolor painting. 

They’ve never met before but something like recognition crosses her face when she spots Yuri. She raises one hand and waves back, a smile pressed onto her face.

There’s something glinting in the sun and Yuri squints to make it out.

Pinned to her breast pocket is a small white lotus.

[matthewbaudelaire]

Synopsis: An emotional encounter involving his father drives Matthew to a self-destructive behavior. Jean-Claude (@duderosiers) takes him to hospital and the two share a sweet moment together. Trigger Warnings: hospital, self-harm, depression, suicide ideation, disturbing imagery

Matthew sat with his hands cradled in his lap, poorly wrapped with thin sheets of cotton gauze saturated scarlet. He had made his own poor attempt at tending to his wounds after the self-inflicted altercation with the bark of a pine tree and the sought after intentional fight with a random stranger out in the streets but it was hard when every movement made his fingers splinter with pain. He'd just managed to scrape the splinters from his knuckles and pour hydrogen peroxide over the mutilated skin and loosely wrap them, fingers already turning purple from the bruising. His lip was split, both eyes blackened, he was pretty sure a rib or two was bruised, and his thigh from when he'd been knocked down and kicked repeatedly until he stopped trying to get up. He hurt, all over, but it felt good. It felt like a relief to be so broken up outside that it finally matched how he was feeling on the outside, a strange macabre sort of validity that it was also shameful and he couldn't bear to have anyone look at him, least of all Jean-Claude and yet there he was in the passenger seat of the car with J.C. in the driver's, off to the hospital to be seen by more people.

"I'm sorry," he felt himself saying, his tongue felt sore, he must have bitten it at some point. He looked out the window, at the dark shadows of passing buildings and trees, almost imagining monsters within them that would chase the car. Maybe if he was lucky, one would swallow him whole. He didn't know what he expected when Matthew wouldn't text back or return his calls - the worst, probably, Jean-Claude knew that his boyfriend struggled with depression and reaching out when he needed help. That's why J.C often took the barging approach, worming his way into the cracks and ripping them apart till his endless need to care couldn't be ignored.

And yet - this? This was not something even he could've forseen. A hand bludgeoned, the man he adored broken into a thousand tiny pieces. The winces with each breath, the coaxing to get him into a car so the two could get him proper help. Jean-Claude was silent as he drove, his chattiness once again extinguished in the face of something he didn't know how to deal with. He hadn't asked how it had happened, wouldn't, knew that self-destructive tendencies ran in Baudelaire blood.

"Its okay," voice soft, a hand leaving the steering wheel to pat at a thigh. "It'll be okay," J.C wasn't convinced by his own words anymore.

Perhaps the worst part of all this was J.C.'s kindness towards him, it was so undeserved that Matthew felt his head shake as swollen eyes started to well with tears. He didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve him, the thoughts spiraled in his mind, taking root and not letting him go until it clutched around his lungs and made it even harder to breathe. He kept thinking back to the advice his uncle had given him, to ask Jean-Claude how much would be too much, where was the breaking point, what did he need to do to ruin this beyond repair, but fear paralyzed him and made him mute. All he could do now was hold his ruined hands and cry. It wasn't noticed at first, the tears silent before a hitch of breath alerted Jean-Claude to Matthew's sobs, panic immediately seizing him. He had seen his boyfriend in many states but, never likes this. So defeated, so clearly ready to give up and J.C made a split decision to suddenly turn the car and half-park on the side of the road just before they really hit the hospital. Engine killed, lights off, the vampire turned to his boyfriend. Oh. That beautiful face, how it was so often etched with sadness, with rage, while all he desired was to see it light up with a smile.

"Matty," voice low, hands reaching up to gently cup a jaw, being careful of bruising. "Oh Matty," What else was there to say? A thumb caressed skin lovingly. It even hurt to cry, the swollen parts of his face protested the emotion that spilled out of him, stretching skin uncomfortably as it burned beneath his skin, the only reprieve came from the cold touch of Jean-Claude's tender fingers against his stubbled jaw. "I'm sorry," he said again, tears hot, feeling like magma scouring down his cheeks. He swallowed thickly, "I --" he licked his lips, tasted salt and iron, "I tried to be better." It was so easy to fall and so hard to get back up. "I'm sorry." A shush came from his lips the moment his boyfriend began to apologise for the state he was in, J.C shaking his head. "No apologies," He asked of him sweetly, moving to carefully swipe away at fast falling tears, brow painted with both concern and sorrow. Everything he carried so quietly had reared up to eat him alive, J.C determined to salvage what he could from the jaws of a beast he wasn't sure he could beat. "I know. It's okay - to fall down again. I will help you back up everytime," And, he thought,the times you can't get up, I'll drag you up to stand and keep you propped upright till you can.

Jean-Claude knew his boyfriend was in pain, and desired him close anyways, gentle touches bringing Matty to his chest best he could for a hug. Had love always been so painful? He couldn't remember. Matthew shifted, uncomfortable as it was in the seat of the car, so that he could be pulled in closer to Jean-Claude, his thigh pushing against the buckle of the seatbelt near the center console against a tender bruise beneath his jeans. He told himself he deserved the discomfort and the pain as penance for every wrong he'd done. "You don't have to," voice muffled, weak and wavering, eyes burning as he sniffled and fear entered. This was too much, he was too much. Jean-Claude deserved better than him, someone who would smile with him always, someone who didn't need to be fitted back together, someone whose edges were a little less serrated, a little bit easier to swallow, not him who was more broken glass than person. "Am I --" his voice faltered, struggling to get the words out, to even find the right ones or any words at all, Am I hard to love? Will you leave? Am I so easy to leave? Please don't leave me.

"How much is too much?" He finally asked. Am I too much? Does it hurt too much? In the end he couldn't come up with his own words and borrowed the exact ones his uncle had given him, "What does fucking this up look like?" "I want to. I think you're worth it, you know that, deep down," Jean-Claude responded to him softly, cold lips pressing kiss after kiss to the others hairline. It was true, Matthew had taken root in him long ago and such a tree resisted the rot he was insistent he had. He thought about how he'd pined for Matty, wanted nothing more than to keep him in bed every morning after their early fumblings and feedings. How such a thing had blossomed into wanting him to be safe, warm, happy. Above all, loved. Was it unrealistic, to believe he alone could provide all those things? Perhaps but, J.C was willing to try.

The question caught him off guard, grip around Matty slackening slightly as the words hit his ears. How much is too much?. What did that mean? What does fucking this up look like? Ice crept up his spine slowly was - was Matty attempting to break up with him? Or persuade him to break up with him? Green eyes stared deeply into Hazel, shaking his head, curls bouncing with sheer force.

"Look at me." J.C all but demanded, soft voice discarded, waiting for the gaze. God. What a mess the face was, J.C would need to find who did this and make them pay somehow. "Honestly? I don't know. But - it isn't this. You told me, when we got together, that you'd disappoint me. Hasn't happened yet," He reminded him. "I'm in this relationship with all of you, Matty. The good and the not-so-good. People are complicated, I accept this part of you, and love it just as much as the other," Hazel eyes wanted to look away but the demand in Jean-Claude's voice for their eyes to meet was too pressing to ignore, so desperate to keep him, Matthew's eyes locked onto his. It was easy not to believe him, how could this not be a disappointment, he'd already convinced himself that he was one that it was hard to believe the opposite could be true but the rest of Jean-Claude's words stopped him. One word in particular. It registered in his eyes, the surprise at hearing it. Love. Was it love? Love. Could he really love him?

The dark bruising around his eyes, red and violet made the lightness of his eyes more apparent, lashes dark and clinging together in dampened spikes shadowed in the dimness of the car's interior, illuminated only by the streetlights outside that came down from through the windshield and the passenger window behind his head. His tumultuous emotions seemed to subside, the burning fear in his stomach dissipated as quickly as it had come and all that was left now was an all too familiar hollow ache as the emotions left his beaten and battered form.

"I'm sorry," the words ended up falling out of his lips once more, unable to do anything else but apologize again, "for being so much trouble… and for ignoring your texts." He leaned his head against the side of Jean-Claude's, "And for bleeding in your car." The energy in the vehicle seemed to drop all at once, the others sobs quietening down and leaving a hollow that Jean-Claude himself was all too familiar with. At least sadness filled something, nothing was endless, you chucked things at a black hole only foe them to get sucked in, and its pull to strengthen….

For him, Matty plugged that up. J.C hadn't felt better in years.

"You aren't trouble. You will never be troublesome nor a burden to me, Mon soleil," My sun, for he was just a planet that orbited him. Should the star collapse, J.C was sure to go with it. "What's a bit of blood to a vampire?" He asked, closing his eyes for a few brief moments as his boyfriend leaned against him. He listened to everything, the steady breathing, the thump of a slowing heartbeat, fingers drumming against a thigh. All lullabies capable of sending Jean-Claude to sleep….

"Feel like getting back on the road?" He wouldn't push if Matty needed a few more minutes. Matthew's eyes closed as well as he leaned into Jean-Claude, he had a firmness in him that was constantly surprising the human, a sense of security unfamiliar that he was still testing, the last thing he wanted to do was put too much weight on the other and damage the structural integrity that build him up. As much as J.C. said he would pick Matthew up whenever he fell, he did not want it to be too frequent, for every foundation, no matter how secure, was sure to crumble over time.

For the moment though, Matthew leaned the weight of his troubles and weary heart against him, relearning how to breathe, the drumming of the vampire's fingers against his thigh setting the pace for the beating of his heart until they were matched in time. As much as it hurt all over, part of him didn't want to leave. If they could just stay here like this, this small nice moment for a little bit longer, so he shook his head, forehead against the side of Jean-Claude's temple, the gesture felt more than seen.

"One more minute." The two sat, simply absorbing the company of the other, finding a quite solace in the silence of the car. Jean-Claude kept his eyes closed, not needing to breathe but doing it anyways. It often felt oddly calming to do such a thing, to focus on something else other than the silence his body gave. It was soon to be chaos in ED, a place J.C found himself frequenting with those he loved more than he'd like to admit.

One more minute. He counted it, tapped out all 60 of those seconds before slowly opening his eyes and letting out a sigh. It would be so easy to go home and hide from the world but…Matthew needed that hand looking at. Without it there would be no pottery, and with no pottery, a light would surely die within his boyfriend.

