#pretend the cheek bandage isn’t his scar in the first one i messed up the timeline

[lunisoular]

he needs to be supervised

[slutfor-fictionalmen]

Perfect

Levi ackerman x plus size reader 

based off of this post; y/n and levi get into a fight

You stretch in your shared bed groaning as you move your sleep-sore muscles and look over at the statuesque man besides you. You sigh as you remember the argument you had the night before and sit up, throwing one of the mans larger shirts over your soft body and stepping into some lounging pants.

“I don’t care if i die! at least i do it doing something useful like actually KILLING the fucking things, not just standing around barking orders, like SOME Bitch i hapen to live with!” His words echo through your mind, causing you to stare out into the distance while you prepare your morning coffee. You remember you only stared at him, your heart hurt, you knew he had just faced many titans and made it out barely alive, the stress was overwhelming on him. Little did you know, he was in pain, he thought about giving up, letting them take him but he fought for you. And then he came home and hurt you. 

Levi laid on his side, staring at where your plush form once was on your bed. He watched you walk to the kitchen, his mind begging him to say something, anything, only to let his body win and pretend to be asleep. You were quiet that morning, he could see your stoic features, you didn’t give him your usual forehead kiss or greet him by asking how he would want his coffee. He knew what he said hurt, and he hated himself for saying it.

“I’m sorry i’m not what you wanted.” He wanted to argue with your response, tell you that he didn’t mean it like that, but he let you walk away, he fed into you both sleeping back to back. He fed into you both drifting to what felt like thousands of miles away. 

Levi’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard a crash and a very audible ‘Shit!” come from you. You look up and see levi enter the kitchen and look back down at the mug that’s in shatters and the blood on your palm. You decide to ignore him standing in front of you as you careful put the large shards in your uncut hand and let him sweep up the smaller ones.

“Are you ok?” He’s faced with cold silence as a response when you look him in the eye and turn away, trying your best to leave any room that he’s in. Tears fill your eyes as you look for the first aid kit, both the seriousness of the situation and the pain of the cut bring a sting to your eyes. Unable to find the bandages you eventually break down, sitting on the bathroom floor and letting the tears flow. Levi slowly walks in careful not to upset you anymore.

Your disoriented mind yells, “Where the FUCK are our FUCKING BANDAGES.” At him instead of what you really wanted to say. With tears in your eyes you watch him grab the first aid kit and cautiously grab your injured hand, and tend to it. Levi’s heart hurts as he watches you break down, he debates comforting you before deciding ‘fuck it’ and holding your plush form close. Your struggle against his arms was short lived when he pulled you into his chest, letting you cry it out before having a conversation.

“I- i just dont want to lose you, i can’t lose you, i’ve lost too many people i loved and i CHOSE you to love, do you know how much that hurts? To choose someone and have them not care if they die? Even almost losing you hurt, it hurt so fucking much, i can’t do that again. Yo-You can’t be so reckless levi..” Your eyes look panicked as you replay in your mind, watching him run straight into a cluster of titans with not a single regard for his own safety. 

Your body ached, levi guided you to your bed, giving you some aspirin and a glass of water. He sat next to you and kissed your hand, from fingertips to wrist, spewing admiration for you. “I’ll be more careful, i promise.” You pulled your hand away from his and moved it to his face, giving him a lopsided smile when he rested his hand on top of yours and turned his head to kiss your palm. His need for touch reminded you of your shared days as a cadet, dealing with the judgemental boys and the bed-ready girls. Levi was the only person you ever felt like you could talk to, his presence calming you from the trying times those three years brought you.

Levi was the only person to truly be intimate with you, of course you’ve had other partners, but none of them loved you as much as he did. Your thoughts were suddenly brought back to your first time with the boy, how a sparring match suddenly became much more lustful than both of you accounted for.

“Remember our first time?” Levi’s head perked up, processing the information suddenly given to him. His flush died down as he chuckled and met your eyes. “If course i do, why are you thinking about that right now though?” 

You lean forward and peck his lips, pulling away before he can react.”I just wanted you to think about the first time you fucked me so hard i couldn’t think.” A furious blush rises to his face as he looks at your smug smile. Shaking his head he goes along with the changing atmosphere, moving to get on his hands and knees, crawling a short distance towards you with a lustful look in his eyes.

You shiver as you look him in his eyes, relishing in this feeling, wishing he was always this attentive to your needs and feelings. You quickly dismiss the thought, giving your full attention to the man kissing all over your face, drawing out the process of kissing your forehead, cheeks, and nose, finally meeting your long awaiting lips.

 You feel electricity as Levi kisses you with love that quickly turns to unbridled passion, his slender hands feeling your plush body, making sure that no part of your body isn’t mapped in his mind. Levi pulls away and sits up, pulling his shirt off his thin body and signaling for you to shed your clothes as well. Doubt briefly fills your mind before you take your shirt and pants off despite it. Levi can only stare at your body, amazed at your curves, stretch marks, and scars. He adores your body, he adores how soft you are and how only he gets to see you in your most vulnerable state. 

His hands wander your body vigorously while your own hands move to the hair at the nape of his neck. Levi’s lips attach themselves to your neck as he gently cups your breasts, his thumbs rubbing your nipples over the fabric of your bra while he nips at the pressure point of your neck. You let out a small moan before he parts your legs with his knee and places himself between your thighs.

You reach behind yourself and unsnap your bra, hearing a groan erupt from his lips before he marks your chest up with lovebites, leaving you squirming under his touch. His mouth moves down, kissing down your navel to  reach the top of your panties. Levi squeezes the soft expanse of your stomach while he pulls your underwear off of your body. His calloused hands holding your soft thighs down while he begins to lick your folds. You buck your hips, attempting to grind down onto his tongue, but his grip prevents you from moving with ease. He teases your clit with his fingers before he inserts one into your wet cavern. “Oh fuck- levi, please, i need more.” He smirks and obliges, stretching you out with two fingers, thrusting and shucking at your plump clit. 

He feels you squeeze around him, knowing that familiar tight band like pull in your stomach was about to break, he pulls out, preparing himself to fill you up. He pulls off his pants and underwear in one go, letting his penis hit his stomach. Mind flooded with lust, you dont have time to admire his body fully, you just impatient waited for him to fill the growing ache, that was longing to be filled inside you. His dick twitched as he took in the sight before him, his beautiful y/n sprailed out in front out him, ready for him to take you.

“Are you ready beautiful?” You simply nod and moan as he suddenly enters you, pushing him to quickly develop a rhythm. You grip at the sheets while he pounds into you, the sounds of skin against skin echoing in the room, the thick smell of sex fuling levi to go on, having you a whining mess underneath him. 

He lifts your legs up, moving you to fuck you at a deeper angle. Your moans increase as he continues to thrust into you, causing friction against your clit. You feel the familiar band in your stomach begin to wind up once again, you know your climax is about to come and you could feel levi lose his rhythm you knew he was about to finish too.

“Levi, i’m so close, baby, please.” His larger frame works at your soft body, unraveling the tight band in your stomach. You cum on his dick before he pulls out and releases his load on your soft stomach. You both relish in the afterglow before levi pulls you both out of your serene state with a single sentence.

“I was a dick, i wasn’t thinking, i’m sorry. You’re perfect and i didn’t mean anything i said….. I promise ill be more careful.”

“I love you levi, don’t pull that shit again, ok?”

“I love you too brat.”

No you guys weren’t perfect, but at least this is a start.

Sorry it’s so bad!!!! this was just a brain farttt

[morganaspendragonss]

Can you write a fic where Carlos is attacked while he is home alone and TK comes home after a shift and finds him super badly hurt?

holly's august extravaganza day 31: scars turn to memories

thank you anon! who else isn't ready for it to be september yet? i'm certainly not 😅 a masterlist will be coming out tomorrow with all fics listed. thanks so much for everyone's support this month, and i hope you enjoy this final fic (for august)!

thanks to @halsteadmarchs for the beta!

ao3 | 1.5k | angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, major character injury, knife violence

There’s someone in their bedroom.

TK is stuck in the doorway, just watching as the love of his life is brutally attacked in their bed, in their home. He tries to shout, to move, to do anything, but some invisible force is pinning him in place, making him a mere spectator to the horror show in front of him.

Carlos’s head rolls on the pillow, his eyes instantly alighting on TK. His lips move, though the only sound that comes out is a wet gurgle, followed by blood spilling from his mouth and down his chin. Tears drip hot down TK’s cheeks as he sees the desperation in Carlos’s expression, which soon morphs into confusion and then betrayal as TK doesn’t save him.

He can’t—he can’t—and he’s trying but the light is starting to fade in Carlos’s eyes and he’s dying, he’s dead, and TK still can’t move, he—

He wakes with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed. His heart is pounding and his face feels tight with drying tears, trembles wracking his entire body as the dream replays all too vividly in his mind. He’s been having the same one since that night four months ago, when he’d arrived home from shift to find Carlos…

To find him…

TK shakes his head, trying to shove the memories from his mind, but it’s a lost cause. He presses the heel of his hand hard into his eyes, but he can’t stop the tidal wave from rising up and claiming him, dragging him back into a waking version of his nightmare.

*

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

He takes a tentative step forward and peers into the darkness, slowly sliding his phone out of his pocket with a thumb on the home button, ready to call 911 at the slightest sign of movement.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then—

Carlos.

TK barely remembers to be quiet as he rushes to the stairs, desperately praying that the intruder has left Carlos alone. He knows that Carlos is more than capable of defending himself, but he would have been in bed, maybe asleep and definitely alone; TK doesn’t want to imagine what might have happened to him.

But, as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. TK stops dead in the doorway to their bedroom, all the breath knocked out of him as he takes in the sight before him.

The room is a mess, lamps knocked to the floor, the bed in disarray, and dark stains cover their sheets.

And on the floor, spread-eagled in a pool of blood, lies Carlos, and TK feels his world crumble.

*

His hands won’t stop shaking. TK grips onto the kitchen counter as he waits for the coffee pot to finish and closes his eyes, breathing carefully. It’s like the anxiety started when he first caught sight of the open front door and then never left, latching onto him and growing like a weed.

He hasn’t really had a good day in months, but it seems like today is going to be an especially bad one. Nausea climbs up the back of his throat as he remembers the sensation of Carlos’s blood on his hands, sticky and warm and there was so much of each, every bandage he pressed to a wound being soaked through in seconds.

His body is almost bent in two, his forehead pressed against the counter as the panic of that night returns in full force, almost choking him. TK gasps, his entire body trembling, before he loses his grip and crashes to the floor, the sobs that have been building in his chest since the moment he woke up finally letting loose.

*

“Carlos! Carlos, baby, stay with me, please, please.”

TK blinks back tears as his shaking hands hold another bandage to one of Carlos’s many wounds, crying out in despair as it quickly turns red. It was his last one, and now he’s down to grabbing anything he can find to attempt to staunch the ever-increasing blood flow.

He thinks the 911 operator on the phone with him is trying to calm him down, maybe, but TK stopped listening a long time ago. His training has been the only thing keeping him focused; if he had to just sit here helplessly, TK thinks he would have lost his mind by now, though it can’t have been more than five minutes since he found Carlos.

TK knows, in the back of his mind, that it’s a miracle Carlos is still breathing. There’s so much blood… No-one can lose that much and be okay. They’re on borrowed time, every second of delay in getting Carlos to a hospital increasing the likelihood that he won’t make it out of this.

“Come on,” he begs, pressing down harder, as if he can force the life back into his husband. “Don’t die, please don’t die, not now.”

But his pleas are in vain; Carlos’s breath stutters and rattles, and then stops altogether.

A second later, the room is bathed in blue and red as the wail of sirens heralds the arrival of help.

*

He comes out of the flashback with a gasp, finding himself curled into a ball on the kitchen floor. TK sits up with a groan, resting his head against the cupboards and tries to figure out how to breathe again.

One, two, three, four, five, in through the nose.

One, two, three, four, five, out through the mouth.

One, two, three, four—

One, two—

One—

It’s pointless.

TK forces himself to his feet, chest still tight with anxiety, and staggers to the couch. He collapses onto it and stares sightlessly at the wall in front of him. It’s still mostly dark outside, only the barest slivers of light entering through the windows, and TK wishes he could go back to sleep.

He won’t try—he’s too scared of the nightmares for that—but he’s so tired. He hasn’t slept properly since that night; is one night without feeling his husband’s life ebb away under his own hands really too much to ask?

Is it too much to want just a few hours of peace to pretend that reality doesn’t exist?

*

“I can’t lose him, Dad,” TK whispers, curled in on himself in the waiting room of the hospital.

His dad rests a hand on the back of his neck, fingers gently brushing TK’s hair, but it brings little comfort. Usually, his dad’s hugs and gentle reassurances would work miracles—even after their house burned down, when TK was furious at him, he couldn’t deny that it calmed him, just for a moment, to relax in his dad’s embrace.

But now… Now, TK doesn’t think there’s anything in the world that could make him feel better.

He has no clear memories from the moment paramedics swarmed the house; all he can remember is the pain and dread as they worked on Carlos, the fear as TK gripped onto his husband’s hand in the ambulance, unable to stand the thought that this could be it.