J.C turned, just a fraction, to press a careful kiss against his boyfriends lips. "Sorry. Pause is over," voice genuinely apologetic as he turned the key, engine roaring back to life. "Yeah," Matthew conceded, returning the kiss as reality filtered back in. He shifted back into his seat as the car's engine rumbled to life, thoughtless he tried to shift where the seatbelt strap rested against his shoulder and across his chest by sliding his hand across it, earning him a sharp sting of renewed pain from the action. He'd broken enough bones in the past to recognize how it felt. A broken hand previously wouldn't have mattered much to the human, an inconvenience only but now it was tied to something else he enjoyed and he couldn't deny that his thoughts were now lingering on the fact that he would have to stop pottery for some time until it healed and likely earn him a lot of disgruntled clients who were waiting for holiday presents. He would have a lot of time on his hands. A lot of time to do nothing. He wasn't good at nothing.

The drive to the hospital from here felt shorter than the first half, and they reached it unfairly soon. It was nearly a two hour wait in ED, even for a weeknight the place filled with an all manner of people. That was even before x-rays, prodding and poking, bones reset and wrapped up properly, pain meds administered. Go back to your doctor in a week to see how it's healing, rest etc etc. Questions regarding an assault, was there any charges that needed to be pressed? Jean-Claude made the decision to ask Matthew to stay at his for a day or two, just until he was somewhat standing stable. To look after him, to make sure that this self-destruction didn't spiral further into something worse.

If he was upset, worried, deeply concerned - J.C kept it quiet, knowing that his boyfriend would take such concerns as proof of his burdensome existence.

Still - it wasn't all bad. Having Matty at home felt nice, having him around was nice. "You alright?" He calls, shoving the front door open, bags in his arms full of actual food and a good brand of coffee. J.C often had some bits and bats in but, nothing substantial. Getting a meal with complimenting foods was a new challenge for the man who hadn't eaten in years. It wasn't always successful. Matthew has always tried to keep himself busy, because if he was busy then he wouldn't get caught up in the shroud of dark thoughts that seemed to follow him like a cloud of black smoke followed a coal engine, and being unable to work sucked. Being unable to do things sucked. He couldn’t even brew himself a decent cup of coffee without some assistance, the cast on his hand a wonderful nuisance. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was Jean-Claude. It was surprisingly really nice not having to say goodbye and instead only saying goodnight and then good morning. There was something entirely blissful about going to sleep in his arms and waking up still in them without the urgency or need to leave. It felt soft and delicate and he felt clumsy like a foal faced with something new.

"Yea, good," Matthew sounded from the couch, he'd just been watching some YouTube video where a professional volleyball player watched the anime Haikyu on his phone but stopped the video so he could get up, "Let me help, sansgue," quick to offer, always eager to try and help where he could. "I can take that." He had one partly good hand still. Everyday he got home and Matthew was still somewhere in the apartment made his little bud of anxiety shrivel further up, smile on his face as his boyfriend was quick to get up. J.C knew that not being at work, nor making art, was driving his boyfriend no short of stir-crazy. "Sure," A bag was handed immediately off, knowing that the other desperately desired something to do.

It was odd, living with someone else. Not bad odd - just different, coming home to a place that felt busy, no longer a lonely apartment. Jean-Claude hadn't properly lived with someone since….God, the 70s? And even then it wasn't like this. Matthew would eventually go home but…this was something to store for later. You can live together, it works.

"Wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner tomorrow? Or order in," The bruising wasn't…well. It wasn't great but J.C didn't think it looked as severe. Perhaps it was just him trying to convince himself Matty appeared better when…maybe be didn't. Matthew hoisted the bag in his grasp, concealing the strain and the pain by gritting his teeth until he had delivered it to a clear spot on the kitchen counter. He flexed his 'good' fingers, throbbing already from the short work and then started to remove items from the bag so they could be put away.

"And let the… two bushels of cauliflower you bought go to waste?" Matthew mused as he pulled them out. He teased because he could but really he was conscious of the dark purple bruises around his eyes, still a bit swollen, skin still tight. His hesitance on going out perhaps visible in the line of his lips, turned up into a smirk that was a little bit too small to be genuine. "Let's order in," he said, "I've been kind of craving mango sticky rice from that one Thai spot. You know, the one with the, um, teacup looking logo." "Its a vegetable. They're good for you," In actual fact, J.C felt somewhat overwhelmed by stepping into a supermarket and seeing everything on offer. Certainly, in his time, he'd been present at some lavish feasts but this was different. It gave him an odd sense of helplessness, and cauliflower happened to be on offer so he bought two. "I don't know what to do with it," He added on later, knowing he'd have to Google it. Jean-Claude was getting better with cooking but, knew he still had hurdles to cross. The vampire could hand make pasta but steaming? Very worrying.

"Order in it is," Thats why he asked, knowing that Matthew might not be up for strangers with their probing gazes and indelicate questions. Not even Jean-Claude knew what had happened to put his boyfriend in such a state…he still hadn't asked. "Oh yeah," Not that he'd really be partaking…even if he sometimes did get food just to feel more human, despite it tasting like ash on his tongue.

Never before has he missed being mortal. Now? It seemed to creep up on him in increasing amounts. Matthew nodded, his smile becoming more genuine, yes, vegetables were good for him and it was very sweet that he'd bought them considering that. He paused the task of unloading the bag of groceries to press a kiss against the cool side of the vampire's cheek. "I know what to do with cauliflower," he leaned into Jean-Claude’s side, "They're good roasted in the oven with olive oil. Salt and pepper. Or can make a cheese sauce and mix them in." A few random recipes off the top of his head or they could experiment.

He left one more kiss with J.C. before returning to the task of emptying the bag, pulling out a nice looking bag of coffee grounds that he sniffed and turned the packaging around so he could check it out further, clearly interested in it. Any given bit of affection is like an addiction to Jean-Claude who craves Matthew like no other thing. Its not even about the blood, its about feeling that somebody wants you, needs you. He was made to adore, yes but, he was also made to be adored.

Green eyes watch Matty fiddle with the coffee, hoping its a good enough offering. The last light of the day is long gone, winters darkness already in place, the warm glow of atmospheric lamps placed artfully around the apartment giving his boyfriend a soft aura. Oh, if that cold heart could swell with love it would. "I quite like you here. Having you all to myself," he admitted. The human lifts his head, turns to look at Jean-Claude as a small and soft smile begins to spread over his features; it hurts to smile, split lip and bruises pair any emotion with a dull throb, but he can't help it, the smile comes easily whenever he's with J.C. and it comes swiftly now. "I quite like being here." He makes his own quiet admission, "It's nice." Nice, such a small word to describe how it feels but he's never been good at expressing himself. The admission makes him all fluttery inside, unable to hide his own smile that immediately brightens up his features. He playfully bumps his hip against Matty's, hand raising to gently thumb against the plaster of the cast. J.C has drawn on it naturally, a bright Sunflower, leaving room for others who'll probably want to sign (Asher springs to his mind).

"Well," He humms, silly and fragile idea forming in his head. "You can stay as long as you want," More than the two days they'd agreed on. A week, a month, forever if he wanted. "And…I'll give you a spare key. So you can come round whenever you like," Matthew pauses, giving Jean-Claude a look that can only be described as vulnerable as the hazel in his eyes turns warm. "A spare key," he breathes slowly, feels the ache in his ribs as lungs expand. It's a second later of brief contemplation because he doesn't need to really think about it for too long to know that he wants it but that doesn't make it any less serious. A spare key, potentially room for him in a closet, a place for things in the bathroom, filling up the empty spaces of a kitchen with human things, things for him to make it a shared space of living, of living together eventually. "Okay," he nods once, eyes on the fingers on his cast bounce back up to J.C.'s face to see a smile that mirrors his own. "I'll stay the week," he says just as a start. I'll stay the week. The smile on his face seems to grow at the sheer idea of having Matty around more, sharp teeth on show and it takes restraint he usually doesn't have to jump at Matty and convince him to do filthy things on the damned kitchen counter. The spare key's a good idea then, it just makes sense that the other could come and go as he pleased, especially while still visibly injured. It was more than allowing him in, it was a chance to leave and come back to. It was a show of trust.

Those eyes! There must be a god for only a divine being could craft how they look when not clouded by pain or misery. J.C does indulge in his want, albeit carefully, slipping an arm around his boyfriends waist to bring him close for a kiss. He doesn't want to jostle any broken bones. His smile remains as he steps forward, reducing the space between them until there was none and still remains even as their lips meet. Physical pain almost entirely ignored for this pocket of happiness created just for them. He dares to be playful, as much as he can, nipping at the vampire's bottom lip as he pulls J.C.'s body even closer, earning himself a wince that manifests as a sharp inhale and a laugh. He remembers the soft admission made by Jean-Claude in the car, love, and feels it in his shoulders and across his chest applying a pressure there that makes his spine tingle in an unconscious shiver, thinking a quiet thought, Is this love? A foreign thing almost unfamiliar and not something he thought he'd ever be faced with, something that belonged entirely to others and couldn't be claimed by himself, somehow convinced he was forever barred from this precious thing, yet here he thought maybe, just maybe, it wasn't as unattainable as he thought. Matty leans into it, a source of delight for Jean-Claude who cannot stop the grin he gives into the kiss, bodies pressed flushed against eachother. Its almost maddening, the surge of emotion that rises through him whenever his boyfriend laughs, touches him gently, lavishes J.C with affection. Even then, the sound breaks forth from his lips anyways, a pure and happy sound and he pulls away only to kiss Matthew twice more afterwards. Hands move to secure themselves around the others neck. Ah, he thinks to himself, idly, it is love. It had been so many years since such an emotion had completely filled him up till it overflowed, unable to get the chalice any fuller than it currently was. "My boyfriend," he purrs softly. "You are mine. All mine, you know. I'm never giving up any inch of you," Matthew didn't anticipate the way Jean-Claude's purred words would make him feel but they glide over him warm like a velvet throw and envelop his heart. It's insane how much he physically responds to Jean-Claude's voice, goose bumps blossom down the backs of his arms and he thanks god that he's wearing a sweater to hide that fact. "I like the way that sounds," he mutters back lowly, speaking against his lips. "I like being yours."

[martieshub]

He could stare at her and the way she'd have conversations with her family and not get tired of that. His eyes conveyed he was fine or really wishing they wouldn't convey what he tried to hide. Smiling at her as if to give her the silent aokay from him he turned to look at Charlie.

❛Two sisters, my mom and I. Dad was just an ingredient. Then a whole bunch of nieces and nephews and in laws. ❜ The way he mentioned his dad made it clear he thought less than nothing on the man. But tried his best not to let it sour his tone. It was more than enough that he had taken another piece of his soul when he came face to face with him. As evident by his current injuries. ❛We're that annoyingly close type of family. ❜

He laughed as his hand went to his side to make sure his stitches hadn't burst and when they seemed fine, he sighed in relief. ❛She was more suspicious but when I was forthright about who I was and didn't come in with a pretense of being someone else, I think that helped a bit since I actually did need her help. ❜ Technically, they were chasing the same rabbit hole and met in the middle but he didn't deem it necessary to add that. ❛I actually didn't think she'd help me so there was that. I could say I'm different than the rest until my face turns blue but she got to see I didn't operate the same as them. Which if the agency boys heard me say that they'd say that was my biggest weakness. ❜

And they wouldn't be wrong, he cared a little too much and wanted to change a system that was broken beyond repair. But he was stubborn and with that he'd lie his life down to reach that goal. And hell, he did. His mind wandered back to that mission he had asked her to come to and shook out of the memory of that time. ❛Quite frankly, there were so many times I could say I wasn't like the rest and I didn't need anything from her. I wasn't that type of person before she finally believed me. I wasn't in her life just to get something out of her, or looking for something to get out of her. ❜ He didn't know why he was going on about his actual feelings but Charlie seemed like the type to not want to be fed lies and in an odd way he wanted to make a good impression on him. Even if he didn't ever get Elizabeth to realize he was in love with her. Which at this point he was starting to believe he never would.

His eyes flickered to the jellyfish exhibit, a small smile crossed over his features knowing that his nieces would be talking his ear off about them. Wally's head tilted toward Charlie and the question made him shake his head. ❛No. That's the honest truth though. I know I can just say this and have them just be words but honestly, I would burn myself before I ever let anything happen to her. She's always had a choice. If there is a case I bring and she is not comfortable with it, that's the end of that. The feeling of helping bringing someone to justice. I feel like I'm not the best one to answer that. ❜ There was a soft sigh that came with that question as he nodded. ❛We do have teams but most cold cases get thrown into the archive. No one cares to open them back up, either because time limitations have passed or because it dealt with someone who wouldn't be missed. Those are the cases that I can't drop. Even if everyone else has. She helps me with those. Giving closure to families or spouses who need answers and who never got them because we failed them. ❜

That felt like he was about to get reprimanded but stayed quiet and did as he was told. He followed him to the restroom, holding his breath as he wasn't sure what he was in for. Whatever it was it had put him on edge and could feel his heart drop. For someone who gladly jumped out of windows and running cars, this was the one thing that had him inwardly panic. He had avoided Elizabeth's eyes for fear of letting her know he was slightly panicking. Awkwardly he stood holding his arms over his stomach as he waited for Charlie to do or say whatever he wanted to.

She felt guilty knowing that she had missed something and that despite that he was in pain he was still here. Orion and Anna were chatting about how excited they were for the penguin encounter that Elizabeth had managed to snag for the boys birthday, when she chanced another look over her shoulder at the men. They were a few feet behind them, she gave Charlie a look to make sure he wasn't being rude and playing nice, a small glance to Wally to make sure he was holding up okay before she was pulled into another conversation about the coral farm they were seeing just up ahead. Worry that he might be pushing himself more than he needed to was still at the forefront of her mind and she'd take him home the moment he couldn't take anymore.

Charlie kept in step with the man, occasionally looking over at him to let him know he was paying attention. But also assessing him. Seeing the things that he knew sometimes people thought they could hide. Old habits did not die for Charlie, he had just found a way to put them to use in a different way in the new life he had carved out for himself.

The mention of a sister made Charlie like him already for personal reasons, he loved his biological sister and now the friend who had come to know as his sister, furiously. The way he spoke about his sister and now his life with her children made him happy and also explained why Orion came back from Easter with stories of new friends. This also made him look at his friends back suspiciously. ❝ Is it just your mom, sister and you? ❞ Allowing herself to get close to someone was already an unusual thing, but to attend a family gathering of that person and even take her godson with her was something else entirely. It spoke of comfort. Something he had not known her to do, especially not with someone on the side of the law that could find out about her past. She tended to be deathly allergic to suits and the boys in blue.

The smile that came to Charlies face was genuine as Wally talked about trust and honesty. ❝ So she knew and didn't tell you to jump off a bridge? ❞ It was said jestingly, but sincerely, he wanted to know if she had just let him in from the go or if it took time. ❝ Earned. ❞ The word was repeated to himself as he found it fitting, nothing ever came easy with Elizabeth, he had learned that in the years since they knew each other. Somethings never changed.

Watching as they came up to to the jelly fish exhibit he watched his wife, friend and son begin to excitedly point all the different ones and smile at each other. Turning to face the man, his eyebrow arched, he had heard half truths for so long that he knew something was being omitted here. Elizabeth and he were sharing a secret. Whether it was something he needed to be concerned or not, he would think about that later. ❝ Was there anything you took advantage of in that situation? ❞ He was beginning to let the protective part of him surface up, this situation she placed herself in not setting right with him. ❝ Some would like to use that excuse to get away with convincing someone to do things they wouldn't normally do. ❞ Thoughts of the day he found her in Amsterdam all those years ago flashed in his mind. While he had taught her to defend herself, he knew there was nothing he could do to keep her from diving headfirst into situations that she found comfort in. The need for chaos, for some sort of hurt because she thought she deserved it was a concern he always had for her. But when she left New York, he knew that she needed to take her own journey the way he had, all he could do is be there for her when ever she needed him. ❝ So, she helps you with your cases? What's in it for her? Don't you have teams of people to help? She has a business to run too. How often does this happen? ❞

Leaning against a wall, he crossed his arms as he took in the sight of the man. Eyes roamed his form and taking in certain ways he held himself up, the way Elizabeth had helped him to the car, he tsk'd before spotting the restroom. Calling out to the women and his son, he said that they were going to step away for a moment. Anna smiled and waved. Orion continued his journey to the next exhibit, Elizabeth shot him a quizzical look before he waved it away and gave her a thumbs up. Looking back at Wally his head nodded towards the restroom. ❝ Come. ❞ Was the simple command he gave.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

RW: Accident - Carlisle Cullen

(A/N) Why does it sometimes escalate like that? Geez...I was certainly not planing on writing four pages for this request, yet here we are. I hope you like it!

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: dead parents (already happened), car accident

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

I cringed at the squeaking sound the breaks of my old car made as we came to a stop. I really had to get it checked out soon.

Movement on the passenger side drew my attention and I turned to look at my little sister. She had grabbed her backpack and her right hand was already on the door handle, ready to jump out. I rolled my eyes at her readiness to get out of my car.

“Have a good day at school, Y/S/N.” She grinned and jumped out, but before she closed the door, she turned back to look at me.

“Are you going to pick me up again?” I shook my head.

“No, Amy’s mom is going to bring you home.” She groaned, before a wicked grin spread across her lips.

“Are you busy with a certain doctor?” She wiggled her eyebrows, making me laugh.

“I may be. But that, is none of your business.” She rolled her eyes but smiled before she closed the door and started to walk to the entrance of the school.

I quickly rolled down my window.

“I love you!” Y/S/N turned around and flipped me off, making me chuckle. I quickly returned the gesture, knowing that our mom would beat me bloody if she saw me encouraging that kind of behavior. God have mercy on her.

I stayed in the car until Y/S/N entered the school, before I put the car in reverse and drove off. While driving I wondered what I was supposed to do for the few hours before Carlisle’s shift ended. I could go home and text him to pick me up on his way home…or I could go into the city and grab a coffee. None of those options sounded good to me, so I decided to drive around for a bit.

But even that became boring quickly.

Music…I need music.

I started to fiddle with the radio, which wasn’t working, as usual, until I heard a loud beep. My head snapped up and I saw two deer standing on the road, blocking traffic from both sides. The driver of the car that was standing on the other lane was waving his arm out of his window trying to catch my attention.

I quickly stepped onto the breaks but nothing happened. I felt panic spread through me as I tried again and again. Still, the car wouldn’t slow down. Only moments before I would’ve hit the deer, I pulled the stirring wheel to the right and crashed into the crash barrier.

Thankfully, at least the air bags were working. But as my head crashed against the bag, I felt a sharp pain on my forehead and blood started trickling down my face.

I pulled back from the bag with a groan and leaned back against the seat. Raising both my arms, I checked for injuries and noticed that my right wrist was bend at a weird angle. Great. A broken wrist. I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad for adrenaline flowing through my body.

Knocks on the window to my left caught my attention and I looked over. It was one of the other drivers. He tried to open the door but failed. My dad had drilled it into my head to always lock the doors when I’m in the car alone, even while I’m driving. Carlisle hated that habit, but I hadn’t managed to break it yet. After today, I definitely would.

With my intact hand, I flipped the lock, and the man pulled the door open.

“Are you okay?” I nodded.

“Nothing too serious…I think.” The man sighed in relief and turned around, looking at the other cars.

“I’ve already called an ambulance, they should be here in a bit.” I smiled and thanked him, following his eyes as he looked around the wreck that was once a car. Yeah…it was broken beyond repair.

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur.

The ambulance arrived and I was loaded into it. They wanted to bring me to a different hospital, but I convinced them to take me to the one where Carlisle was working. And mentally, I was already preparing myself for his lecture. He had offered countless times to buy me a new car, saying that mine would surely be the death of me. But I had always declined.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when the ambulance came to a halt and the doors opened. The stretcher I was on was pulled out and they started wheeling me into the hospital through the emergency entrance.

And of course, Carlisle was the closest doctor.

“Y/N?” His eyes widened with worry, and he was by my side within a millisecond. He looked me up and down with trained eyes, probably not even listening to the paramedics. As soon as they stopped speaking, Carlisle nodded and thanked them, before he, along with two nurses transferred me to another stretcher and wheeled me into an examination room.

My boyfriend started to work in silence, only occasionally speaking with the nurses until my wrist was in a cast and all that was left was to stich up the wound on my forehead.

“Thank you. I’ll take care of the stitching, you two can leave.” The nurses nodded and quickly waved at me before they left the room. Most of the people working in the hospital knew me by now.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Carlisle turned to me with a, on one hand worried, on the other hand mad, glare.

“What happened?” Oh boy…I’m going to be in soooo much trouble.

“Well…there were deer on the road and my breaks failed.” His eyes widened before his glare returned. I could feel the anger radiating off of him and even though he was really, really angry, I knew that the anger wasn’t directed at me. At least not entirely. It was also directed at himself, which made me feel bad.

With soft hands, he pulled me into a sitting position and to the edge of the bed, making it easier for him to reach me.

He started working in silence, careful to hurt me as little as possible, which didn’t really work. By the second stitch, my left hand was balled into a fist, grabbing onto his coat. A small smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he noticed it, but he quickly returned to his mad self.