“I can’t,” he continues, shaking his head. “I don’t—I won’t survive it.”

“We’ll get through this, son.” His dad squeezes TK’s neck gently, then moves his hand to rub circles on his back. “We will.”

But all TK can think is how grateful he is that his dad didn’t say something stupid, like “It’ll be okay.”

Because it won’t.

Nothing will, anymore.

*

A silhouette steps into TK’s line of sight, and then he’s being lifted, his body pliant to the shadow’s ministrations. He’s resettled against a strong chest, arms wrapping around him and a kiss landing on the top of his head.

“Did you dream about it again?” Carlos murmurs, rubbing a thumb over TK’s knuckles. The gesture is soothing, and it does more to loosen the knot in TK’s chest than anything else could.

He nods wordlessly, sitting up and raising a hand to Carlos’s cheek. The raised scar tissue is barely visible in this half-light but TK feels it clearly as he brushes his fingertips over the mark. His hand drifts down Carlos’s neck and to his chest, where even more scars litter his skin, and TK’s heart aches—but then, something incredible happens.

Carlos smiles.

He fucking smiles, his eyes understanding and sad and maybe a little haunted, but it’s full of love; the same love TK feels for him.

And it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

TK kisses him gently, briefly pressing their foreheads together before burrowing closer into his husband, his ear pressed to Carlos’s chest. And his heart is beating, strong and steady, just like it always has.

And everything is going to be okay.

[blue-bird-kny]

The Decoy

Finally got this out of the drafts! Its been a hot minute but I hope everyone is doing well, enjoy!~Amanda

Warning: Cussing, Gore 

(1.3k+ words)

You bathed under the dazzling city lights as you took in every moment of the district's nightlife. You’d only ever heard stories of this buzzing city and all the crazy endeavours you could partake in. While you were the epitome of enthusiasm, your brute of a boyfriend was not as animated beside you.The atmosphere surrounding Sanemi was deathly; his face sagged in a deep scowl as he prowled at your side like a predator searching for its prey. Sanemi was sent to the Red Light District in hopes of finding and killing a demon who had been disguising themselves as a wealthy nobleman, promising women a hefty pay for their time. As hilarious as it would be, Sanemi would never pass for a decent lady in drag, so it was only obvious you tag along to act as the decoy.

“Hey look at this candy Nemi’! It's shaped like a dragon!” your eyes sparkled childishly at the glassy pulled sugar stick for sale on the vendors station. Sanemi growled in mock annoyance a few feet behind you, his arms crossed over his bare chest, “How fucking old are you? We’ve stopped at every damn stand” he complained. You paid the old man selling the treats, slipping in a few extra coins of gratitude, before shuffling over to your brooding shadow, offering an affectionate smile, “Come on Nemi, lighten up!” you chastised. Yea like that was possible, as if he wasn’t about to ship you off to some monster so he could touch you for sport, “Let’s go L/n”.

You found yourselves hidden between two tall buildings, using the shade as a rendezvous spot. “How do I look?” you joked, desperately trying to alleviate a little of his stress. His eyes wandered over your silky yukata, painted in brilliant blue shades with blue ombre blossoms and white accents adorning the sleeves. His eyes narrowed further as he passed your cleavage on complete display for any hungry eyes, wanting nothing more to sink his teeth into the exposed skin of your neck, to mark you as his. Your finger lifted his lowered grimace up to your far softer expression, holding him there, “Sanemi I volunteered, you don’t need to be so worried about me. I’m just the bait, you get to have all the fun” you giggled. His furrowed brows crumbled, revealing something softer for a moment, a moment meant for just the two of you.“Don’t do anything stupid, Stupid” he poked your forehead gently, silent confessions filling the small space. As he watched your retreating form from the side lines, Sanemi swore he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, even at the expense of the mission.

You walked around the large house alone, trying your best to blend in with the scantily clad women around you “maybe I’m overdressed”. You peered above at the poles that lined the roof where you felt Sanemi’s gaze following you. In your periphery you spotted your target, pretending to stumble on your own dress and falling at the feet of a very tall man, “show time”.

“I-I’m sorry, I lost my balance” you pleaded to the man from the floor, gazing up at him innocently. His domineering chuckle was deep and cocky, offering a hand out to you. “You’re new right? I’ve haven’t seen you around” he questioned, his amber eyes boring into your soul. He pulled you uncomfortably close to his chest, forcing your face near his, “I’d remember a face like yours”. You averted your eyes to the floor nervously, to him it looked like you were submissively falling into his touch,“All I need to do is get him away from everyone else”

“Come, let's go somewhere quieter” he wrapped your smaller hand in his larger one, pulling you away to an empty part of the house blocked off by a thin curtain.He sat himself down in a plush chair, gesturing to his lap, “Don’t be shy, I don’t bite” yea right. You gulped before awkwardly climbing onto his clothed thighs, trying everything in your power to not grimace.

Sanemi was two steps away from exploding as he watched the scene unfold before him, his eyes lighting with fire and dripping with bloodlust, wanting to rip that thing to shreds. It took every fiber of his being to hold out and watch every insufferable second of you being handled by a demon, but he needed to trust you. He knew that you didn’t need him around, that you were capable of killing the demon using the small blades hidden in the strap around your thigh, but he wasn’t willing to see how much of yourself you’d have to give for that to happen. Sanemi gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white while the man's hand languidly trailed your bare shoulder, slowly pushing the fabric lower and lower.

You giggled obnoxiously for the tenth time, laughing at whatever nonsense the demon was spewing. His touch was like ice against your skin; searing against your warmth, leaving an icy chill with every stroke. You stealthy moved your hand out of sight, flexing your fingers into the signal you and Sanmi had agreed on when the demon snatched your wrist, raising it to his long fangs. “I’m offended you think I’m so stupid, little girl”

Everything happened too quickly; before the demon could sink his teeth into your skin, Sanemi was  already standing there, sword raised against his neck and hand ripping the hair off his scalp. “Move even an inch and I’ll send your head rolling asshole” Sanemi growled. The three of you sat motionless, the sound of your faint breathing filling the tense space. “I must say, you’ve got me” the demon started, “But your only mistake was not grabbing her first” he sunk his teeth into your veins, biting down almost to the bone. You parted your lips in silent screams, blood gushing out of the wound as Sanemi severed his head, prying his teeth off the torn skin.

Tears spilled freely as you lay on the wood floor clutching your battered arm, praying for something, anything to ease the pain. “Shit” Sanemi breathed, frantically tearing a piece of his clothes to act as a bandage, “You should have fucking stayed home!” his words were lost in your whimpers. Your lips twitched, desperately trying to form words, but the world was fading fast and the last thing you saw was Sanemi before everything faded away.

“I almost died”

It was the first thought you had once your eyes finally opened, the warm blanket you'd been wrapped in falling to your hips. You remembered everything while you admired the crafty stitch work that lined your arm in intricate loops, wincing when you probed the tender skin. “Don’t touch it dumbass” a harsh voice called. “Hey Nemi” you greeted shyly, instantly recognizing the nickname. A million questions rushed to roll off your tongue, instead, morphing into one solemn “I’m sorry”

“You were right, I had no reason to be there. All I did was prolong the mission and hurt myself in the process” your voice quivered as you spoke, your eyes not able to reach his. Loud stomps marched towards your bed spread, Sanemis rough hands gripping your face, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t say that shit. You did your part of the mission while I hesitated and let that prick hurt you. So dammit don’t say sorry because I’m fucking sorry!” his tone grew higher and higher to the point where he was practically yelling, but it didn’t bother you. You smiled softly, nuzzling into his palms, grasping your flushed cheeks, turning slightly to place soft kisses on each one. “We’re a mess sometimes, aren’t we?” you yawned, pink washing over the both of you. “Whatever, just go back to sleep” he mumbled, pushing against the mattress. “Hey Nemi guess what?” “What?” “Now we’ll have matching scars” you laughed, eyelids already growing heavy “That’s not funny, dumbass!”

“Are you going to stay?”

“Of course”

Masterlist

This isn’t my favorite, but I 100% headcanon Sanemi using your last name as a term of endearment. 

[empyreanwritings]

Almost Lost You

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: near-death experience, mentions of blood loss, anxiety, minor angst with a happy ending

A/N: Look at me finally putting out a one-shot that isn’t mob related. Aren’t y’all proud of me? adklfjdsf this is written for @mycupoffanfiction​ ‘s writing challenge! My prompt will be bolded below - congrats on your milestone bby! you deserve all the followers in the world <3

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated (: x

The kitchen grew silent the moment you stepped into it. Everyone's eyes were on you, and you could tell they were gauging whether or not they could run over and hug you. Bucky was the first one up and pulling you into a hug, not caring if your body was still healing. You heard Natasha scolding him from her spot at the counter, but he didn't loosen his grip until you hugged him back.

One by one, the rest of the team walked over to give you hugs or gentle pats on the back. You pretended not to notice the way Natasha choked up when she came over to you. Almost losing you was hard on everyone, but she didn't want the others to think she was going soft.

"I'm surprised they discharged you already," Steve said as he made you a plate of eggs. "Did they have any say in the matter?"

"They did," you snorted. "Helen said I'm recovering a lot quicker than she expected. I can't go on assignments just yet, but I don't have to be cooped up in the med bay either."

"What's the damage?"

Bucky was the one to ask this question. Steve threw a glare over his shoulder, and the others didn't seem so pleased with it, but you smiled. It didn't bother you to talk about what the bomb did, especially with Bucky. He, of all people, knew what it was like to be scarred for the rest of your life. His metal arm was a constant reminder of who he used to be.

"The right side of my body was burned pretty bad, so there's going to be a lot of scarring once it's fully healed. Helen wanted to put me in the cradle and recreate the tissue, but I told her no, so we're doing it the old-fashioned way."

"Why? Wouldn't anyone want to keep themselves from being permanently damaged?"

You shrugged. "I think it's a good reminder that I'm still human. My powers may make me think I'm invincible, but I'm not."

There was a faraway look in Bucky's eyes when you said this, and you gave his shoulder a small squeeze to pull him out of his thoughts. He gave you a small smile and a nod before diving back into his breakfast.

By the looks on everyone else's faces, they didn't understand why you chose to heal naturally. The whole "I want to remember I'm human" reason didn't seem like a good enough reason to be scarred for the rest of your life, but you weren't going to explain it to them. There was nothing more to explain; you made a bad call in the middle of an assignment because you didn't think anything could ever hurt you, and you got hurt. You were feeling a lot more humble lately because of it.

You looked around the room, trying to spot the one person you've been craving to see since you woke up. Steve noticed your wandering eyes and shook his head - she hadn't joined anyone for breakfast since that day. She stayed locked in her room most of the time.

You stuffed the rest of your eggs into your mouth and quickly excused yourself to find Wanda. You felt a small twinge of anger at her for shutting herself away from everyone else - away from you. She never once visited you when you woke up, and while you appreciated everyone else's love, you really only wanted her company. Every day she didn't visit, you grew just a little more upset.

Wanda's eyes grew wide when she opened her bedroom door and found you standing on the other side. She silently took in your appearance; you noticed the way her eyes lingered on the bandages wrapped tightly around your arm and torso and sighed. It looked like it pained her to see you like this.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one you are avoiding." You pushed your way past her and made your way to her bed. You plopped onto the side you know she normally slept on and pulled one of her pillows on your lap. She didn't move from her spot by the door, and it only made the anger inside of you bubble up more.

You gestured to the corner of her room where her desk lamp lied in pieces on the floor. "What happened over there?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, right, nothing," you hummed in annoyance. "Because that certainly looks like nothing. You don't visit me in the med bay; you shut yourself in this room and avoid the rest of the team; and your desk lamp is broken, but it's nothing! Everything is fine and dandy in Wanda's head."

She shook her head. "Don't start, please."

"Don't start what? I'm just trying to understand why the hell you've been avoiding me!" You sat up and looked Wanda straight in the eye. You wanted to understand what she was feeling, and you wanted her to feel the heartbreak you felt when your best friend didn't come to check on you. But she broke your gaze and looked down at her feet. "I can understand the others because they're, sometimes, lame but me? I needed you, and you weren't there."

She stayed silent. She refused to look up at you and face the anger you clearly felt, and you let out a small, humorless laugh. If she didn't want to talk, you wouldn't force her. But you weren't going to sit around and wait for her, either.

You slid off her bed and made your way back to the door. You stopped in front of her, gave her a moment to see if she would say anything, but when she didn't, you scoffed and left without another word.

"Y/n, wait-" She tried to reach out for you, but she stopped in fear of grabbing the wrong arm. She didn't want to hurt you or make anything worse.

"No, forget it. I have nothing else to say to you. If you want to keep avoiding me and the rest of the team, that's fine."

"Please just listen to me for one second."

"Just tell me why you're being so fucking weird recently!"

She bit her lip. Tears started to well up in her eyes, and you felt your anger instantly dissipate. Seeing her so torn up made you forget why you were mad in the first place. You hated yourself for raising your voice at her, but she didn't give you time to take back your words because she was pulling you into a hug before she could.

"I'm in love with you," she sobbed as she nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck. "I'm in love with you, and I almost lost you. Do you understand how that felt for me? To hold you in my arms and watch the light literally leave your eyes?"