After five more stitches, he was done, quickly disinfected everything and put a large band aid over the sutures. He helped me to lay down before he cleaned up after himself. As soon as he was done with that, he pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He mustered me with a frown before he sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. As he looked back at me, I noticed the worry in his eyes. I stretched my left hand towards him and without hesitation, he got to his feet, stripped off his coat and shoes and crawled into bed, laying down on top of me.

His arms wrapped themselves around my waist, while his head laid on my chest, his right ear right above my heart. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, listening to my beating heart while I played with his hair, trying to calm him down.

We spend an hour like this before he slowly sat up and looked at me.

“Are you okay?” I nodded with a smile and reached out to him, cradling his cheek in my hand. He pushed against it and covered my hand with his own, making me smile even more.

“I’m going to buy you a new car and-” I opened my mouth to object, but he held his hand up before a single sound could leave my lips.

“No. No objections. You are going to accept it and I swear to god if you have another accident, I’m never going to let you in front of a stirring wheel again.” I shut my mouth, knowing that he wouldn’t accept any objections on my part. Instead, I just nodded.

“Okay.” His eyes found mine and the anger he was holding onto was gone.

“I…I can’t lose you, Y/N. You have to understand that.” His voice broke and I felt a sharp pain in my heart. I nodded again.

“I know…I’m sorry Carlisle.” With a nod he got up from the bed and put his shoes and coat back on.

“Wait here. I’ll clock out and then we’re going home.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he left the room and closed the door behind himself.

It only took him a few minutes before he reentered the room, now dressed in casual clothes. Well…as casual as it could get with him. Sometimes I got the feeling that he would prefer to wear a suit 24/7. His voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

“The others wanted to keep you here overnight in case you have a concussion, but I convinced them to let you go under the condition that you’re going to stay at my place tonight.” My eyebrows pinched together but I immediately relaxed them after feeling a sharp pain from the wound on my forehead.

“I have to go home, Carlisle. Y/S/N is being brought home by Amy’s mom and I have to make her dinner and make sure she does her homework.” Since our parents died, I’ve been taking care of Y/S/N, trying to be the cool older sister, now replacement-mom.

“I already talked to Alice and the others. They are going to bring Y/S/N to our house and the two of you are going to stay there for now. Edward will also be taking her to and from school from now on. At least until you’re better and have a car.” I sighed. Once again, there was no room for arguments, so I just accepted it and tried to get out of bed. After struggling for a bit, I looked up at Carlisle, who had been watching me with a grin.

“Need help, love?” I glared at him, before trying again. With a sigh, I gave up and looked at the handsome vampire.

“Can you help me please?” Carlisle chuckled and walked over to me, lifting me out of the bed with ease. He was still grinning.

“You know, none of that would have happen if you’d just turn me.” His hearty chuckled caused a shiver down my spine.

“You know that I can’t do that. At least for now.” With a roll of my eyes, I let him pull a sling over my head and carefully place my broken wrist in it. When he was done, he looked at me and bend down, pressing a sweet kiss against my lips.

“Let’s get you home.”

By the time we reached their hidden house, school was out. Y/S/N and the others should be arriving soon.

Carlisle helped me change into something more comfortable, before he sat me down on the couch, giving me a blanket and a pillow, on which I could rest my wrist.

After changing himself, he sat down behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close against his chest. I leaned back against him with a sigh and closed my eyes for a few minutes before a thought entered my head.

“What about my car?” I leaned my head back, so that I could look at Carlisle.

“I got it toed and brought to a junkyard. Emmet will get all your personal belongings from it before they trash it.” I nodded and smiled at him.

“Thank you.” He smiled at me, adoration filling his eyes.

“No need to thank me. I’d do anything for you.” He leaned down and connected our lips. The kiss was slow and full of love, making me smile against him.

“Ewwww! Could you not?” Carlisle and I pulled away from each other and looked at the direction the voice was coming from. Y/S/N was standing there, surrounded by the Cullen siblings, all of them smiling at her outburst. I just chuckled and waved her over.

Carlisle carefully got to his feet and placed a large pillow at my back, replacing himself. He excused himself and left in the direction of the kitchen.

Y/S/N stood at the feet of the couch, her backpack beside her on the floor and stared at me. The disgust that had just been visible in her eyes dispersed into worry. After a moment, she threw herself at me and wrapped me up in a hug. How she’d missed my cast, I don’t know.

“What happened? I was so worried.” She pulled back and a sad smile took over my lips, as I wiped a few tears from her cheeks.

“Everything’s okay. I just had a small accident, but Carlisle patched me up. So don’t worry.” She nodded and leaned back against me while my left hand trailed over her hair.

After a few minutes, she pulled away and sat down beside me.

“So…are we getting a new car?” I laughed and nodded.

“And you can choose which one. If you’d like, of course.” Carlisle was leaning against the wall close to us and smiled at my younger sister. She jumped to her feet and nodded excitedly. Her mood shifts really easily, making me smile.

“Perfect! I think I just heard Emmet pull up. If you ask, I’m sure he’ll take you to a dealership.” Y/S/N turned to look at me, practically asking for permission. I nodded with a grin and she was off.

“Just please, don’t choose a pink one!” I’m not sure that my plea reached her ears, but it made Carlisle smile, who walked over to me and took the place that was just occupied by my sister.

Before either of us could say something, we heard Emmet’s car take off again, making me chuckle. I turned back to Carlisle.

“Thank you.” Instead of answering, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. He pulled back and mustered me. It almost looked as if he was trying to decide something.

“What?” He sighed.

“After your sister graduated. I will turn you after that. But only if she’s okay with it.” My eyes lit up and I nodded, throwing my left arm around his neck. His arms were around me a moment later and his chest vibrated with a deep chuckle.

“So, you want to tell her?” We pulled out of the hug and Carlisle nodded.

“But only after graduation. I…We have to make sure she won’t tell any of her friends.” I smiled and nodded.

“Thank you, Carlisle.” He pecked my forehead again before he got to his feet.

“So…should we cook, or do you want to order take out?”

[archivallyfound09]

Entering the Villain Era pt. 9

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (f)

Summary: The one where she can dish more than he can handle. And, oh, does he deserve it.

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), drinking (reader is of age), potentially some suggestive situations. A very emotionally aware reader and a whipped Hangman.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five. Part Six

Part Seven. Part Eight

You rolled over, stretching your sleepy limbs above your head as you yawned. The sun was just barely starting to peek through your blinds. You settled back under the covers, enjoying you official first day off. You couldn’t remember a time when you were able to sleep in, no mission on the horizon. It was a foreign feeling, but it also felt nice.

You snagged your watch off your nightstand and the little numbers blinked back at you. 7:02. You sighed, setting it back down and readjusting your position on the pillow. You turned to your other side and found nothing but an empty bed. You smiled, remembering how things played out last night after Jake’s confession.

-------

“I want you, ma’am.”

You looked at him stunned. You were not ready to have this conversation. The ambiguity of this…thing… you had with Jake was just how you liked it- you were in control of what happened, you got to pick in the ‘will they, won’t they?’, you held the power in the situation. You realized in that moment that this was the validation you had really been hunting for. You got some of it from the reputation you had earned on the missions you obliterated. You got some of it being a force to be reckoned with wherever you went- needing no introduction. You thought some of it was the completion of impossible tasks.

You thought wrong.

You had been craving the revenge power you were finally feeling in this moment with the man who destroyed your heart beyond repair. You had made comments after it happened that there was nothing left- like a window that had been shattered in a break-in. Nothing but sharp slivers to slice yourself on and then, nothingness.

“Jake, I-“ you started and his head dropped, his hands coming down to land on your hips. You looked up at the aviator and saw the boy you had fallen in love with all those years ago. His green eyes pleaded with you for a chance. He knew he couldn’t apologize. He knew he couldn’t fix everything. He also knew, in that moment, he couldn’t live without you.

You sighed and leaned your forehead against his tilted one, slightly shaking your head. Your arms remained by your side, unsure of how to handle the two wolves fighting inside you- the power hungry one wanted him to suffer, wanted you to justify revenge; the broken one wanted forgiveness, to give him another chance. You knew which option led to less pain for you. You took a deep breath and pulled back a bit, your eyes reconnecting.

“We do this right. Or you will never see me again, understood?” Jake was nodding before you had finished your sentence. It wasn’t an ultimatum, it wasn’t a threat- it was a promise. He gave you a grin, no cockiness in sight, just relief. You gave him a small smile, then placed two hands on his chest.

“Doing this right does not include a make-out session in a parking lot,” you said firmly, a slight crinkle appearing in the lines near your eyes. Jake let out a laugh that was more a release of nervous energy than anything. He nodded and stepped back, his hands finding their way back to his pockets.

“Then we’ll do this right,” he confirmed, the swagger of a naval aviator sterling to sink back in. You rolled your eyes- the bravado was never far with this one. “Can I see you tomorrow?” The innocent question from the man in front of you was enough to bring you to your knees. Feeling the last bit of the ice around you melt, you nodded (not sure you could trust your words at this point). He smiled and took your hand in his, his lips brushing your knuckles as he brought it up to his face.

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

——

You couldn’t remember a time you had slept that well in years. You knew, deep, DEEP down, that it was the relief you felt finally having given a roadmap to the 'relationship' between you and Jake. You, however, were content to blame the new melatonin pills you had picked up recently. You snickered into your mug as you stepped out onto the small back porch (if you could call the concrete slab that), and sat down on a lawn chair. Your coffee was finally starting to kick in as you took in a deep breath, enjoying the sunrise, the birds, the fact that you finally felt free from everything.

Your evolutionary discovery was cut short when you heard your phone ringing inside. It was still early, so you quickly made your way in, worried about an emergency. Jake’s name was on the caller ID. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in and answered his call.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Came the slightly panicked voice on the other end of the line. You chuckled.

“Hi, good morning," you started, laughing, "No, I’ve been up for a bit.” You heard the tension in his voice instantly dissipate with your admission. “What’s going on?” You asked, more sternly when he didn’t immediately respond.

“I couldn’t-“ he paused, something clearly on his mind and bothering him. He took in a shallow breath and swallowed. “I couldn’t sleep last night," he started shakily. You put your phone on speaker, crawling on top of your unmade bed, coffee still in hand as he continued.

“I couldn’t sleep last night not knowing about us. All I could think of was every worst case scenario. Something happening to you overnight and I wasn’t going to be there. I know you don’t need me. But I want to try to protect you, to support you, to care for you. And then I realized the worst thing was that you could wake up, realize what a mistake this is and what a mistake I am and that you’d be on the next flight out of town to leave me here. And I could understand that, but dammit,” he voice cracked, “I can’t keep pretending like I can do this without you anymore. I can’t-“

His voice cut out and the silence snapped you back into reality. You were staring at the phone, mug dangerously close to spilling coffee on your sheets, tears pricking your eyes, threatening to fall. You could almost make out crying on the other end of the call. You took a moment and stared at the ceiling. Every single one of those thoughts had crossed your mind the previous night.