You weren't sure what to say. You had no idea what that must have been like for her - it was something you never had to experience, thankfully. While you were recovering from the blast, Wanda lived with the memories of watching you fade away from her. No matter how much she begged you to stay awake, no matter how much she wished it was her instead of you, you almost died. And she couldn't help but blame herself for not getting to your dumb ass sooner. Maybe she could have convinced you to be a little more cautious.

Maybe she could have saved you before the bomb went off.

"I took so many showers that night," she confessed quietly, "But I still couldn't get the feeling of your blood off my arms. I tried to come see you - I really did - but every time I stood outside your room, I just remembered the look on your face when you-"

You shushed her, not wanting to work herself up with the memories of what happened. She melted in your embrace when you started to run your fingers through her hair.

She thought she lost your touch forever. She thought she was going to have to live with the fact she loved you and never got to tell you. You could no longer be angry with her for not visiting you because you couldn't imagine that kind of torture.

If you lost Wanda…you weren’t sure you'd be able to keep it together.

You weren't sure how long she stood in your arms, but you had no intention of making her move until she was ready. She needed the chance to enjoy having you back, and you weren't going to take that away from her. Even if your legs were starting to fall asleep from standing so straight.

At one point, Bucky and Steve were making their way towards the hallway, but you quickly shook your head and made them turn in the other direction. Wanda would be horrified if she knew the others saw her breaking down like this. They could handle not going back to their room for another hour or so.

Wanda pulled away slowly and wiped at her eyes to control some of the mascara that was running down her cheeks.

"I look like a mess, don't I?"

You shook your head. "You look beautiful as always."

"I didn't mean for all that to come out," she murmured. "You don't have to say anything back. I understand that I unloaded a lot on you."

There was a lot you wanted to say. If you could take back the stupid decisions you made, you would. You didn't think about how your actions would affect those around you, and you should have. You were aware of that now. You could spend the rest of your life making up for what you did, but no one would ever ask you to do that.

You saved a lot of citizens that day. As much as your team hated what you did, they knew what would have happened if you didn't take the risk.

Wanda waited for you to say something. You could tell by the way she rocked back and forth on her feet that she felt awkward, but she wasn't going to admit that out loud. She had done enough confessing to last a lifetime.

"Ya know, I think I've loved you since the day we met," you replied after another beat of silence.

"You did not!" She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. "You're such a liar. You're only saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm not, I really think I did!"

"Stop, you're literally such a liar. We hated each other when we first met."

You gasped. "Did not! I didn't particularly like you because you knocked me on my ass and looked hot as hell while doing it, but I could never hate you."

She looked back down at her feet, trying to conceal the smile on her face with her hair, but it was useless. You already saw it before she even had a chance to hide, and it made a smile grow on your face as well. You thought about making a cheesy comment about how she had the most beautiful smile you'd ever seen, but she wouldn't believe you. Yet.

"There's the smile I love seeing," you teased and gave her side a gentle nudge. "Do you want to get some breakfast?"

"I'm okay. I actually haven't slept yet, and I think my energy is officially sapped from my body." You nodded, taking a step back so she can have some air. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to."

Your eyebrows raised, and your smile grew wider at her word. "Oh?"

"I mean, I just-" She huffed. "I'm just saying, I know you probably didn't sleep well in the med bay, so if you wanted to catch up on sleep, you can do it in my room."

"You don't have to ask me twice, darling."

Wanda stepped aside and let you back into the room. You took a few steps forward but stopped before you went too far. She began to question your actions, but you whirled around and pulled her back into an embrace, this time taking the chance to finally kiss her.

Your hands were on her cheeks. You felt her hesitate for the slightest moment, but she eased into it before you could step back and wonder if this was okay. The second her hands found your hips and pulled you closer, you knew she was more than okay with this moment.

It wasn't a passionate kiss; it was slow and tender. It was your way of reminding her that you were okay, and you weren't going to leave her any time soon. Comfort. Love. Need. The kiss was everything you wanted to say but couldn't find the words to truly convey how you felt, and it was more than enough for Wanda. For the first time since the accident, she felt like she could finally breathe.

"Believe me now?" You mumbled against her lips.

She hummed in amusement. "Not for a second."

"I guess I'll have to keep trying."

"I guess you'll have to."

[magioftheseas]

Soft Trauma

Summary: Komaeda wakes up, runs away from Hinata, but is caught by Naegi. Among other things.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Hospitalization, severe mental illness, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, some mentions of blood, just pretty messy medical stuff all around. There’s some rough kissing too Ig.

Notes: I’m pretty sure this fic was started in like...2013. 2014. It’s very, very old. I decided to finish it for kicks. Because it’s so old, dr3 just isn’t a blimp and it uses SHSL instead of Ultimate. So old. It’s Komaegi/KomaHina and very angsty. Have fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“Are you alright?” That person asks him, and the look Komaeda is on the end of receiving is...strange, to say the least. He wouldn’t call it particularly caring—but the concern was clear. It was...a very obscured gaze, though it almost softens when Komaeda keeps gaping at him like a lost dog. “It’s...understandable though, right? With everything that’s happened, especially to you... But it’s over now.”

“I... What?”

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” the other continues on, and the softness is gone to be replaced with his expression pinching up. Like this feeble attempt at conversation is starting to cause him pain. “I don’t know... I don’t even know if I can forgive you. Do you remember anything?”

Komaeda doesn’t immediately answer—instead staring curiously at...him. With bizarrely long locks and dull red eyes. The question he asks... Komaeda doesn’t know how to respond to it either way.

But he seems to...understand. “Right. It’s been rough. Never mind. You know what—never mind.” And annoyance sparks through his features as he almost jerks away and stops just in the middle of leaving. “You’re awake. Everyone’s awake. That’s all the matters. It’s over.”

“Over?” he echoes, and the other grits his teeth though Komaeda can’t see it.

“...Komaeda...” Komaeda flinches—because his surname sounds so dry. Like it’s something the other had been avoiding to say for a while. And though he clearly struggles with saying the rest—just Komaeda is enough to leave him near breathless—he continues. “Try and get better soon.”

Komaeda sees him walk out of the room and close the door behind him—but he doesn’t hear a thing. Was that person a ghost? With the way that person looked, it could have been a demon—but no. No, he knows that’s not what that was. Demons don’t show such care, especially for someone like him and...

--

When he remembers, he rips out his IVs and leaves the hospital room.

To where, he isn’t quite sure. He just stumbles in the direction his legs take him, holding his bandaged stump to his chest and staring at the ground all the while.

--

He’s still found, of course. But it’s not the person from before. It’s...someone else. Someone he knows but doesn’t fully remember.

“Komaeda-kun, there you are,” His sigh is relieved. Komaeda blinks the blurriness out of his eyes by the time he raises his gaze to the other approaching. Slowly. Carefully. His smile is small. Komaeda skitters back and further away. He still calls for him—but annoyance doesn’t touch his tone. Not like it would if that person—Hinata-kun—were the one to have found him. “Komaeda-kun, please. You need to get back. You’re not well.”

“How do you know that?” he asks in returns, voice too dulled to even manage surprise. “How would you know that? Who exactly are you?”

This brunet—it’s not Hinata-kun—doesn’t lose his smile for Komaeda like so many others. No, he still looks so understanding and it just makes Komaeda’s head spin more. It’s so dizzying, he might just faint and—then the other moves. And his hands are steadying Komaeda so that he doesn’t fall. Komaeda blinks a bit furiously, and for some reason, his heart is racing.

And this is familiar. He knows this feeling. He’s felt it before. He remembers that...

 “We...were in school together? We used to see each other quite a bit, right?” He remembers this—between the wretched poisonous memories of her and everything else, he remembers him. It’s fuzzy, but he recalls—though wasn’t he shorter? Softer?

He was still short. Still soft. But so bright. Was he always so bright? Wait—Komaeda picks up a few more pieces—the ones that don’t slice his fingers open and drip with his blood—and he puts them together. Back then, this person had been...

“We were almost friends,” the other says, wistfully and almost mournfully. It’s strange. He almost sounds like he regrets that almost. He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. “We were in separate classes, Komaeda-kun, but I did see you every now and then. Do you remember? You...” Here he laughs, more like chuckles a bit weakly. “You were the one who cushioned my fall when I tripped on one of the staircases. I was terrified because I thought you were seriously hurt.”

Komaeda slumps a bit and he shoves the other away, stumbling back as his hand shakily goes to the scars his hair hides. The other sees and his frown deepens as he approaches him again. Like he was approaching some scared, wounded animal. And Komaeda, really...

He wants so badly to be held.

“Naegi-kun,” he says—voice blank and empty but with trembling limbs reaching for the shorter, softer other. His voice scratches against his throat, raw and painful, but he can’t stop saying his name, “Naegi-kun.”

Naegi crosses the distance with ease and wraps his arms around him, whispering sweet condolences into his ear while he has to pretend said comfort doesn’t burn him like dabs of alcohol against his wounds.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Naegi murmurs, and Komaeda freezes when he easily puts together what that is. But Naegi holds him tighter so that his pieces don’t fall apart. “It’s done. You can move forward, just like everyone else.”

Komaeda sighs; nuzzles against him as his hand and wrist press into Naegi’s back. Naegi strokes his hair like it isn’t a knotted filthy mess thick with dust. Contrarily, Naegi smells fresh and clean—and that scent is almost suffocating.

As awkward as it is with their different heights, Komaeda buries his face in Naegi’s shoulder further. For now, the warmth is enough. For now.

--

Naegi leads him back to his room by hand—like a parent guiding their child. Komaeda keeps his head down, though every so often his eyes flicker up just enough to observe the curve of Naegi’s cheek and the shape of his slightly tilted profile. He also thinks he’d like to see Naegi turn to face him completely, and then he wonders how much he’d see if he was closer...

And he winds up so disgusted with himself his head drops back down and stares hard at the ratty shoes on his feet he used to be fond of.

“Komaeda-kun,” Naegi asks him softly as he glares down at himself. Komaeda makes a sound of acknowledgment, but he refuses to look at the other facing him. “We’re almost there.”

He hums in response, and Naegi continues. “I was thinking... I’m going to stay with you a little longer. I’d rather not leave you alone right now, honestly.”

Komaeda’s breath catches, but he only shakily nods instead of making a comment. Naegi must notice—the way his pale trembling hand tightens around his smaller, firmer one. Komaeda doesn’t have to see his face to hear the smile in his voice. “Alright then. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to tell me. And don’t worry—I’m not going to leave you unless that’s what you really need.”

You should though. You need to leave the first chance you get, Naegi-kun. I don’t need...

Komaeda can’t say that though—and the only thing keeping him from sinking is Naegi’s warm grip wrapped around him.

--

The problem isn’t the fuzzy memories of the younger SHSL Lucky Komaeda knew and then a little more... The problem is that Komaeda can’t stop thinking about Hinata.

Komaeda already tries so hard not to think about Hinata as he was in the stimulation. Hinata, who had a smile for him that disappeared as soon as it appeared—and yet he continued to approach him anyway.  Hinata tried so hard to understand even when it was clear he never would. Hinata was nothing special. Hinata was too plain, too average, and ended up far too important.

But wasn’t Naegi like that as well? Plain? Average? Far too important? But, shamefully, the main difference was...

“Komaeda-kun, I got you some water. It’s cold like you wanted.” Naegi opens the door, handing him the chilly open bottle for Komaeda’s trembling hand to take. He smiles brightly, warmly, and Komaeda wonders if the water is magnifying the blush he feels rising on his face. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you, Naegi-kun.” He really is grateful, but the revelation comes as no less of a sinking feeling of dread. Naegi’s widening smile only certifies it.

Hinata-kun won’t smile like that for me anymore. But it’s not like I deserve it. Naegi-kun’s just being kind. He’s kind to everyone, no matter how awful or wretched they are. Still...

The gratitude and dread mix with something else and he begins to feel sick. Naegi responds to his thanks with a sweet comment of “it’s no problem”, but... It really is a problem. He feels sick.

He’s not going to say anything about it, though.

--

Naegi sees him and spends a lot of time with him. As much as he can. If Naegi ends up caught in something else, he still sends his wishes to Komaeda through either a letter or Kirigiri who sometimes checks up on him too. Kirigiri is nice when she relays the message but she looks at Komaeda a little too carefully—and he knows her talent far too well.

Though Kirigiri isn’t so bad to talk to—she’s good at relaying information on things Komaeda is shamefully unaware of.

“Your other classmates have been recovering well—so we don’t have to focus so much on them. Hinata-kun’s been making the process easier, too.” Komaeda nods at this, and can’t even remember if he asked for this information. Everything’s been in a blur lately. But Kirigiri continues on informingly—how his classmates have been pulling through, and how even despite the awful memories that Komaeda’s too afraid to touch, they...still manage. Somehow. Though it’s not likely going as well as it sounds.

Not that Komaeda really wants a clarification. But Kirigiri tells him anyway, and he politely listens until...

“Hinata-kun asked about you the other day.”

He freezes, one good hand clenching bone-white in the sheets as he stares down at the wrinkles bleeding through and tries to avoid looking at the bandaged stump of a wrist where his other hand used to be. After a while, he shakily asks, “W-What did he say, Kirigiri-san?”

“He asked if you would be able to leave your room anytime soon. When he should expect you to be discharged.” She reached out, smoothing the tenseness of his fist with her gloved fingers. A gesture Naegi would do. “I told him that if—when that happened, he wouldn’t have to worry. Naegi-kun would still be keeping a close eye on you, as well as the rest of the future foundation.”

Komaeda loosens his grip on the sheets, not even attempting a smile as he responds in a dull voice, “Naegi-kun really troubles himself a lot over me, as does Hinata-kun. I’d prefer it if they didn’t. But at least he won’t have to worry about it after all, right Kirigiri-san?”

“If you mean Hinata-kun, then I’m not sure about that. He still looked unsure, which makes sense. Even as I explained more thoroughly, he looked unsure.” She’s blunt in her explanations—observational and unbiased. Even if the explanation makes him feel uneasy, he appreciates that she’s so concise. “Do you want to know anything else?”

“Not really.” He’s a bit blunt himself. He gets that. “Thank you, Kirigiri-san.”

She gives him a slight smile, but it’s one that has him seize up for a moment. Because he recognizes this expression. He’s never talked to Kyouko Kirigiri before encountering her as SHSL Despair, but he knows almost instinctively that he’s seen this look. Considering who she is, it isn’t hard to figure out where.

“Is something wrong, Komaeda-kun?” The smile is gone, and she looks a little worried. Komaeda immediately shakes his head.

She’s still being kind. The last thing I should do is upset her.

“Don’t worry about it. I just... My mind went blank for a moment. Please don’t worry about it, Kirigiri-san.” He winces when he says her surname like that, and her expression doesn’t change. His heart raced with the very real possibility she saw through him anyway—but then she only nods.

“It seems we’re going to have to keep a better eye on you,” Kirigiri notes, almost sighing. “Though Naegi-kun’s optimistic about you, Komaeda-kun.”

He almost laughs at that, a smile cracking at his dry lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from SHSL Hope. I envy him—being able to retain such faith in someone like me...”

Kirigiri doesn’t say anything in response. But she takes the water by his stand and refills it. Then she rummages through the cabinets to find the appropriate medicine to take with it. Komaeda’s smile starts to fade.

“Here,” she offers, and he takes it immediately, swallowing down the pills with large gulps of the clean, cold water.

His stomach churns unpleasantly, but he thanks her politely all the same.

--

He ends up vomiting just as Naegi returns, and Naegi rubs soothing circles into his back and holding back his hair as he heaves over a trashcan. It helps because Naegi immediately shushes any self-deprecation that falls from his lips like further bile.

“We’ll get you something for nausea, Komaeda-kun.” Naegi says kindly, handing him some napkins to wipe his mouth off. Komaeda does so, and Naegi starts tugging him to get to the bathroom so that he can brush his teeth. Or maybe Naegi’s going to do that for him. The thought drags him down.

“You know,” Naegi murmurs as he helps him walk. “It’s alright to lean on me if you need it.”

Komaeda does. Though all it does is help him fall further.

No matter what medication they give him, the sickness never fades either way.

--

Things get worse when his dreamless nights disappear. He ends up dreaming a lot more than he wants—remembering things he really doesn’t want to think too much about.

His death in the stimulation comes up a lot—and it’s bizarre because he’d been resolute in the procedures. He wasn’t scared of dying, not if it was for a purpose. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt—that he didn’t scream through the tape over his mouth. That he didn’t nearly choke through tears the second his lungs were filled with that poison.

That he didn’t have regrets and at the time, couldn’t stop thinking about...

...Hinata showed up in his dreams too. Hinata taking his hand as he pulled him up from the beach. Hinata fretting so much as they walked that he kept bumping shoulders with him. Hinata standing before him, looking torn with wariness and worry, and Komaeda unable to stop thinking that he might really...

Hinata with long black hair and red eyes piercing into him. Red. Red eyes. Red eyes piercing into him—red nails digging into him.

Komaeda halts his thoughts then and there and proceeds to risk overdose on sleeping pills so that he can pass out and fall into the void rather than getting dragged down there.

--

Admittedly that wasn’t the best option.

“Komaeda-kun, if you’re having trouble with sleeping, just say so!” Naegi actually looks angry—frazzled and...worried. Was he scared? It was just a few more days spent hospitalized, thankfully, and while it’s a bit disappointing, Naegi still... “Please. You have to say something when something is wrong.”

He really doesn’t understand and Naegi’s voice gets softer. “I don’t know how much you remember what happened at the academy—but I do. I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t want to see anyone go through that ever again. Especially not you—not again.”

“Naegi-kun...” His voice still sounds dead to his own ears and that just makes it worse. Naegi actually starts to shake as he reaches forward to grip Komaeda’s left wrist. His grasp is careful, wary of the bandages, and Naegi’s gaze just lowers.

“Were you having trouble with nightmares? Did you get scared?” Naegi questions these things quietly, gentle but coaxing. Komaeda feels bogged down with each soft word permeating his mind. “If you need to talk to someone, I’m here. Please. I want to help you—and I want you to want...”

I want you.

Komaeda silences him by placing a hand on his cheek, shushing him carefully, and Naegi looks eager to hear him unwind. To hear him spill everything he needs to—and Komaeda knows he’s only going to disappoint so he apologizes beforehand. “You don’t have to forgive me, Naegi-kun.”

And before Naegi can say anything else, Komaeda presses his mouth to his.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Naegi’s slack, surprised lips before pulling away. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Naegi sucks in a breath, fights back the urge to bring his fingers to where he’d been kissed, and only smiles like he always does for Komaeda. It makes his heart hurt even more. “It’s fine. It’ll be alright, Komaeda-kun.”

There’s a tremor that goes through his body at those words. But Naegi’s perfectly willing to let it drop. He doesn’t say anything else and well, Komaeda won’t say anything, either.

Even though, if he remembers correctly, that was the first time he ever kissed someone. And to think, it was something he used to dream about a lot about. Having someone he would kiss—kissing Naegi in particular. Something he once accepted as an event that would never happen.

Disgusting.

--

The day Naegi insists he gets up and walks around to stretch his legs is the one he wants to stay in bed the most. But only because otherwise, he really doesn’t care as long as he doesn’t risk having to perhaps encounter his old classmates. It’s cowardly, of course, but he can’t...

He gives in but refuses to use a crutch so Naegi sticks by just a bit closer. He would have been with him anyway—no one trusts him, after all. It’s fine, as awful as it is, Komaeda likes that Naegi’s there. He’s a good stable point after all. SHSL Hope.

His lips sometimes burn with the memory of the kiss. But that was with Naegi-kun, not SHSL Hope. But Naegi-kun is...

“Careful, Komaeda-kun,” Naegi steadies him as he stumbles, sighing as Komaeda meekly apologizes. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. Just worried.”

Naegi’s always worrying about others he really should be more apprehensive of. Especially when that other is Komaeda. Considering that he still wants, no matter how much he tries to crush that yearning, Naegi really should be more uneasy than he is.

For some reason, it’s hard to say all that. So Komaeda just nods along and they keep on walking through the long, solitary corridor. The light shines in through the windows on the left side of the hall, filtering onto the tiles, and because he needs to stop looking at the ground to not look at Naegi, he glances out of them as they pass.

He stills to a dead stop in his tracks.

The first thing he notices is someone who has to be Owari, swinging her arms out and slamming them against a laughing Nidai. Even though she looked different—thinner because Komaeda remembers that she was the one who—there was no doubt it was her. They were being cheered on by Sonia, Mioda, and Souda as Tsumiki remained safely on standby tucked under the tree covers. Hanamura was given access to the grill, making what were probably lewd comments under To—the Impostor’s careful gaze. Koizumi and Saionji were chattering animatedly, and Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama were close together as well. Tanaka was more separated from them, though he wasn’t alone as he was just giving bits of food to the birds picking at the ground before him. No, not one of them was really alone.

Except. Where is...?

Souda turns to greet the upcoming presence. Long black hair was done in a braid—who did that, Komaeda wondered—and Ibuki is the first to rush up and tackle the other into a hug. He turns around to his other classmates—no, associates—and once Komaeda sees his face, his mind goes completely blank.

With his smile bright and wide and eyes shut as the rest of the group greets him and gathers around him, there’s no doubt for a moment that it’s him. Hinata-kun. He can’t hear what they’re saying or what Hinata’s saying, of course, but with Hinata’s grin on full display, he doesn’t feel like he needs to.

Hinata never was good at starting conversations, but his expressions were enough. Happy beams to let everyone know he was content—alert focus to show he was in deep thought or carefully listening. Uncertain frowns to show his worry. Gritted grimaces to challenge. Komaeda watches the emotions flicker across his face as keenly now as he did then.

That smile, though. It’s not one he’s witnessed often—mostly if not only small, almost sheepish grins accompanying shy gratitude. Ones that Komaeda could easily return back then. Back then. Now, though...

“They look like they’re having fun,” Naegi notes and it almost makes him flinch. Komaeda feels cold sweat run down his cheek as the younger gives him an easy grin that’s just like his—just like Hinata’s—and... “How about we join them?”

Hinata-kun won’t smile like that for me anymore. And it’s not like I don’t deserve it. But...

“Aren’t you going?” Hinata, looking at him warily and yet expectantly, and Komaeda could only smile. He can’t now, even as he says the same thing now as he did then.

“I’m not so unaware of my position that I can just walk out there... If I did that, I’d just ruin the mood.” The words come out easily, and he turns away from both Naegi and Hinata, staring back down at the cold tiled floor. “It’s nice that you think it’s so easy, Naegi-kun.”

“Komaeda-kun, it’s...” And because Komaeda can’t bear to hear him say how fine it is when it’s not—he just snaps.

So it ends up this way, with him pinning Naegi to the wall and desperately trying to connect their mouths together as he tries so hard to ignore the heat from the window beating down on his back.

It ends up wrong. He apologizes profusely when his chapped lips scratch against Naegi’s softer ones. But he pulls the other close when Naegi just gives his sweet, forgiving smile, and their mouths rub almost painfully together with his disgusting continuous indulgence. It’s like he’s starving and this is the only thing that fills his stomach—but the necessity is distorted into greed and at this point, Komaeda doesn’t even care if this overabundance causes his insides to collapse—he just needs.

So it’s more like a drug. A drug. Disgusting. Disgusting.

“Komaeda-kun,” Naegi sighs. Komaeda nips at his lip, teeth gently tugging at them and hands beginning to tremble as he reaches to thread his fingers through soft brown hair. “Komaeda-kun, it’s okay.”

No, it’s not. Komaeda shakes his head before pressing his mouth to his, muting anything else from coming out. Don’t. It’s not.

Naegi responds, pressing back and steadying him with hands on his shoulders. Somehow that undoes him even more—and Komaeda gives a desperate moan.

“It’s alright,” Naegi pushes him away gently when he presses into him harder, the meeting between their lips nearly suffocating even as he greedily tries to take in more. Komaeda’s breathing harshly, drinking gulps of air and trembling like an addict going through withdrawal. It’s disgusting. It must be sickening to look at.

“I-I’m...” His forehead falls into the curve of Naegi’s shoulder. His neck hurts from having to lean, but he can only pull the other closer. “I’m... I’m...”

Naegi holds him in the hallway like he did the first day, the same gentle comfort and loving condolences. He strokes his hair, careful not to get caught on any unsightly knots, and Komaeda’s shaking in his arms like a leaf. It’s too bright—the light from the window, he can’t stand looking at it.

Naegi must somehow notice because he tugs Komaeda back to his room a little later with not much else.

--

He pulls Naegi practically on top of him when he’s back on his bed, connecting their mouths and needing this far more than he needs the image of Hinata’s bright smiling face on someone with long black hair. There are other things too—how this feels like compensation for a time before all that, those memories he does have of Naegi where Hinata isn’t there. This isn’t a surprise because Hinata is not and was never an elite.

He’s nothing special. No talent. And yet.

“Komaeda-kun, enough,” Naegi parts from him, placing his fingers over Komaeda’s quivering lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what? What is there to talk about?” Komaeda asks, attempting a smile but it withers on the spot. He wants to run a hand through his hair, but doing so would require relinquishing the grip he has on Naegi’s shirt. He shakes his head at the idea, though it makes Naegi’s frown deepen a bit. “It’s impudent though, isn’t it, that I’m even doing this. It’s audacious, unthinkable, and I don’t know why I...”

“Komaeda-kun, it’s alright.”

“Why do you always say that? As much as I respect you, Naegi-kun, even I know you’ve got that wrong. It’s not alright.” Komaeda laughed, wheezy and awful and it hurt his throat. Naegi doesn’t even look afraid, not like Hinata did. “It’s not alright because I’m still here. I’m still alive. After everything I’ve done, I should be dead by now—I think I ought to be dead.”

Naegi grips his shoulders, and before he can so much open his mouth to form a denial, Komaeda continues so that he can’t. “I know what I’ve done, and...when I remembered after you found me the first time... I managed to put the pieces together. I somehow managed to piece together the full extent of what I’d done. All I ever did was play into her hands. Again. I was used by her—that person I hate more than anything...and I let her dig her nails into me and squeeze.”