But the broken parts had won. You had chosen healing.

“Jake?” The muffled sounds on the end of the phone stopped, you could practically hear his bated breath. “When do I get to see you today?”

“Whenever you’ll take me.”

——

You had decided on a neutral location that you both would be comfortable in, but also be able to not be interrupted. Far down the opposite end of the beach from the Hard Deck, there was a small grouping of picnic tables with a tiny sandwich and ice cream shack nearby.

You left the house early, planning on getting to the location with enough time to acclimate. The drive was quiet as you turned down the radio, opening the windows and enjoying the ocean breeze that surrounded you. You realized very quickly that though there was a calmness about you, there was a slight bit of something your hadn't felt in a long, long time: nerves.

You parked your vehicle nearby the small beachside cafe, relieved to see it mostly empty. As you stepped closer and adjusted your sunglasses, you saw that there was only one other person there, already seated at one of the tables. You laughed. Of course Jake would beat you there. He probably left as soon as you set plans this morning shortly after your phone call.

"Hey, stranger," you called as you walked up to the aviator, his back towards you as he looked out into the morning waves. At the sound of your voice he all but jumped up, reaching to give you a hug and then stilling himself, unsure of where he stood with you. You rolled your eyes and stepped forward, opening your arms.

Jake was very suddenly aware that he wasn't in control of what his body was doing as he quickly closed the gap between you with a few quick strides, your arms easily folding around his neck and you pulled him closer to you. His scent fogged your brain and you smiled, forgetting how much taller he really was than you. Jake quickly scooped you up and swing you around, and you let out an actual, honest-to-god giggle. You felt Jake's chest move under you as he slowed and pulled back from the hug, catching your eye. You noses were millimeters away from each other and you a slight pink flush to his cheeks.

"Hi," you said brightly, enjoying that your hard outer shell was off for a few days. He smiled sweetly back at you, brushing his nose against yours, earning another giggle.

"Hi yourself," he retorted, your feet still dangling as he held you flush to his chest.

"Jake? Down?" you asked and he quickly set you on your own feet, a blush on both your cheeks. Jake rubbed the back of his neck and then became aware of his surroundings. There were a few more people walking away from the shack nearby with coffee and a variety of pastries.

"How does a breakfast date sound?" he asked, giving you a smirk and nodding towards the front of the stall. You nodded, happy to see another cup of coffee in your future. You started to step away from Jake when his hand caught your arm, much like it had on the carrier days earlier, but this was much more tender.

"I think I still remember what you like, mind if I give it a go?" You nodded, and sat down at the picnic table he had occupied just minutes earlier. You sighed and looked out towards the waves, wholly unsure of who exactly you were in that moment at the table. Your thoughts were interrupted as Jake returned with the breakfast you didn't even know you needed.

Jake smiled at you over his cup of coffee, his eyes clearly wanting to say something, but his mouth unusually quiet. You sighed and knew he was waiting on you to make the first move- and you knew it was killing him.

"Okay," you took in a tight breath, setting your paper coffee cup down, "I'm taking a break from the Navy missions for awhile while I try and figure out what all this is and who I am. I became that...thing....when everything happened, that version of me saved me. But it was never truly me." Jake nodded, eyes trained on you carefully as he took in every word without moving, "I'm not even sure if this new version of me is me...I just. I need a chance to figure it out and not have someone shouting orders at me."

Jake nodded and let out a shaky breath. He was scrambling. He didn't know what to say or what to do- he knew he was walking on eggshells and it was his own fault that he was. You reached a hand across the table and rested it on his.

"If you're okay with me trying to figure this out, I wouldn't mind some company...." you cautiously threw the suggestion out watched his face slowly realize what you had offered. This was your olive branch; your last chance to him and to yourself to give this a shot. Jake's hand wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

"I think we both have some soul-searching to do."

------

Part 10

A/N: Apparently, I needed whipped/emotionally vulnerable Hangman. How do we want this one to wrap up folks? Angsty? Sexy? Fluffy? Let me know!

Taglist (request if you'd like to be added!): @alldaysdreamers @ponyboys-sunsets @hopefulinlove @wannabepoe @maverooster @rosiahills22 @ancabifi @multifandom-fangirl4 @dempy @luckyladycreator2 @chlo-feigh @sopheeg @kkrenae @blue-aconite @angirlofallthings22 @rln108 @pricklepearbloom @natasharomanoffisbaebby @loveforaugust @mizzy-pop @lizzie-rdj @mavswife @quackwackfawck @obiwankenobis-lap @icemansgirl1999 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @the-winter-marvel33 @alitav99 @arieltwvdtohamflash @jostyriggslover96 @notanordinaryprincess95 @luckyladycreator2 @mistressslytherin @fogle97 @thebluelioness @littlebadariell @daisyhollyxox @idfkwhyimhere4357 @actorinfluence @lieutenant-rooster-bradshaw @no-pilots-please @imagineyneyjr  @hey-its-kayla-claire

[docockbrainrot]

if you were church

Summary: Some nights are easier than others.

Pairing: Otto Octavius/Reader, Doc Ock/Reader

Content: NSFT, Smut, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Watching Someone Sleep, Sprinkling of Angst, Female Reader

Ao3 link here!

(A/N: so this is just pure oneshot pwp; it takes place adjacent to ITIWY but its not canon to that story; i just wanted an excuse to write from otto's pov and not have to do any world building. it got a little more... sad than i was going for so maybe i'll have to do a character study oneshot next; i really just needed somewhere to dump all of my feelings abt otto being obsessed with eating p*ssy eheehhguhh sorry in advance ^^; )

He isn't sure what's gotten into him tonight. Maybe the loneliness is finally settling in, like a chill to the bones, a cold, dead hand gripping his heart. Maybe he's truly just corrupted beyond repair, gone off the rails like a runaway train and this is the kind of thing that broken men think about doing. It's not like him- or at least it isn't like who he used to be.

Otto is certain that man is dead and gone.

The night is cold and damp, the city that never sleeps unquestionably seems to at least be in a restful lull in comparison to the usual hustle and bustle of night life. The occasional sound of tires on wet asphalt, a lone car horn honking from a distance. There’s little background noise, no music. Even the lights of the high rises from uptown feel dimmer than average.

He watches from the fire escape. She's asleep- has been for a while now. And he knows she's notoriously forgetful when it comes to locking the window. Making a decision that is sure to bite him in the ass later down the road, he slowly, quietly, heaves open the window and pauses to ensure he hasn't woken her. No movement. Good. After slipping through, the actuators silently close it behind him.

This is a bad idea, he tells himself for the umpteenth time that night. He isn't sure exactly what his motives are himself. Otto thinks maybe, just maybe this will be enough. Just seeing her like this, curled up peacefully in bed, sound asleep. She looks so soft and… quiet. No quippy remarks, no demands. He feels as though he’s getting a glimpse of something that doesn’t belong to him. Domesticity. He had that once. After all this is said and done, he thinks he might be able to chalk this lapse in judgement up to nostalgia. Nothing personal, he tries to tell himself. The sheets are tangled around her naked legs, her large nightshirt is ruched up around her waist and he can see the hem of her underwear.

A strong throb deep in his core tells him that this is a very bad fucking idea. He wants so badly to touch her, to ravage her, to drink from the delicious warmth between her thighs and his mouth waters just at the thought.

Maybe it’s a little personal.

Before he can even make a decision, one way or the other, it is made for him as she blearily blinks up at him, no doubt roused from slumber by the uncanny feeling of another presence in the room. She sits up abruptly, but to his relief she doesn't scream or otherwise make a scene.

"Otto?" She hisses in disbelief, squinting at him through the dark and then glancing behind him with a frown. "Let me guess- window?"

He smiles, but it isn't friendly. He feels predatory, but she's hardly a frightened little animal. Not anymore. "You really should be better about locking them. You never know who's skulking about in the dark and what they might do to a pretty little thing like yourself," Otto's voice is low and he swallows past his mounting desire. His sunglasses are carefully plucked from his face and nimble claws place them gently on the nightstand. He slowly starts to remove his leather gloves, keeping eye contact with her through the dark as he does so. There's enough light, coming in from outside, that they're able to clearly see each other's faces. She looks confused, but not afraid. He wonders what she sees on him.

Depositing the gloves onto her bedside table next to his glasses, the metal arms assist in making quick work of shucking off his trench coat and draping it across a desk chair. Otto is watching when the realization of the moment dawns on her and her eyes go wide. He's certain she's blushing, but can't make it out in the feeble lighting.

"W-wait- are you-?" She stammers and he reaches out to touch her face with his bare fingers, ghosting his knuckles up her jaw.

"May I?" He croons and there's little hesitation before she's jerking her head 'yes' and she places a warm hand on his wrist, turning her face into his hand. He doesn't need any more confirmation from her. Otto kneels on the bed between her legs and pulls her in for a heavy, deep kiss. It goes straight to his cock, feeling the blood rush south in aching waves. She melts into him like butter, her tongue meets his lips and her hands take to skimming down his chest. He isn't sure exactly why she isn't outright disgusted by him, by the horrific accident that left him just as much metal as he is man. But he isn't in the position to complain. She doesn’t even flinch as her fingers trace the scarred flesh of his abdomen and he is pleasantly surprised by her boldness- but he isn’t fooled. She isn’t attracted to him, not like this. No one would be. This is convenient for both of them, nothing more than that.

Otto breaks away from her, breath ragged, and a metal claw pushes her down flat on her back to the mattress with ease, her body malleable and eager.

"You're sure?"

She nods again. "Very."

That's enough. He slips his hands under her t-shirt, his mouth assaulting her neck as he rubs his thumbs over her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He kisses, bites, licks at her, revelling in the gasping moans that drip from her lips like sweet honey, kneading the soft mounds of her breasts in his hands. Wanton desire sets his blood on fire and as much as he would love to bury himself balls deep inside of her, and no doubt she would let him, that isn't why he's here tonight.

Otto trails his mouth down her chest, to her navel, hands sliding south to hook his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and drag them down her thighs. She's a gasping, trembling mess beneath him and they haven't even gotten to the main event. He laves his tongue over her hip and takes the time to suck a small bruise into the skin there. She parts herself willingly for him, inviting him to worship before her and he eagerly obliges. Otto presses an open mouthed kiss to her already very wet core. At the same time, he slides a hand down to flick open the button of his pants and free his aching erection, taking the heavy length into his palm and stroking himself. He groans at the sweet relief it provides.