She always held him so tight with silk-laced steel in her tone and hands.

And I didn’t even try to fight her—I didn’t even try. I just let her do as she wanted—helped her achieve what she wanted, I just... I just...

At some point, he just stopped struggling. He just let her do...as she wanted...

“Komaeda-kun!” Naegi exclaimed, and Komaeda was only vaguely aware of why. He was curled in on himself—arms wrapped around himself as tremors wracked his body without relent. His breathing quickened, grew heavier, and his face was wet with sweat and what might be tears. Naegi shouted his name again, and he curled in tighter, beginning to hiccup and hyperventilate.

I’m not dead. Yet he’s never felt less alive in his life. He’s choking on air, feeling like an old coat being yanked in different directions with each worn, ugly thread severing, and despite there being pain—his chest hurts, his throat hurts, his joints are starting to hurt—he’s losing more and more of himself with each passing second. Not dead. Not. I’m not dead.

He hears something. Naegi trying to get to him? But it’s dark, he’s not sure, and he doesn’t know—what’s even going on. I’m not dead. But. But... I should be. I really should be. I meant to be. I wanted...wanted...

Then he just stops thinking. It’s too dark.

--

He wakes up exhausted. The IVs are back in his arm. His body feels like lead. More than anything, he wants to fall back asleep. Never wake up again until it was better. If it got better.

But I’m not dead.

Komaeda lifted his head weakly, wiping off his forehead and blearily blinking at his bandaged stump of a wrist as it rested calmly against the sheets. There wasn’t any blood anymore—there used to be so much blood. His head really was starting to hurt. He needed to take something for that.

Oh, and something for his earlier freak-out. That probably worried Naegi. He doesn’t want to do that again: worrying Naegi...

Nae...gi.

Where’s Naegi-kun?

On cue the door opens, and Komaeda turns with an immediate smile. One that immediately falls from his lips as his jaw goes slack and curls fall before his eyes.

“Komaeda,” Hinata wets his lips, hand squeezing the knob of the door before he ultimately lets himself in, closing it with his back. “I...was told that you...”

This isn’t a joke, is it? I know you’re cruel, Luck, but this is...pushing it. I don’t like it. I’m not happy with this—this is surely bad luck and that’s not fair... But Komaeda forced a smile again, and his giggle sounded painful even to his ears. “Good morning, Kamukura-kun.”

Hinata stilled, and Komaeda saw anger flicker across his features—no, more like a kind of fury—but then Hinata steeled himself, yanking his hand through the long black locks and muttering, almost inaudibly to himself...something. Komaeda couldn’t make it out, not really. Just as he was about to comment on it though, Hinata cut him off with a snarl of his surname.

“Komaeda, just what the hell...” Hinata glared, head lowered and gaze almost glowing beneath his brow. A warning sign—one that would have been frightening considering the face. Hinata’s never made it before and, in all honesty, the actual Kamukura’s expression was threatening in a sense, sure, but more a perpetual state than anything else. Not to mention back then, Komaeda outright laughed at that face. Somehow he manages to laugh again here and it makes Hinata nearly tremble. But he doesn’t say anything, so Komaeda starts.

“You can here for something.” Even with a smile on his face, his voice sounds cold. He feels cold, too, and Hinata even froze with those crimson eyes going wide. He looked more like Hinata with that face. Komaeda’s tone grew icier. “What, exactly, was it that you wanted?”

“I...” He hesitates long enough.

“If you don’t know, then you should leave. Come back when you do, you know?” Komaeda nearly rose his arm to gesture, but stopped dead when he realized it was the wrong one. So he gives up on that and thankfully doesn’t stumble on his next words. “I’ll be here when you do. Perhaps.”

Hinata snaps out of his surprise and glowers again, and he almost reminds Komaeda of a cat in the way he puffs out with ire. It’s actually cute. Komaeda giggles into his hand and that irritates him further because of course, it would.

“I-I...” It’s strange Hinata hasn’t left yet. He usually would have at this point. Instead, it’s like his feet are still rooted to the floor, which is extra strange because Komaeda really would prefer it if he just stormed out like he always does when his tolerance for Komaeda runs low.

Perhaps he wants answers. He didn’t ask for them last time and now is the perfect opportunity. I’ll give them to him, too, if he just asks. Maybe if I make that clear, he’ll...

“Hinata-kun, if you want...”

“I was worried about you.”

Komaeda stills, expression blank with confusion. Hinata seemed to blurt that out without thinking. And before Komaeda could brush it off with an easy ‘no worries’, it was like Hinata snapped in that moment he was taken off-guard by the statement.

Because, abruptly after saying that, Hinata was shouting. “I was worried! I thought something happened when I heard about you blacking out after a panic attack and I—I got fucking scared alright?! You were out of it for days. I didn’t know if you were going to wake up! I was worried sick about you, Komaeda, and considering the shit you pulled, I really shouldn’t have been!”

Hinata spews it all in one breath and at the end of his rant, he’s panting, breathing heavily, and Komaeda can only stare at him blankly. A little bit later and Hinata chokes out an aggravated sound, covering his face with the action. He shakes a bit again, like despite allowing his outburst, that heavy weight on his shoulders remained, and if Komaeda had been in the right frame of mind, he’d be disappointed. Or would that have been wrong?

Though he does agree that, “You...really shouldn’t have been, Hinata-kun.”

“So you did know,” Hinata darkly laughs behind his hand. He really does sound tired and sick of this. It’s not an unfamiliar reaction to Komaeda—he’s seen it before in countless other people but... “You’re such a piece of work.”

Komaeda can no longer look at him. Instead he’s looked at his bandaged wrist again, lying without worry on the sheets over his lap. There’s nothing to hide anymore, he thinks. He also thinks he really needs to have these bandages replaced. “I’m...fine now, Hinata-kun. Thank you for worrying about me.”

It’s just the polite thing to say. He isn’t sure if he means it or not—not that it matters, because Hinata can’t read him anyway. He even has that much more familiar look of frustration on his face at Komaeda’s platitudes. Nothing’s really changed.

“I really don’t get you.”

But at least...

“You try,” Komaeda manages a smile, and he actually feels it’s a bit more genuine this time. “That’s more than I can ask for.”

“Just like with Naegi-kun, right?” Enoshima sing-songs. “You’re still so desperate for affection, Komaeda-kun.”

...wait.

Enoshima giggles brightly from where she was laying her head upon on his bed as Komaeda turns slowly to look at her. She smiled up at him, continuing cheerily. “Some things never change. In fact, isn’t this situation exactly the same?”

It was the same. Exactly the same.

“First Naegi-kun...” Naegi, who was nice to everyone no matter how wretched they were. Naegi still smiled for him even now.

“Now Hinata-kun...” Hinata was smiling so brightly with everyone else earlier. He’ll never smile for him like that though, never.

Enoshima’s smile widened, her index finger tracing shapes into his thigh. “Even though you went through the trouble of opening up to another person, the result is still the same. Isn’t that a shame?”

It wasn’t just random shapes actually. She was tracing letters. She was spelling it out.

“But now you have two people so I guess it isn’t all bad. Naegi-kun’s finally letting you do what you want, Hinata-kun’s even running after you... You could have it all right about now. So I guess it’s not so bad...”

She reaches for his hand—a hand that not only mirrors her own but is her own—and their fingers entwine impeccably. Enoshima held it tight, painted pink lips pulling into her brightest, loveliest beam. “But we know how this ends, don’t we Komaeda-kun? Don’t worry though, when you’re lost again after those two both end up leaving you, I’ll be there. I’ll even hold you, if you want—I’m not going to leave you, Komaeda-kun...”

It’s certain—that’s right. I trust my luck, but... “You lost.”

She lost. She’s gone—she’s dead and she’s never coming back. This is wrong—she’s wrong. I’m not dead—this is wrong. I’m not dead, I’m not... I...

I want...

“Komaeda?!”

Komaeda’s eyes shot open, and Hinata’s face was...close. Over him. Looking stricken and then relieved when he blinked several times in confusion. Held. He...was being held? Hinata’s arms are tight and warm around him, he can hear his heartbeat, and why was he on the floor in this embrace when he should be in his bed?

“Komaeda,” Hinata says, voice hushed before he lets out a heavy sigh. “You lied.”

But she lost. I’m not dead. I want...

“You’re not fine now. You said you were—you aren’t.” He’s all matter-of-fact and weirdly upset about it. But he’s still holding onto Komaeda tight like he’s worried letting him go will allow him to slip away. As if Komaeda has some other place to be other than locked up in a hospital room with only Naegi as his sole...contact.

Hinata-kun’s here though? Yes, Hinata was here holding him. Naegi. Where was Naegi?

“I... Hinata-kun?” His expression changes, from that weird upset to pity, and Komaeda’s handled more carefully than glass as he’s lifted up—almost effortlessly on Hinata’s end, when was he this strong? Surely not Kamukura—and Hinata lays him back on the bed, only flickering his uneasy glance to the unhooked tubes fluttering by the machines once before looking away in distress.  “Hinata-kun, where is Naegi-kun?”

Hinata’s gaze snaps back to him, wide-eyed surprise before hardening into something cooler. “I’ll tell you if you give me some answers first.”

Ah...huh? “Hinata-kun, you could have just asked...”

“They have to be good answers too!” What constituted as a good answer? But Hinata explained that. “I mean, I have to actually understand what you’re trying to say rather than you getting all wishy-washy like you always do...”

The frown on Komaeda’s face might have softened him a bit—making that sternness on his face fade, because Hinata adds in a much quieter voice, “Just answer me as directly as you can, please? I want to understand.”

Komaeda does nod, and the other takes a deep, deep breath.

 “Did you really want me dead?” Hinata asks, still all quiet. “Did you want us all dead? Did you really want everyone including yourself dead so badly?”

It’s strange. Strange. “I...did. I wanted...”

To eradicate despair. To spare the world from more suffering. To end it. If I could. If it was in my cards. Everything I did played into that girl’s hands.

“Got’cha,” Hinata sounds both like he expected the answer yet it still managed to disappoint him. How boring. Komaeda cracked a weak smile despite himself. “Well, you didn’t get what you wanted.”

“Not entirely true. After all,” He turned that weak smile to Hinata, managing to make it a bit wider. “That girl isn’t here, is she? She’s gone. And she’s not coming back. I don’t even have her hand anymore. Of course—I didn’t get to kill her either. I didn’t even get to see her again.”

That’s right, that’s right, that’s...

“That’s for the best.” Hinata sounded sure about that. Truly...strange. “Meeting her was an unpleasant experience. You wouldn’t have liked it anyway.”

Komaeda laughed, and oddly...Hinata didn’t look scared. He still had that look of stern certainty and...strange. Strange. Was this really Hinata? This face... Komaeda isn’t even fully sure he knows or recognizes it. “Well, it’s a shame. But that’s that. It’s not like it wasn’t a possibility I’d die first.”

“You didn’t die.”

“I didn’t, did I? I failed on that account too.” Everything I did played into that girl’s hands. But she’s not here anymore. She’s not. “I...I want to see Naegi-kun.”

“Not yet.” Hinata has the decency to look somewhat ashamed, but his expression quickly hardens. “There’s another thing I wanted to ask. Nanami. Are you aware of what happened to Nanami?”

“That was after I died, how am I supposed to know?” Komaeda whined. “Obviously, I’m aware she wasn’t actually there, but that’s it.”

“That’s it?” For whatever reason, Hinata quirked an eyebrow.

“That’s...” He swallows and nods so hard that it hurts. “That’s it.”

She wasn’t real. My efforts were utterly pointless after all. All I did was play into her hands. Are you asking me about Nanami Chiaki to make fun of me?

No—Hinata wouldn’t do that.

He must have just really cared about her.

Ha.

Haha.

Hahaha.

“I want to see Naegi-kun.” It’s funny, how he’s trying to smile and the efforts leave him shaking. “I want to see him, I want to see him, I want to see him.”

Hinata stares back at him. If his desperate face is being reflected back at him in those crimson pools—he doesn’t want to see it, so his eyes squeeze shut.

“I answered your questions,” he whispered, pitiful and childish. “Or is there something else? I would call you impudent, but given the circumstances... It’s just what I deserve, right?”

He hears Hinata’s intake of breath. He doesn’t want to think about what expression Hinata might be wearing.

“It’s not about that.”

“Why not?” He must come across as such a child. Such a stupid child. “Don’t you hate me, Hinata-kun? Surely you must. Not only did I try to get you all killed, but I was also just... I was horrible. From start to finish. I spoke of hope but I must have brought such despair. Not just to you, but to everyone, to...”

To Naegi-kun, too. I don’t have the right to be alive. Not when so many others aren’t.

Hinata just sighs. Like this outburst is nothing more than a dull annoyance. It’s enough of an insult that Komaeda opens his eyes, realizing then that his vision has gone blurry with tears. It even stings and wiping his eyes with his ruined arm surprisingly doesn’t do much.

“You weren’t horrible at first. You helped me out a lot,” Hinata mutters. He’s almost awkward about it, but shamefully, the tears won’t stop coming so Komaeda can’t look at him properly. Despite that... Despite this shameless, despicable display... Hinata places a hand on his shoulder. It’s warm to the point of searing. “I don’t hate you. Not anymore, anyway.” His hand pulls away, and Komaeda can’t catch it. “I’ll...go get Naegi.”

And because he can’t fathom having the gall to ask the other to stay, he lets his left arm fall. But... But, but, but...

“Thank you.” The blur that is and isn’t Hinata-kun pauses at the doorway. “For not...hating me. I really am sorry about everything, Hinata-kun. I’ll... I’ll try not to get in your way anymore.”

Maybe, Hinata turns to face him. Maybe he doesn’t. Komaeda can’t tell, not when he’s forcing a smile as the tears keep on running.

“P... Please take care.”

It’s funny. Hinata almost sounds choked up. That must be a mistake. It couldn’t possibly be. Couldn’t.

Let’s not think about it anymore.

--

Naegi brings with him a box of tissues. Kind, considerate Naegi. How wonderful he is—how wonderful he has always been.

If only I fell in love with you properly, Komaeda can’t help but think. He blows his nose, and there are flecks of blood in the tissue. They’re as red as Hinata’s eyes now. Before all this... I wish I had fallen for you properly, Naegi-kun.

“You’re so nice,” he can’t help but mourn. “I wonder if that’s because you’re SHSL Hope.”

“Oh, no,” Naegi laughs so easily. “I’m still as normal as I’ve always been.”

Turning her away when the rest of the world fell to her heels isn’t normal.

“Naegi-kun...” He dabs at his eyes before crumbling up the tissue in his hand. “To someone like me, you’re a superhero.”

“I’m just a guy, I swear.” He believed Naegi meant that. So, what was he supposed to think? “Komaeda-kun, I...” What was he supposed to think when Naegi looked uncomfortable, not just uncomfortable but unsure. “I want to help you not just because we were schoolmates, once, but because it’s just the right thing to do.”

What was he supposed to say to that?

Perhaps... Naegi-kun is exceptionally foolish. But...

“You wouldn’t be yourself if you abandoned anyone,” he murmured, a sardonic smile pulling at his lips. “I hate that. I hate that so much. It actually makes me feel even lower than trash.”

“S-Sorry!” Naegi really does look so apologetic. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad!”

“Of course not,” Komaeda sighed, and because Naegi was so close, because Naegi was hovering, Komaeda had the opportunity to kiss his cheek. And he took it. Inelegant and quick, a soft smack of his lips when the pressed against Naegi’s soft, round cheek. “Actually, you make me feel so good that I feel even worse. There’s no winning with someone like me. I’m just the worst, huh?”

He keeps talking, but Naegi is flushed so brilliantly. It’s funny.

He does look normal like this.

“I’m the worst,” he reiterates, and he wants to cry again but he can’t stop himself, “I like you—a lot. I love you, even.”

It’s normal to be afraid of rejection, he thinks, heart pounding so painfully. It’s normal, normal, normal, that’s why I can’t...

He can’t take it. Not here. Not like this.

Not when Naegi is smiling at him like that.

“Komaeda-kun... I...”

Not when Naegi speaks so softly, so gently, so sweetly—and takes Komaeda’s hand, squeezing. Just like how Hinata had squeezed his shoulder before.

No, exactly like that.

Just like that, he can’t bear to think about it anymore.

[yxlenas]

bandaging/stitching up an injury + Allisaac

Alludes to things that happen but I haven't written yet.

“You need stitches,” Allison says firmly, hands on her hips in front of the motel bed Isaac is sitting on. He’s hunched protectively over his bloody side, hand clamped over the deep, angry gashes left by a wolfsbane laced knife. Kira is showering, and Scott and Derek went to get something to eat. Monroe’s hunters are becoming less and less of a problem, especially this close to Hale-McCall territory, but that doesn’t mean they’re inactive. Isaac’s bloody, blackened side and the trail of dead supernatural creatures in San Francisco are proof of that.

“It’ll heal,” Isaac says, voice a low rasp. His eyes are flickering between yellow and blue as he sweats the poison out. Allison leans forward and rests a hand against his cheek, grimacing at the heat of it.

“It’s poison,” she tells him, feeling very tired and over it, “You will not heal.”

“Slap some Nine Herbs on it and go to bed,” he mumbles, hunching over a little more. He’s getting paler by the second, and the hand towel she’d forced against his gushing side is more red than white. He needs stitches, like now, and Allison doesn’t have the patience to keep trying to convince him to get them. She puts her hand on the center of his chest and shoves, then straddles his belly. Isaac lets out a grunt, glaring up at her with glassy eyes. Allison drops the first aid kit on the mattress next to his head and takes the towel away from his stomach.

The gash looks worse in the flickering fluorescents of the motel room, curving from next to Isaac’s navel up to his ribs, bisecting part of the jagged mess of scar tissue left behind from his face off with La Bete their senior year of high school. The knife had been serrated and the cut is ragged on the edges, black veins curling away from it. Isaac sucks in a deep breath when Allison presses her hand against the developing bruise around the cut and more blood oozes onto his pale skin. She opens the first aid kit and sanitizes her hands, then grabs a roll of hemostatic gauze and presses it against the wound. Isaac’s eyes roll in his head and he makes a sick sound of pain.

“I know,” Allison murmurs, reaching for the lidocaine and the numbing spray, “I know, baby. Worst part. One, two, three-”

Isaac lets out a loud, jerking lupine whimper, eyelids fluttering over golden irises. Lidocaine burns badly, and so does the numbing spray, but she’d tried giving one of the wolves stitches without local anesthetic one time, and they’d ended up owing the motel they’d patched each other up in a new mattress. Allison threads the needle, leans over to press a kiss to Isaac’s grimy, sweaty forehead, and begins sewing him up.

He’s dozing fitfully as she ties off stitches methodically, a freshly showered Kira holding his hand, when Scott and Derek come back with a pile of Trader Joe’s bags.

“How’s he doing?” Derek asks, as Scott starts unloading the groceries. Isaac opens his eyes for a few seconds, rolling them toward Derek. They’re still glowing golden because she can’t apply the salve until he’s stitched up, and the poison is keeping him from resting peacefully. Isaac makes a weak gripping motion with the hand Kira isn’t holding, and Derek settles next to him and takes it, brushing his lips across Isaac’s bloody knuckles.

“Hey, kiddo,” Derek murmurs, “Allison’s almost done, then we’ll get that poison purged and you can rest.”

“”M 22, Der,” Isaac slurs, “No ‘kiddo.’ Hate the purging part.”

“I know,” Derek says, carding a hand through Isaac’s hair, “But it’s better than burning the wolfsbane out.”

Scott kisses his beta’s temple and puts a cold washcloth down on his skin before disappearing into the shower. Kira gets the bucket they keep in the car just in case someone gets carsick, and Allison ties off the last stitch then gently wipes the blood from around Isaac’s side. She reaches for the Nine Herbs salve, and smears it on Isaac’s broken, purple skin with a cotton pad. Isaac’s back arches and the veins in his forehead start to throb. Derek pulls him to sitting and gets him curled over the bucket before the first wave of vomiting starts, and moves the cold washcloth to the back of his neck. Allison starts cleaning up the bloody blackish gauze and packing away the first aid kit. Kira drifts away from Isaac’s violent vomiting and onto the other bed, curling up under the comforter and turning on the TV.

After about 10 minutes Isaac pushes the bucket away and drops down onto the bed with a gasping huff, black sludge staining his mouth. Derek wipes his face with a tissue and goes to take Scott’s place in the shower. Allison grabs Isaac a water bottle and lets him curl against her, pushing his face into the crease of her hip and taking measured breaths.

“God, that fucking sucks,” he chokes out into her leggings, “I miss burning the wolfsbane out.”

“Except this works better,” Allison says, running her hand up into his hairline. Isaac makes a sound like a frustrated puppy and grabs at the water bottle. He’s asleep before Derek finishes in the shower.

In the morning he’ll be grouchy and itchy, and she’ll have to pull his stitches out before he tries to do it with his claws. All the wolves will eat an entire grocery store’s worth of food and they’ll head back to Davis and pretend to be normal college seniors with normal college jobs like they didn’t almost die several times in 24 hours. Allison lays down next to Isaac and he curls up against her, tucking her into his broad chest even in his sleep, and closes her eyes.

[undeadsnorlax]

Can Anybody Tell Me Why I’m Lonely Like a Satellite?

heyyy my first fic for @badthingshappenbingo​. starting things off with my favourite space boy

Ao3 link

Prompt: Loneliness

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV Series)

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, angsty as hell

Wordcount: 2603

A day in the life of Luther on the moon.

***

Wakey-wakey.

“Urgh…” Five more minutes…

Come on. You need to get up.

Luther groaned, rolling onto his back and squinting up at the blank metal ceiling. It took him a few more minutes to open his eyes properly, and a couple more to roll over and check the clock with another groan. 22:47.

“It’s early,��� he mumbled, swinging his legs around and rubbing his face down. Well, early in his sense, at least.

Fifteen minutes won’t kill you. Means you could go to bed earlier later tonight, technically.

Luther considered this and nodded, slowly getting to his feet and walking toward the door-

Thunk!

“Every time!” he cried, rubbing his forehead. He’d learn to duck eventually.

He stretched his arms until his fingers brushed the ceiling, then placed a hand at the bottom of his back and arched it, grunting at the dull crunch his spine made.

With a few more stretches, he dragged his feet over to the counter, smiling at the small potted umbrella plant there.

“Evenin’ Ben,” he said softly, large fingers stroking the leaves before picking up the tiny watering can.

Hey Luther.

Luther let out a sigh, tapping one of the radars beeping away on the workstation below the plant.

Something wrong?

“Nah, nothing.”

He shrugged and went about doing his other ‘morning’ chores. Checking the base’s oxygen levels, collecting any trash, seeing if there was any response from home.

Nothing. Of course.

Luther dressed in his space suit, taking the bag of trash out and dumping it with the rest.

He allowed himself a moment of freedom, pure gleeful joy as he bounced light as air across the moon’s surface. He’d been up here two and a half years and this part still never got old. He was in space!

He pushed off from the ground hard, floating a foot higher before landing with a weightless thud. Grinning behind his helmet, he tilted his head to look up at the Earth in front of him.

It was awesome, thinking about how one planet could contain so many billions of people going about, living their lives.

Including four of the ones he’d grown up with. What would they be doing right now? Vanya would definitely be going to bed, and maybe Allison was doing a late night movie shoot. Klaus would probably be partying and Diego doing...whatever he did.

Luther let out a heavy sigh, his grin fading. No use in wondering like that. Just reminded him of how everything fell apart.

He was brought back into focus by his stomach rumbling. He clasped at it for a moment, staring blankly at the stars, before trudging back to base to eat.

Running low on those.

Luther narrowed his eyes as he opened a packet of soy paste, slumping down heavily on the nearest chair.

“I know,” he said quietly, squeezing every last drop into his mouth ravenously.

He also knew this would do nothing but numb his hunger for only a few hours, knew this wouldn’t have been enough food for him even before his accident. For as little as he did physically up here, his body still craved energy, and this shit just didn’t cut it.

You asked Dad for more, right?

“Every time.” Luther glared at the plant. “I’m due more soon, okay? Today or tomorrow…”

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring at the empty packet. Reluctantly, he went to the box and got another, pretending it was something more elaborate instead. One of Grace’s amazing dinners, a rich beef casserole in a thick red wine sauce, with potatoes and vegetables, maybe some kind of pie for dessert, with ice cream-

He groaned, swallowing the mouthful of saliva he’d formed at the mere thought.

Not helping?

“I miss real food.” He rubbed his middle, feeling at least a little more full, enough to concentrate on work.

Have you checked your bandages?

Luther licked his lips, before shaking his head, looking away like a naughty schoolboy getting a scolding.

Do that. Please? It’s been a few days.

“Okay, okay.”

He went to the cramped bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror first. He looked rough.

Dismissing that observation, he slowly zipped down his top, careful to not get it stuck on his body hair.

How’s it look?

“Better. Honest.”

The bandage itself, on his right side just above the ribs, looked a little grubby, dried dark brown stains having seeped through. Carefully, he picked at the medical tape keeping it in place, wincing every time it caught a stray hair, but managed to rip it off and inspect the wound underneath.

A laceration done in such a way there was a small chunk of flesh missing, but it was healing nicely.

Luther reached for his first aid kit, pouring out some antiseptic onto a cloth and pressing it down. He winced again, gritting his teeth, but knew it was all worth it to help it get better.

As he prepared clean bandages to patch it up again, Ben chimed in.

It was scary when you did that. You were so scared.

Luther’s gut churned with unease, remembering the frantic, near manic state he went into a few days prior. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either. A sudden burst of wild emotion overwhelmed him, forcing him to his knees as he tried to let it pass, but the feeling inside him just got worse and worse.

Are you okay now?

“I don’t know.”

He bandaged himself up again, before he traced along a similar mark on his stomach, healed now into a bright pink scar.

His fingers curled into a fist, zipping up his top again before he could do more damage to himself. Ignoring the urge hadn’t done much good the last few times, but maybe this time he’d figure out a way to not hurt himself again.

Doubt it…

He went back to sit at a console, rummaging through the mess of paper cluttering the table.

What’re you doing today?