Her fingers find their way entwined in his hair and he bucks into his own hand when she tugs at the auburn locks. Fuck, that little minx. He licks languidly from her slippery entrance to her clit and seals his mouth around the tender bud, rolling the flat of his tongue over it again and again and again in a steady rhythm. Her thighs are quivering, chest heaving, head thrown back into the pillows as she loses herself to his talented mouth.

Otto squeezes the base of his cock and the sound he makes is muffled, buried in her delicious cunt. She tastes heavenly and he can't get enough, changing tactics to plunge his tongue into the warmth, wet depths of her. Her insides clench desperately as he fucks into her, licking at her inner walls while she grinds herself into his face, hands tangled in his hair to keep him there- as if he had any intentions of stopping now. He can feel his orgasm edging closer and closer- he’d be embarrassed if it were any other encounter, how quickly he’s coming undone. But he needs this so badly. Alone in his dark, dingy hideout with nothing but his own thoughts and his hand wasn’t enough anymore. Another body alongside him; he craved it more than anything.

He loses focus for just a few seconds, drawing back just enough to press his sweaty forehead against her warm inner thigh, a choked moan on his wet lips. He spills himself into his hand and all over his knuckles as he pumps his pulsing cock through the last few waves of ecstasy. Breath ragged, he glances up at her and finds her staring back. Otto gives her a lazy grin. Bringing his hand up, all sticky with release, he easily slips two fingers inside of her and promptly hooks them right into that little spot to drive her wild. Her hips stutter upwards and his free hand grabs her, pressing her back down into the sheets as his mouth finds its way back to her swollen clit.

He thinks he might hear his name somewhere in the mess of gasping, whimpering, keening that she’s fallen into, but it may as well have been his imagination. A third digit presses its way into her, stretching her open and he feels her pulse and squeeze and tremble under the onslaught. She feels so tight and perfect inside; he almost regrets not fucking her senseless.

He’s tonguing her clit ravenously, hunger still insatiable, when she cums for him and the sight is breathtaking. Her back arches and her fingers twist in his hair and this time is quite certain he hears a very shaky, “Otto…” as he works her through the orgasm, chasing every bit of the high he can eke out of her. It’s not until she’s begging him to stop that he does, withdrawing his fingers from her core and giving a final slow lick up her dripping cunt. He tastes both of their combined releases and his spent cock gives an intrigued twitch. No, no, that’s enough, he decides. For now.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his clean hand and she props herself up on her elbows, trying to catch her breath. She watches as he sits up, tucks himself back into his pants and does them back up. “You don’t need me to…?” She almost sounds hopeful.

“Already dealt with,” he chuckles a little, but there’s no mirth behind it. He can’t shake the feeling he’s left with. Physically satisfied, mentally… “I should get going. Sorry about the mess.”

She gives him a look and he finds it difficult to place the emotion he sees there. Otto gets to his feet and she jerks a thumb towards the box of tissues on the nightstand. He takes a couple to wipe off his sticky hand and drops them into the wastebasket at his feet. There’s a certain heaviness in the air now and it’s more than just the smell of sex and sweat. He should never have come here. He’s always prided himself on being a man of science, rationale, and logic. Yet something lingers in his heart and in his head, like he’s desecrated holy ground, set fire to the sacred altar and shattered the stained glass with a baseball bat. Ruined something ethereal and beautiful and pure.

Actuators carefully help him redress, pulling on the coat and replacing the glasses onto his face. He doesn’t put his gloves back on, just stuffs them into his inner coat pocket. The pre-war style window opens behind him, robotic arms holding it for him as he teeters on the brink of what he should do next, his heart feeling leaden and burdensome in his chest. Until recently, he wasn’t even sure he still had one.

“Good night, Otto,” she says softly. Breaking the silence felt a bit like talking too loud in that quiet chapel his mind painted a picture of, disturbing the old souls that mill about, invisible to the naked eye but inexplicably felt all the same.

“Good night, darling.”

And he was gone. She isn’t sure this time if he will ever be back.

[ichigoromi]

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩 | 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 | 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

I'm up for another Sakusa angst... Yay?

I guess, I hope you guys enjoy reading?

I'm sorry if I made you cry...

All characters are aged up!

Sakusa Kiyoomi

It has been exactly 11 months, 11 days, and 11 hours since you two have decided to end the relationship.

The break was inevitable. You were studying in the States, and he is a professional athlete who has little to no time to visit you.

No matter how much you want to fix the relationship, it was beyond repair.

You started to count the days that you two have broken up for as a way to cope, but it was unhealthy for you, mentally.

Sure, your studies were going better after the breakup, but you ended up drinking till your wasted in your tiny apartment.

Seeing how happy he was on his social media platform makes you wonder if you were the one who caused the break-up after all.

Even though you two agree mutually to the breakup, it was harder on you.

You lost so much weight, and your complexion was too pale to be considered healthy.

Roll in the best friends; they practically filled your fridge and made sure you were eating your three meals.

After you gained back to a healthy weight, they took you out for a makeover trip and got you a closet makeover as well.

You got back into your school life and leaned on your friends for support, but how could you ever forget the good memories that you made with Sakusa as well.

Your friends helped you pack any momento or gifts that he gave you into a box and send it back to him since you two have broken up and as a proper closure for you two.

But there was just one thing that you can't bear to part with, his personal hoodie that he first gave you when you two started going out in high school.

Your friends had a hard time trying to persuade you to part with it but gave in to you.

Inside the box, you included a letter address to him, your one last letter to him.

It goes likes this...

Dear Mimi or Kiyoomi,

This would probably be the last time that I address you like that. I know we have decided to end our relationship, and it's all my fault even though you said it's no one's fault. I'm going to return these because these were the gifts that you gave me. You can burn or throw them away; it's all up to you. The break-up was rough, but thanks to it, I grew a lot from it. I know you recently got a new girlfriend, good for you, you look genuinely happy with her, guess I held on to you too long? I'm sorry for breaking the promise first. I'm sorry for breaking your heart; I'm sorry that I cannot be there for you. Thank you for the wonderful memories that you left me. I never stop loving you and will always be there for you.

With love,

Your first.

You wiped away the tears and signed off and place it on top of everything, and prepared to mail it.

For the first time after your break up, you felt some kind of relief.

After you mailed it out, you and your friends went for some good old Korean barbeque and tons of alcohol.

You were so drunk that your friends carried you home, and all of them stayed in your apartment, in case something happens to you.

You posted some pictures of you having a good time with your friends and knocked out from the huge amount of drinks you had.

He thought he would live his life as normal after the breakup, but he couldn't.

Everything just was not the same. The routine that he has built around you, he has to change it.

You were not in his life anymore.

Atsumu tried to cheer him up by setting him up with some of his friends, and sure they had good personalities, but they were just not you.

After months of trying to date, he finally met the one.

He was finally able to smile and be back to the normal him.

His team was relieved that he was not in his depressed state and living well.

Atsumu and Bokuto still keep in close contact with you, following you on their social media platforms.

When they thought he was not listening, he could listen to them calling you and face timing.

Based on Atsumu and Bokuto's reaction, he can tell that you are doing good.

He knows that your graduation was in a few weeks and you would continue to further your studies there.

Bokuto and Atsumu, along with some of your high school friends, were going to fly to the States to attend your graduation.

He wants to go to, but he has a new person in his life now.

A few days later, he received a box from your address.

He went to open the box in his dorm room, and it was the gifts and the letters you two exchanged since high school.

When he read the letter that you wrote him, he broke down.

You were his first love, the very first person that he made friends with, the very first person that made his heart skip, and the very one that made him the person that he is today.

It was bad. The feelings that he thought was once gone came back again.

He never stops loving you, and he will continue to love you as long as he can.

He needed some time away from dating and some time to heal.

The last gift he could give you was something that would last till you guys meet next time.

Graduation came faster than you expected, and finally, you graduate successfully after going through all those obstacles. Your family and friends from Japan are here to celebrate this joyous event with you.

You took pictures with everyone, chatted with a few of your fellow graduates, and managed to make some new connections.

"Oh my god, why is her campus so big? Did we made it in time?"

"Of course not! What did ya think?!"

Your two favourite people are here too.

"Tsumu! Bokkun!"

You waved them over, and they were carrying a bouquet of flowers and a bunch of gifts.

They threw their arms around you and pulls you into their embrace, and it was heartwarming and suffocating. Imagine getting bear-hugged by two professional volleyball players.

"L-let me go!" You managed to squeeze out a call for help, and they immediately let you go.

"This gift, open when you are alone."

It was a small bag, but you could not help but wonder who gave you that gift.

- - -

After getting lunch with your family and friends, you went back to your apartment alone to start packing up for your new journey.

You were going to move to Korea for your Master's program. Most of your close friends knew about this and hook you up with their close contacts in Korea so that you would have some form of support in a foreign country.

While packing, you remember the gift that Bokuto and Atsumu told you to open when you are alone.

You grab it, and it was a letter and a blue velvet ring box.

Immediately you recognised the handwriting. That neat and clean handwriting would belong to none other than Sakusa himself.

Congratulations on your graduation.

I have received your mail, and there's so much that I want to say. I apologise for not making it to your graduation, but those two idiots are there to represent me. After receiving that box from you and that letter, I immediately broke up with her. I realised that my feelings for her were not genuine, and I was just using her as a rebound, and I break things off because I don't want to hurt her further.

I'll wait for you. I know this may sound far-fetched, but will you marry me?

I don't expect any replies, but please accept the ring if you agree to marry me.

If you reject me, you can return the ring to Atsumu.

I'll be waiting,

Sakusa Kiyoomi

This man...even he is at the other part of the world, he still manages to make your heart skip. You open the box and inside one of the most dazzling rings you have laid your eyes on.

And you recognise it.

It was a Harry Winston.

You used to joke to him in high school that you want it to be a Harry Winston ring when he proposed.

Now, it's not a joke. You slid the ring onto your left hand, and it fits perfectly.

You dialled the number that you know it like it's the back of your hand.

"You idiot, do you still love me after all this time? What's with the proposal? It's s-so lame." You sniffled over the phone.

"Really? Does that mean you are not taking me back? In high school, you said that you were going to kick my ass if I break up with you. You wanted a proposal with a Harry Winston, right?" Hearing his voice, you broke down.

"I-I m-missed y-you so much! Why do you still have so much effect on me? You bad man!" You wailed into the phone and hear his deep chuckles.