“Going through these.” Luther scratched his chin as he thought, eyes skipping down the page. “Need to arrange them in order, rewrite them neater...pretty boring, right?”

What work isn’t?

Luther chuckled, splitting the paper into small piles. “Got that right.”

And then silence. Luther became engrossed in his work, only moving to either stretch his back or use the bathroom, and even that wasn’t often.

Sure, it was boring but...it was his kind of boring. One of his earliest memories was pouring over a book on the solar system, using it to try and figure out the constellations he could see from his bedroom window. Him and Five raced to have their hand up first during their physics classes.

It became a one man race after he vanished.

Luther tapped his pen against his temple, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind was drifting, thinking of his siblings again.

He tried not to think of Five too often, but he still wondered what the hell could have happened to him. Sometimes he wondered if his brother had just settled somewhere. Gotten taken in by a nice family who looked after him.

He didn’t like the alternative. The portrait that hung in the living room reminded him every day for over a decade of the alternative.

That’s how he tried to feel about Ben. He was in a better place. He was at peace. Happier, maybe.

Again. Better than any alternative.

He wasn’t even sure he believed in an afterlife.

With a heavy sigh, Luther pressed his head down against the desk, closing his eyes for a second...

Luther…?

He jolted to sit up again, muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxed, picking the piece of paper that had stuck to his forehead. “Wha’?”

Drifted off bud. Not long.

“Ah. Right.”

You have been working hard for a while.

“It’s not that long-“

Luther cut off upon seeing the time. Eight hours had passed since he started. “Oh. Dang.”

You deserve a break.

“No, I’m...I’m nearly done, it’s fine.”

Luther…

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t mean to snap. He flinched the moment he did, putting his head in his hands.

Look, I get it.

“No you don’t. You’re a plant.”

Luther turned on his seat to face said plant, scowling at the thing. “You’re a voice in my head.”

Helps though, doesn’t it?

Luther wrinkled his nose a little, turning away and tapping a finger against the desk.

Helps to have someone to talk to.

“Crazy Luther Hargreeves, all alone on the moon with a plant that sounds like the brother he let die,” he muttered.

You know that’s not true.

“It’s true enough.”

He suddenly became aware of another console that had been letting out several beeps. Luther gritted his teeth and made his way over, reading the screen.

DELIVERY INCOMING

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 0823

“Told you more food was coming,” he said, going to suit up once more. He’d missed it landing with his quick nap by about ten minutes.

Out on the moon’s surface, Luther tilted his head back, taking a slow deep breath. He could see the pod the package came in at the usual spot, but he desperately needed some quiet.

Inside his base, there was always some kind of noise. Little things, the consoles and monitors gently humming away in the background, the soft drip of a tap he might have left on. Constant.

Even back home in the mansion after everyone left, he grew used to the creak of floorboards, the structure settling around him. Every opening door making him perk up and hope someone was walking through, coming back.

Outside, on the surface, it was silent. It was like he could hear his body working, every thump of his heart that sent blood coursing through his veins.

In space no one can hear you scream…

So he did. He bent his knees, and took a deep breath and screamed at the top of his lungs. Everything contained within his helmet.

Straightening up, he screamed again, a rush of catharsis overwhelming his brain. It felt good to scream. He should do this more often. Better than hurting himself.

His chest ached a little as he caught his breath once more, staring dazed at the ink black sky above him.

So much...nothing. The night skies were never this clear back on Earth and maybe now he was glad because being confronted with such a sheer vast nothingness every day was sure getting to him. Would explain why his plant was talking.

Luther scrunched his eyes tight, and went to get the delivery. He dragged it inside, changing from his suit once more and tearing the box open.

Anything good?

He glanced up, narrowing his eyes, before getting out smaller boxes of soy paste. He sighed, inspecting the writing. They always said they were different flavours, but he mostly got the same soggy muesli or stale bread taste with every packet he consumed.

That…doesn’t look like a lot.

“Shut up, I know…”

Luther set one aside and put the rest in his food cupboard. He didn’t take a chair this time, just slumped down on the floor and gently squeezed the contents through the packet, huffing heavily.

Luther, that’s not going to last.

“I’ll make it last,” he mumbled, unscrewing the top and sucking gently, trying to savour it, “I have to…”

He tried to focus on the gentle hum of the base instead, closing his eyes to help. He wasn’t sure what had happened in recent months that his food packages were becoming less frequent, and less in amount, but it didn’t help anyone to dwell on that. Dad was busy, he had stuff to do…

C’mon big guy. You know that’s bullshit.

Luther glared up at the ceiling. That was new. Hearing Ben’s voice had happened surprisingly quickly, the moment he decided to name his plant after him. He never heard anyone else’s voice, but having Diego’s growling in his brain was almost a welcome change.

Almost.

You really think he’s that concerned for you up here?

“Shut up…”

Should’ve gotten out when you had the chance.

“Shut up!”

Luther slammed his head back against the console, grunting from the quick hit of pain. When Diego’s voice didn’t go away, kept taunting the same message of should have gotten out when you had the chance, he did it again...and again.

Until there was silence.

Too much silence.

Using the counter for support, he got to his feet and went back to his desk, staring at the piles of paper in front of him.

“This mission is of the utmost importance, Number One.”

That’s what his father had told him after explaining he was going to the moon. He’d blankly affirmed, not pointed out how pointless it was to refer to him by his number when it was just him left (because look what happened last time he said that), and gone along with it.

His whole life, Luther had been raised to lead a team and save the world. His team had left one way or another, and the ‘world saving’ work he did was mostly thankless.

But here he was. On the moon. Part of the mission. Everything was part of this lifelong mission. All the data he was collecting, the experiments he ran, they were important for...something.

Luther stared at his hand, the greyed skin and dark fur that kept making him forget it was his hand. This was all part of it too, somehow. It had to be.

Otherwise…

He finished his work. Filed away the pages neatly and made plans to send them out tomorrow.

For a moment, he hesitated by the umbrella plant, reaching to touch it’s delicate leaves.

“...Ben?” he said softly.

Nothing. Of course not.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself back to his bedroom, grabbing his personal notebook from the side table. He flicked through the pages until he landed on the poem he’d been struggling with for the last week, tapping his pen against the words.

Constellations are families, each star has their purpose, their name and position.

They work together as something bigger, part of the galaxy’s nightly exhibition.

There must be times where they can do nothing but fight,

When it grows so tiring to always be shining so bright.

Luther clicked his tongue, frowning at the words. Of all the hobbies he could have taken to pass time up here, he never anticipated poetry, but he was really getting into it, having filled pages already, some of which he’d sent back...just in case Dad was curious.

He could just see his plant on the counter through the door. He went to call Ben’s name again, but he cut himself off and shut his eyes, focusing on the hum of the base once more instead.

The voice in his head was never Ben. Ben was dead. Five had gone long ago. Allison, Diego, Klaus and Vanya were back on Earth living their lives. Had been living their lives quite easily without him.

He’d managed by himself. He was exactly where he wanted.

In space. On the moon. Just him.

Number One.

By himself.

Like it had been for years now.

Tomorrow he’d wake up and go through this again. The self-doubt and the spiralling and the focusing on work so hard to forget what was really happening. Maybe his plant would start talking to him again.

But really they know that no matter how much they argue and moan,

Being a family at odds is far better than being one star all alone.

[krysalla-archive]

'aamukaste' with dick mayhaps??

aamukaste - morning dew.

The weather has only started to shift, blowing cold air and chilling you to the bone in the middle of the night. You wake up with hazy eyes and shuffle closer to Dick’s side of the bed to find his warmth, rolling when you reach the part of the mattress where it sags in his shape. For a moment, you can pretend that he’s just in the bathroom or in the kitchen cooking french toast. You shouldn’t dilute yourself with this hope. He’s not home. He won’t come home. 

But just maybe-

A black dress hangs off the body length mirror. Kory helped pick it out for you while you had to choose the suit he would be buried in. Donna and Raven helped strip the sheets on your bed, Joey picked up the mess that had accumulated in your bedroom and living room. The kitchen was spotless. You had no need for it. You could live on fast food, he couldn’t. Dick needed a specific kind of diet to keep up with his activities.

You lay the dress out carefully, stretching the material to pull out the wrinkles, but they had set into the fabric overnight.

Your cell phone chimes and on the fifth ring, you pick up. Donna’s voice crackles through the receiver and although it is easy to make out, you can’t find it in you to concentrate on anything she says. Humming out answers and nonchalant yes’s and no’s that you hope will appease her. You spray your dress with wrinkle release and tug and tug until the fabric stretches beneath your hands.

“I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry.”

-if you hadn’t been so harsh,-

You inspect each part of the dress to make sure there isn’t a thread out of place or a wrinkle in sight. It needs to be perfect. Dick deserves it. A perfect service for a man who gave you everything, who loved you through thick and thin. He gave you his heart and entrusted you to keep it safe.

It’s hard to see yourself in such a state of disarray. Bloodshot eyes and angry creases on your cheek from how you slept on your sheets and the corners of your mouth pulled down.

The heavy foundation you reserve to conceal sleepless nights is finally opened for the first time in months. You pour it onto your fingers, pressing too hard on the bottle. It’s cool to the touch until you rub your fingers together and press them to your cheeks. You press roughly into your skin, nails scraping away lines of foundation until your skin heats up. Each tug grounds you. It’s real. Dick is dead and now you’re just the girl with a dead fiancé, doomed to be the spinster woman who never got over the death of her first love and to know how easily loved ones can be taken away from you.

-he wouldn’t have left like that-

There’s been an emptiness curling inside of you, growing worse as the hours and days had passed until you were sure that there was nothing left in you. You would like to blame Raven for this, that maybe she took away the pain you felt, but you hadn’t felt anything since you received the news from a teary-eyed Alfred.

Why can’t you be normal? Scream or cry until you are numb, at least then you’re showing something, real grief. What will they think when you can’t even cry when they lower him to the ground? You never loved him, that it was all a con to get to Bruce’s money despite the fact Dick never took a cent from Bruce since he had “fired” Dick as Robin.

The woman who stares back at you in the mirror is unrecognizable.She mimics your movements, but they’re stiff and articulate like an old doll. Limp hair and bags under your eyes, chapped lips and dry skin covered through a thick slather of foundation. You rub and rub and you feel it, that small flicker of tears forming and the realization that nothing will be the same. No more peaceful nights knowing that Dick was patrolling through the city keeping you and the city safe. No more effort to keep up with him. 

-he would have been focused, not angry,-

You smear and smear and smile with pigmented lips and dull eyes staring back at you. You examine yourself and you hate it. Each detail makes you sick. Here you are, crying over your appearance when Dick is dead. Or you just tell yourself to avoid the truth.

You scream. It’s cathartic and it doesn’t matter how much you need to look perfect. He’s dead. You’ll never see him again and the last memory you have of him is an argument, asking how he can keep doing this when his body has started to fall apart. His memory slowly slipping, the ringing in his ears became so debilitating that it caused headaches and stomach problems, how a wrongly healed rib leaves him wheezing when he moves a certain way. How long will it take for him to die? Just another year or five? How long until his body would just give out? You know now. It took five hours. He died alone and cold in some back alley with a bullet in his stomach, his chest and his thigh. He died slowly and in pain without you

You cry and scream and throw, venting and finally allowing yourself to feel anything other than buried guilt.

-this is your fault.

***

You couldn’t bring yourself to go, to face the casket that would be lowered into the ground, watching everyone cry and mourn when you had nothing left in you but numbness. 

The sun is out, making your skin come to life and hum with excitement after being trapped in your apartment and not answering a single call or knock at the door. Your skin sings but you can’t smile, not like usual when the sun comes out after a week straight of clouds and rain, finally coming to life. It’s odd to have your grief and the content battling inside you. But the content loses out when you see the mound of dirt and the headstone.

It’s simple, nothing extravagant like the other headstones that litter the plot of land. 

The early morning dew that dampens the grass soaks through your flats. It grounds you in reality as you curl your toes and wish away the cold that hovers in the air and sweeps your hair into your face.

“I hate you,” you clench your jaw and kneel by the mound of dirt. Briefly, you wonder how long you’ll come to his grave or how long it will take you to forget about this, about him. Never, probably. Dick Grayson was it for you. You’ve had your fair share of partners, but they all paled in comparison to him.

“I dreamed about kissing you before you finally worked up the nerve to ask me out. I had this idea, a vision, I guess, about a life we could have had. You would’ve given up Nightwing because I would have been enough and live outside of the city. I wanted to grow old with you… I could never hate you. I just hate what I did, starting that fight. It’s my fault.”

You play with a blade of grass, swallowing thickly. Maybe you weren’t as numb as you thought. 

In the distance, just a few rows in front of you, nearly tucked behind a tree, you see a flash of blue and black and bouncing curls. You know that back of his head like your own palm. You’ve spent hours tucked behind him, your arm draped over his waist and your other arm going numb so he could use it as a pillow, hours spent with your fingers playing with his hair, trying to comb out, fingertips brushing over a small scar on the back of his neck. He told you that he’d gotten it climbing a tree when he was younger when the circus had gone to Italy, he didn’t remember most of it, but he could remember how his mother kissed his forehead and gently cleaned and bandages the cut while his father ruffled his hair and laughed. The Grayson fearlessness didn’t skip a generation.