"Oh my, you became more of a baby after we broke up. Do you want to see me now?"

"What? You mean facetime?"

"No, come to the park near your apartment building."

You grabbed your coat and rushed out of your building. There's no way he is here. No way. How could it be...

And he was there. With his arms wide open and a small smile on his handsome face.

"H-how? I-What? You idiot!" You threw yourself into his embrace, and he wraps his arms around you, and you sobbing in his chest.

"I flew in, of course. I got the timing right." He cups your face gently to make you look up to him. Then he saw the ring on your left hand and kisses you on the lips.

You shut your eyes and savours the kiss that was needed after being apart for so long.

"Sakusa Kiyoomi, you are one crazy man." You shook your head and kiss his lips again.

"Yeah, I'm crazy for you." He kisses you again for a long time.

I can't end it with a sad ending; I'm sorry to you guys if you wanted a sad ending. I'm crazy for soft Sakusa.

I love him.

I hope you guys enjoy reading this!

Thank you for reading!

Stay safe and take care!

With love,

Rosalie🍓

[ruby-whistler]

maybe sometimes, i should opt for not having thoughts.

have a heavy angst rivalsduo one-shot! i enjoyed writing this, and it came out pretty good, so let's hope i can instil the same feeling of dread i had in you as well :]

tws // death, injury, implied past torture, trauma

Dream’s sight traces over the edges of the looming monster; its dark silhouette casts a long shadow, but he doesn’t mind. The sun hasn’t reached his eyes in a long time, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to see it, just breathing, surviving, remaining in his place.

The look on his face is blank, and he stares in the eye of a storm with sirens as an eternal thunder echoing through the world, shrieking tones softened by the blowing grass.

“I got you out,” Techno speaks, voice curt and as empty as the other’s glare; too much has happened to recount in anything but silence, and in a sense, they both understand. “I said I would help you escape, and I did.”

Dream hums quietly in response, bloodied bandages untied and flailing with the wind. He’s weak, despite the gapples Techno has given him. Some damage is too difficult to repair, too complicated, in the worst sense possible, to forgive the sting of its cruelty.

Techno trails the scar drawing under his hair, feels his skull shattered and sewn back together, because one time was not enough, and the world is still delivering the bitterness of his mistakes with a dizzying headache when the light hit his eyes too loud, when the world spins in all its colors and the birds sing a song that only makes the chanting more unbearable.

True misery, a sign something might be beyond repair, Techno thinks, is when what was once light and sweet and beautiful, ends up nothing but an agonising cacophony.

The symphony is quiet.

The sun doesn’t set, yet, because the day is too long to be over - because the story isn’t done yet. His hands feel like they only move on strings, and he ponders; if not this - and this doesn’t feel like it, it feels like they’ve never been further away from it - what is freedom?

Dream wouldn’t know, but Techno thinks back to the world he had built, now compromised by the man in front of him, and he, guilt caught like a rock in his throat; feels regret.

For once in his life, everything was working. His family was safe, there were people he could trust that found a home under the Syndicate’s wings, waiting for him back in the arctic.

Dream, even if simply imagined, sticks out of place like a sore thumb. He is the opposite of safety, the opposite of home. He has nothing, he is lost, and the world will do anything to stop him from finding himself.

Anything, including destroying the smallest of possibilities.

A heavy feeling sets in Techno’s chest as he meets the other’s eye, and perhaps he’s going crazy, but in the silence, he realizes Dream is thinking the same.

It’s not a look of relief; grief is plastered over the man’s scarred features, drowned in hair the color of hazel wood. He had never seen him this pale before; everything about him was faded. Perhaps that was one of the things one can never get back, or perhaps the sun would find him pitiful enough at last to make him brighter; but in the arctic, the sun was cold.

Techno takes a deep breath, and it feels like he’s breathing something else than the warm air radiating off of smouldering lava for the first time in his life.

“Let’s get you home, Dream.”

He turns around, hesitantly urgent to be breaking the still air, and pulls Dream by the sleeve as he does; he wonders how long the fragile prisoner will last before he has to carry him the rest of the way to a place that had once been Techno’s, now a sanctuary for what is broken.

“No.”

Techno pauses, and another voice - not the ones that scream for blood, it’s clearer and singular, says - this is your fault. Guilting him for feeling, for thinking, because surely he wished Dream’s resistance into reality, because why else would he refuse?

The irrational thought is blown over by a wave of cold that rushes through his mind as he lets go of the torn linen.

“You can’t take me back to your place. Quackity has already tried to kill you twice, I won’t let myself be responsible for you losing a life after everything you’ve done for me.”

Dream looks up at him, and his voice is strained, every word forced out with power neither of them knew he had. It glints in his eyes like a diamond sword in the chest of a man destroyed by what he created, like a glass shard tearing through the heart of a fallen dictator.

Shaking but determined, holding back a scream behind his clenched teeth while the wind blows through his loose clothing, he continues. “I’m not going with you, I’ll find... somewhere else.”

Techno looks down at him, and for a second, he wonders if he’s ever seen Dream so small.

“And then what?”

Dream is quiet, and Techno thinks can see the look in his eyes; the fear, the resolve, and the unspoken promise of returning, because he knows there is no way to escape fate, not this time.

Dream doesn’t answer him, and Techno glances down at his hands; they’re trembling, like they’re holding back an avalanche. He steps closer, and the man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost everything,” Techno says, “don’t you think I know what it’s like to be alone?”

“You have a family,” Dream says, “you have a home.”

Techno breathes, realization sharper than his axe’s blade cutting through his brain.

Dream is the first to look away.

The two of them are both shaking, but it’s only the same thing different ways, and Techno thinks can hear Dream’s heart beating, stuttering through the howls of piercing gale.

He turns away, and he doesn’t look back.

“Take care.”

He doesn’t hear steps as he leaves, but it cannot make him more worried than he already is; Dream only needs time.

A traitorous thing called hope says, he’ll come back to you. He’ll return when he’s ready.

The windows on his house are open when he comes back empty-handed, and Techno doesn’t think he’s ever been more cold than that day. He closes the door, closes the windows, and starts a fire.

All his movements are robotic, mechanical.

Philza comes home to find him sitting deathly still on the floor, half-asleep, leaning into Steve’s alabaster fur, the warmth from the fireplace surrounding the two. His eyes flutter open; he shouldn’t be this exhausted, he shouldn’t be freezing when the air he's breathing feels suffocatingly hot.

“How did it go,” and then, “where’s Dream?”

Technoblade nearly speaks up before it catches up to him that he doesn’t know.

He pushes down the guilt, because this is what he wanted; this is what they both wanted. Dream wouldn’t have split off if he didn’t know he could make it.

He thinks back to the shaking figure without enough strength in his legs to run before stumbling over himself, and doesn’t challenge it when the voice calls him a liar.

He doesn’t respond to Philza, either. He stares at the flames for a long time.

He still doesn’t sleep.

Techno is awake because he cannot sleep.

Quackity is not here, and he knows Dream cannot fight like he once did - Dream was weak when he left.

He does not want to think about it.

Dream is gone. It’s in the past.

He takes a deep breath, and his chest expands with the smell of burning logs, eyes flickering with the lights of the fire. Sentimentality he oh so despised fills his lungs, and the swallow’s tune whispers poisonously;

Dream will come back. His smile echoes in pale images of the future.

He nearly faces the darkness for once in a long time, when his communicator buzzes in his pocket.

His stomach sinks, and he shuts it off, but it is too late to unsee.

[ Dream was slain by Sapnap using [Regret] ]

There it is; the choir flares up though his brain in a dissonant requiem.

You left him, and you didn’t even say goodbye.

[fantastic-wizards]

magicblooms​:

Gellert felt a sliver of relief settle within him, when Albus assured him he didn’t think he was evil. It shouldn’t matter what this man thought of him, not after all this time and yet, aggravatingly, he did care even now. It certainly complicated things greatly, especially now that Albus had taken an undeniable stand against him. No matter how things ended on the battlefields of this war, he knew both of them would suffer great loss. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic Albus. Credence was never truly capable of killing you, we both know that.” Gellert shook his head with a scoff. His Obscurial was powerful certainly but the boys powers were in no match for a wizard like Albus. “You were far more likely to kill him in your altercation than the other way around.” He’d never forgotten the vision he had that summer, of Albus’ death at the hands of an Obscurial. It had shaken him like nothing else ever had at the time, nor since. He had long assumed the Obscurial in question had been Ariana, for the vision had never returned after she died. While he had grieved for the innocent girl he had come to feel protective over, there had also been a hint of relief that Albus was no longer in danger, despite the way things had ended between them. He’d never admit it to Albus but he knew that he would have killed Ariana if she had become a significant threat to the man he loved. Just as he would have killed Credence, had he achieved the goal set out for him. If Albus was going to die, it would be by his hand alone and only then if he felt his ex lover had pushed him into a corner without any other escape. A world without Albus Dumbeldore in it was unimaginable, even if he continued to disappoint him. “With the troth gone, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” Gellert knew he sounded harsh but it was the truth. Perhaps that was exactly what Albus needed. Harsh truths that he clearly couldn’t bring himself to face. “Just as if you truly wanted me dead, I would be. You can lie to yourself and your precious band of followers and your beloved Ministries of the world, but you cannot lie to me Albus. You never could.” His eyes narrowed as Albus offered sickening self deprecation. This wasn’t his Albus. This was everything he had once feared his lover would succumb to. His loathing and self hatred was threatening to swallow him whole. If this was how he truly felt, it was no wonder the Ministry was able to use him as they were. “Your place has always been with me.” Gellert snarled at him. “You would sooner side with those that harm us and worst still, you’ve convinced yourself that you would deserve any punishment they might see fit to wield in your direction.” His stomach churned to hear Albus speak like this. He was the best and brightest wizard of their age and he would sooner let the Ministries cage him for the sin of crimes he had imagined in his youth or ones that only existed in Albus’ mind alone. “You would rather flagellate yourself before a Ministry that has been responsible for more deaths of our kind than even the non magical and, worse still, you stand there and believe yourself to a righteous saviour to the savages that would exterminate us at first opportunity.”

   Albus  had  to  refrain  from  rolling  his  eyes  because  that  wasn't  the  point.  Whether  Credence  could  kill  him  or  not  didn't  change  the  fact  that  he  sent  someone  after  him.  But  it  was  an  argument  quickly  shelved  in  favor  of  focusing  on  the  now.  The  necklace  was  broken  beyond  repair  (  not  that  he'd  ever  consider  'fixing'   such  a  thing )  which  meant  he  needed  to  look  beyond  the  past.  Treading  water  in  that  murky  space  where  feelings  were  still  lingering  wasn't  going  to  help  matters  at  all.  When  the  Qilin  bowed  to  him,  no  doubt  the  creature  saw  the  resolve  in  Albus'  heart.  It  wasn't  a  lie.  He  was  wrecked  by  guilt  surrounding  his  sister  and  had  allowed  his  brother  Aberforth  to  remind  him  what  a  failure  he  had  been  when  it  mattered  most.  Regardless  of  what  Gellert  thought  he  knew  about  the  man  before  him,  things  had  changed  a   great  deal.  The  Qilin  was  not  wrong  to  see  the  resolve  in  Albus'  heart.  He  was  fixated  on  righting  the  wrongs  of  the  past,  or  at  the  very  least  sacrificing  himself  with  the  effort.  Gellert  could  think  what  he  wanted,  but  Albus  was  content  in  his  place.  It  had  to  be  this  way.  There  was  no  other  way.

   "I  never  lied  to  Newt.  He  knows  what  we  were.  I  may  have  been  dodgy  to  the  others,  but  not  with  Newt.  He  deserved  to  know  the  best  and  worst  of  me.  The  Hufflepuff  in  him  never  would  have  aided  me  on  half  truths,  but  I  digress."

   He  lowered  the  wand,  taking  yet  another  step  backwards.  It  was  time  to  leave  here  soon  because  he  had  zero  interest  in  rehashing  a  discussion  that  would  lead  to  nowhere.  "My  place  is  where  I  choose  to  be  and  it  is  not  at  your  side  anymore.  I  am  done  being  young  and  foolish.  You  seek  to  punish  a  whole  breed  of  people  who  cannot  help  what  they  are.  They  were  born  human.  It  isn't  their  fault  some  of  them  are  without  the  gift  of  magic.  And  as  far  as  half-bloods  are  concerned,  that  shouldn't  sentence  them  to  extermination  all  because  you  feel  they  are  inferior.  I  am...  hating  myself  every  day  for  ever  sharing  that  kind  of  hateful  view  of  the  world  but  I  assure  you  that  is  not  the  case  any  longer.  I  DO  want  to  reshape  the  world.  Just  not  as  we  imagined  it  when  I  was  lacking  half  a  brain."

   He  took  another  step  back.  "There  is  corruption  in  every  form  of  government,  the  Ministry  included.  All  the  same,  I  don't  care.  I  do  however,  find  it  funny  that  you’re  calling  me  out  for  trying  to  be  a  savior  when  you’re  doing  the  EXACT  same  thing.  So  don’t.  I  don’t  care  about  ANY  of  that.  Being  some  lord  of  the  wizarding  world  doesn’t  sound  nearly  as  appealing  as  an  adult  than  it  did  when  I  was  a  stupid  child.”  Albus  scoffed.  "I'm  done  here,  Grindelwald.  What  else  is  there  to  say  when  the  lines  have  been  drawn?  We  don’t  agree.  Best  not  waste  our  time  and  our  breaths  any  longer.”

[wdwmarveldisney]

Shoot her

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N is trapped in her mind and Peter is the one to pull her out.

Masterlist

A/N: So this is loosely based on the song Panic Room. It was supposed to be a lot more like the song but then this happened and I like it too much to change it. Not proofread.

Tw: Lots of violence, guns mentioned, killing. Literally the whole thing is very dark so.

(Gif isn’t mine)

It was dark, so very dark and cold. It was so cold. Rocking back and forth was no help to fight off the frost that bit your skin, everything about this place smothering any hope you had left. Sobs left your lips as you sat there curled up into a ball. The need to scream was so strong that when the sound tore through your lips, it wasn't a shock. Goosebumps were so prominent on your skin and your heart was racing so fast and your breaths were so uneven and maybe you were dying. You were ready for anything though how you sat would probably indicate just how terrified you were. But being terrified didn't mean you weren't ready.

If anything, it meant you were as prepared the most you could be. It wasn’t the first time being here, you knew what happened. It was almost impossible to escape the monsters that lurked in the shadows here and you tried your hardest to think back to them. The pain and suffering and ache for someone, literally anyone, to save you. But no one ever came and you had to be your own hero. This time, you didn’t think you were strong enough.

Looking up and around the room you were trapped in, your face was so pale and your eyes so wild. You looked dead, dark bags under your eyes only adding to the effect. Everything looked fuzzy except the screen. Gaze locked on the video, you heart broke again and again and again, shattering beyond repair. Not only were trapped here, suffocating in the darkness, but you had to relive that. The same monster that haunted your dreams for most of your life and now you were trapped within memory once more.

Screaming once more, you wanted someone to hear. Your echoing screams were driving you crazy. The hold on your knees became tighter, nails digging into the skin as you shook and sobbed. Silence was deafening, you had spent your life drowning it out and yet here you were, trapped in this dark, damp room with it. You could feel your skin crawl as you caved in yourself further.

You couldn’t speak, not that anyone would hear you anyway. No one could reach you in these dark depths, you knew that. So why did you expect someone to run through that door any moment now? Where you were was inaccessible, a place that didn’t even exist and you were the only one who could reach it. So being trapped there really sucked.

Lights flickered on and off, sparking from being overpowered and shutting down all together. Small whimpers left your chapped lips as you finally leaned your head back against the wall behind you. Monsters surrounded you, pain, grief, anger, guilt. What you would give to just be out of here. You had always tried your best to stay out of these situations after they had saved you, after everything you had done, but life had other plans. And right here, in this room, every emotion was so overpowering, so smothering and you couldn’t repress them anymore. You’d lost control. Your facade had finally crumbled and you were locked away once again with your troubles. If only you were strong enough to control your powers, you wouldn’t have returned. You just weren’t strong enough.

You watched as more screens turned on, one by one. They showed your worst memories, all the pain and horrors of your life. It was too much, your hands moving to your hair, pulling at the roots. Any pain was better than watching those. Voice hoarse and scratchy, you scream once more, just desperate to be heard. Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you felt silenced, the screams no longer echoing. Something else did, footsteps. But you were so deep in the pain and suffering you didn’t pick up on them, tearful eyes reflecting the horrors that were your memories. They were a tornado of fear and torture and terror and you were sucked into it. They had reached out and dragged you down with them, blocking out all the light, all the hope, that you had been blessed with.

“Y/N?” A small gasp left your lips as your dazed eyes look to the brunet at the door. You shook your head, this was a step too far. The small smile of relief on his face, the tears eyes, the slight shake in his hands. “No, you’re not real. You can’t be real. Stop, stop it,” you mumbled to yourself, watching his face fall as he took a hesitant step forward. Your hands slid into your hair once more as your head moved down to rest on your knees, “Stop it, he’s not real, he’s not,” you could hear the small sniffle that came from him, the light footsteps he took, “Stop!” You screeched into your jean clad legs, heart beating fast. You glanced to where he was, expecting him to be gone but he still stood, hands out as he took slow careful steps forward. “I’m here, I’ve got you. It’s Peter, just come here,” he stood a small way away from you, panicked that you didn’t want him there. Your eyes fluttered between screens and he followed, gaze taking in it all.

He watched all the killing you had done, all the pain you caused before he looked back at you. You’d told him, once or twice, that your backstory wasn’t exactly rainbows and sunshine. He knew how you were raised, what you had been forced to be. He knew how you hated yourself for it, how you were trying to make up for it all but seeing it, it was very different from hearing about it. Glancing back to you, he found you had fixated on one screen. All sound from anything faded out as you stood and approached it. You looked to Peter over your shoulder to see his confusion, “What are doing?” Ignoring his question, your hand reaches out to touch the screen and suddenly you were there, both of you.

The courtyard had this calm silence to it, empty apart from the four people in the centre of it all. Two men and two young girls. The older had to be at least sixteen, tied up and gagged in front of the younger, no more eleven. That little girl was staring at the other emotionless while the other looked so broken and hurt. “Y/N, what’s happening?” Not even bothering to respond to Peter, you walked over to the younger girl and scary man with a truly broken expression. Peter followed right after, stopping right behind you and realised that one of the guys was talking. “Shoot her,” he was talking to the youngest, gun placed in her hand, and Peter immediately looked to you with fear swirling in his eyes. When he looked back at the scene, the girl had raised the gun, hands trembling, an the other had managed I lower the gag that now hung around her neck. “Y/N, you don’t have to do this. Put it down, just put it down and we can go home, yeah? We can go see mum and dad, have that picnic you wanted for your birthday? Come on, you didn’t have to shoot me. Please don’t shoot me, I love you bubs. Please don’t,” Peter’s heart broke as you stared at the girl, who’s voice was shaking uncontrollably. Your hand had raised to smother your sobs, your voice breaking as you spoke, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

“Y/N, please just put it down,” the young you held the gun in place, now crying, and as you went to lower it, a hand held yours in place. The man had lent down to your height and stared at your sister as he spoke, “Shoot her or he shoots you,” the guy nodded to the one behind your sister and he raised a gun, aimed at your head. Eleven year old you shook your head, mumbling “No,” on repeat (just like older you) as your sister assessed the situation. With tears still in her eyes, she looked to the gun aimed at her and whispered, “You have to shoot me. I’m so sorry but you have to shoot me,” she ignored it when you shook your head and simply nodded in encouragement, “I’m not letting you die, shoot me,”

“No,” both versions of you cried and Peter wiped at the tears at his cheeks, wanting to hold you tightly in some form of comfort. Your sister had nodded with a sad smile sent your way and your shaking hands had pulled the trigger. A loud bang echoed throughout the courtyard, both versions of you and Peter all flinching. A small thud was heard as your sister’s body fell lump on the ground, blood falling from the bullet hole in her head. Instinctively, Peter reached over and gripped your hand, pulling you into him and as you held onto him, he pressed the button the bracelet that Mr Stark had told him to. And you were no longer there.

Sitting up with a gasp, eyes full to the brim with unshed tears as you took in all the superheroes that surrounded you. Curling into yourself again at their worried stares, you flinched at the arms that wrapped around you. You looked to Peter and attempted to push him back, you couldn’t believe you had just let him see that. The boy didn’t let you, grabbing your wrists as gently as he could and meeting your eyes, “You’re okay, it’s okay,” you began to sob again, falling into his body and crying into his chest as he held you. Peter wasn’t looking forward to explaining what he had seen in the deep depths of your mind that he had just pulled you out of. This whole situation was crazy, you losing control of your emotion based powers and being trapped in your mind. Him volunteering to go after you when Tony had found a way and him trying to navigate his way to you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, I’m sorry,” you mumbled into his chest and Peter shook his head, not wanting to let you go anytime soon.