You perk up, following the man who walks further and further away from you, but you don’t follow, because as much as your heart is screaming to go look, to see if Dick could really pull something like this off, you can’t make yourself move. You saw the body, Bruce confirmed it was him. You only saw it through a layer of glass. You don’t come back from the dead.

[impossible-rat-babies]

mirror mirror, how tf do you say goodbye?

~1975 words | chargestep (m!ortega + nb!sidestep) | that soft af angst | most below the cut

--

Pollux hates mirrors on principle. 

He’s never liked staring at his own face; not because he’s ugly to look at, they made sure he wasn’t. He’s far from the picture perfect they made him nowadays, but there’s a history in his sunken cheeks and how his nose juts too far out from his face, the curve of it getting worse each time it gets broken. Three parallel lines across his temple and through his ear, a nick in his upper lip.

He hates mirrors for entirely different reasons, for the truths they don’t hide, that they reflect back in gritty detail. They don’t hide his flaws, the bags under his eyes, the limpness of hunched shoulders, the lack of warmth in his chapped lips he chews far too much. How he looks when he strips away each layer, staring hard at his face, whispering and willing his eyes to not make him look so utterly empty.

Pollux doesn’t like when people look at him—really look at him enough to remember, to see how he is so empty. To pick out the details and to know how he moves, how he exists as a marionette with cut strings, keeping the illusion he can move on his own. He keeps his masks well, pretends like his strings aren’t cut, but the masks and strings don’t work when people can see them.

People like Ortega and his static brain like a TV left on the wrong station, a low level nagging at the base of his skull, like reading a book when there are no letters on the page.

Pollux looks away, coming back to the cool tile under his toes, and an oversized shirt and pants that smell like musky cologne. Ortega is always kind in offering him his clothes, but all of his clothing is comically big on him, the sleeves long enough to hang down to knees, the pants a good six inches too long too. At least the shirt covers his arms and the collar is tight enough; he can deal with swimming in fabric.

Ortega insisted he not go back to wearing the clothes he dragged himself in with--not with how the smell of garbage was practically palatable--and Pollux wanted nothing more than a shower at the time. Compromise on the smallest things. Plus it wouldn't be a crime if he smelled like his laundry soap for the next week.

“Fuck, Ricardo!”

Pollux curses and lifts his arm enough to see the bottle of alcohol in Ortega’s hand along with the bloodied gauze and the look of frustration he’s giving him. It would be less funny if he didn’t have to kneel down beside him to reach the nasty cut still oozing blood.

“It’s not that bad, Pollux.” Ortega chides and he goes back to dabbing along the wound and Pollux winces, chewing his lip. It wouldn’t ordinarily hurt this bad, but it isn’t his own hands and Pollux has the right to be whiny for once in his shitty life.

It’s a necessity to show this much skin, shirt half rolled up and held tight, even if his stomach is flipping over on itself; one look, one wrong adjustment of his hand holding up the shirt and even with bumps and twisting paths of scars painted all down his side, there’s still a chance and he isn’t going to follow that train of thought. He only enlisted Ortega’s help because he couldn’t quite get twisted around to sew it up himself.

“It fucking hurts that’s what.” Pollux grumbles and Ortega’s breath is short, dumping the gauze in the sink with the bloodied cotton balls.

“Who did you go and have to pick a knife fight with?” He asks and Pollux rolls his eyes, fingers clenching on the rim of the sink.

“Someone in an alleyway without any sense.” Pollux breathes out as the gentle numbing starts to take over and Ortega sets the numbing cream aside.

“Wait,” Ortega looks up at him a little dumbstruck, “you got into an honest to god knife fight?”

Pollux blinks and he scoffs incredulously. “No it’s a fun new euphemism I came up with today—get yourself into a knife fight!” Ortega is glaring at his joke and Pollux’s face is going to hurt with the amount of eye-rolling he’s doing.

“Yes I got into an honest knife fight and didn’t have a knife. Guy came after me because I didn’t have any cash on me and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Satisfied?”

Ortega tsks, a small “mierda” accompanying it and Pollux bites his tongue before he sighs, drumming fingers against the counter.

“I was coming here if that soothes your concerns.” Another compromise, tempering his frustrations.

“I could have come and gotten you. Saved you the trouble” Ortega huffs and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“No thanks.” Pollux shuts down that avenue without another word and Ortega is giving him a Look again. Pollux stares right back at him until Ortega gives up, eyes falling back to his hands as they thread the curved needle. Pollux chews his lip again and he silently breathes out.

“I’m fine, Ricardo.” Pollux speaks, trying for warm and quiet, but it always comes out like he’s trying too hard. “Seriously, it’s not that bad. Been through worse scrapes than this.”

Ortega doesn’t say anything and Pollux doesn't press, doesn't poke and prod to argument neither of them have the energy for. Ortega will forgive him before too long, content that he came by. Content that he asked for help for once.

Pollux picks at the caulking along the sink, listening to Ortega suturing the wound, the click of the needle and tweezers, a dull pulling sensation. The others only needing gauze or butterfly closures—simple things, ones he took care of when he got out of the shower. It was hard to stare at his own skin, to dissociate from what was staring back, but he needed clean wounds before comfort. Ortega finally ties the last knot, and it only takes a few more minutes to cover it up with gauze and medical tape to hold it in place. 

But he doesn’t pull away right away, no. His hand slides down across the peaks and valleys of the vicious scar down his side, brow furrowing like he’s trying to remember if he’s seen it before. He’s touched it in the dark before, traced its grotesque path from shoulder to hip.

It isn’t one he’ll remember, but Pollux lets him think, lets him touch. Lets him keep his head to himself; he doesn’t want to explain how he got it, the fall that lead to that night and the week after, nursing chemical burns and he knows the smell of burnt flesh too well. 

He’s got that look on his face, the one Pollux has seen far too much. The wrinkle in his brow, the curl of his lip; landmarks of pain--of blame.

“Ricardo?”

Pollux’s voice is quiet, a gentle call to bring him back around. Keep him from digging into all the what if what if what if. 

Ortega blinks and he half smiles, keeping his questions to himself--keeping the pain to himself. Pollux pushes aside the thought of how familiar that is, pulling down his shirt when Ortega stands.

Pollux stands there silent until Ortega has washed his hands, everything either thrown away or cleaned. Like how bandaging wounds isn’t something for the bathroom in Ortega’s apartment, but old habits die hard. Well, not all of them died when he hit the asphalt.

“Hey..” Pollux speaks as the lid of the first aid kit snaps closed.

“Hey...” Ortega repeats and Pollux clumsily steps closer, wrapping his arms around Ortega’s waist, pressing the side of his face to his chest.

“I’m sorry...” He apologizes, resting his chin against his chest to look up at him. Ortega’s brow cocks but he’s quiet, his hands settling against Pollux’s waist. “I don’t say that enough. Also thank you. I don’t say that enough either; need to start saying them more, just so you know. I’m....bad at saying what I should.”

Ortega sighs out his nose and takes Pollux’s face in his hands, thumb brushing across his cheekbones and across the trio of scars cutting from eyebrow to ear.

“You’re welcome, Lux.” He presses a kiss to his forehead for a long moment, gentle, kind, warm. Softer than he deserves. Pollux grips the back of his shirt, just letting the warmth of Ortega seep into him; he’ll be smelling like his soap and cologne for the next week. Might as well soak in as much as he can for now before it fades to cigarettes and lost dreams.

“I could get used to this sort of hug.” Ortega mumbles into his hair and Pollux snorts, fingers twisting his shirt into knots.

“Yeah yeah...” He grumbles, but he doesn’t say no. There have been more of those, more concessions and confessions; vulnerability painted in fluorescent lights or in Ortega’s pitch black bedroom.

“Are you staying the night?” Ortega asks and he doesn’t hide the hope in his voice. Pollux sighs and pushes away the dozens of reasons why he shouldn’t—why he can’t. He doesn’t have the strength to spin around a good reason why he should stay, too tired to convince himself he doesn’t want to be close, too tired to contain his hope that maybe one day things like this won’t be exceptions to his rules.

“Yes, I’ll stay the night.”

The wall opposite the bed is colored in dim orange, filtering in through blinds only half drawn to block out how even late into the night, Los Diablos still shines. Ortega’s mumbling into his stomach, face buried there, arm curled around Pollux’s legs and his fingers trace mindless patterns across the bare strip of skin at the small of his back. Pollux replies quietly to the simple conversation and it’s as mindless as it is comforting. It’s easy to play with his hair when he’s this close and this tired, twisting strand after strand into loose curls, leaving his head covered in them. He ruffles it all back to a mess and starts over, running his nails across Ortega’s scalp. Ortega hums quietly and a few more sweet nothings come out of his mouth and Pollux’s face flushes. 

Back in the days something like this would never have happened. Not in this way, not with how he wants to kiss the top of Ortega’s head and mumble sweet little things right on back to him—enough to scare him with how much he needs to say them, to tell Ortega all of it. Counting all the little things he needs to say before everything is ruined. How much he missed him and how scary that is, how much space he already has inside of his heart when he buried all of that away. Can’t make him hate when despair is easier. How terrifying it is that he’s breathing life back into him, back into the places committed to death.

It’ll be easier when he says those things, easier to let him go once and for all when he has nothing left to say, no kindling left for the fire. Nothing but goodbye.

But he keeps finding new things to say, new tiny little things he needs to tell Ortega; terribly sweet things he could never have imagined saying before. It’s all finding and forging new paths, finding a way to be like how it is now then how it was before. That was nine months ago his list is next to endless and they’ve had to reshape old pieces to fit into a new picture and craft new ones as well. Find new ways to paint a picture of what they are...if “they” are such a thing.

Ortega’s breathing has turned slow and steady, his chest gently rising and falling in the hazy orange glow from the street lights below. Pollux paints another set of curls across his head before his eyes get too heavy to keep open. He curls in just so, enough to kiss the top of Ortega’s head, whispering soft words into his hair, ones he can’t say where he can hear--where he can’t know. Because if he knows--knows how much those words really mean and to see his face when he does--Pollux doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say goodbye.

[zewrit]

Also uhm can I get??? Sad Mikey??? Who is just down for some reason and then his brothers (or maybe just Raph lbr) trying to cheer him up by acting silly or doing something nice???

role fatigue (ao3)Mikey doesn’t want to talk about it; Raph’s not going to let him stay quiet. 

It’snot that he’s never seen Mikey sad before, because of course hehas. They’ve all been sad before, all been miserable and down inthe sewer, and it’s not new,the fact that Mikey’s sad sometime. Raph still remembers waking upto Mikey curled up against his plastron, shoulders tense and facepressed in hard, all miserable and sad like a kicked puppy-dog.

Thething is just- well.

Raphcan’t remember the last time he saw Mikey sad, is all.

Hepicks his brain apart, chases out every memory of letting Mikeyclutch at him like a kid, shuddering with sobs and half-choked words,and all of them is years old. They’re all from before their lifeturned into a hectic mess of fighting and danger and blood crusted inthe cracks of the floor. It’s weird, uncomfortable; not right,because the two of them’s always been close,always been there for each other no matter how much they didn’twant it at the time. He remembers Mikey bandaging his knuckles,talking a mile a minute, their knees together and never oncecommenting on the shine to Raph’s eyes, the way he shudder at eachgentle touch.

ButRaph can’t remember doing that for Mikey.

Notlately, at least.

Worstpart is he hasn’t even realised it. Not until now, at least,standing in the doorway and looking in at the small, hunched up shapeof his bro, and fuck, he hasn’t felt this stupid in a long while.

“Mike,”he pitches his voice low, steps in careful and quiet. His brotherhunches up even tighter, all wire-lines and tension, and Raph’sthroat goes tight, worry and guilt all tangled up together.

“Mikey.”

Hecloses the door behind him; ignores the fact that everything’s darknow, shadows and grey colours, and makes his way to the bed withpracticed steps.

Hedoesn’t bother calling his brother’s name again. Mikey’s allbunched up, all drawn in on himself, and he’s not going to answer.Raph knows this tactic, has seen it before, during that brief periodwhere Mikey tried to push him away, and it’s utter bullshit, justas back then.

Raphdoesn’t so much push Mikey aside as shove him- he sits down in thespace Mikey gives up, ignores his brother’s flailing, and settlesright in. Because fuck as if he’s leaving. Fuck as if he’s justgoing to pretend nothing’s wrong, and fuck Mikey for thinking, evenfor a second,that he can pull that shit.

“I’mnot going to leave,” he says, pointed and sharp. Mikey, stilltangled up in his blanket and still trying to figure out a way tocurl up with Raphael so up in his space, goes still. Goes tense,and Raph wants to smack him over the head.

“...Nothing’s wrong,” says Mikey, like Raph would actuallyfall for that.

Raphhuffs. “Sure, and I’m a double-agent working for Shredder. C’monMikey, it’s me.”

Mikeypeeks out from the blanket. It’s weird, seeing him without hissmile. Seeing his face tugged down into a frown, creased with sadnessand red with tears, and Raph viciously punched down the anger boilingin his gut, the urge to find whoever the fuck made his little brotherlook like this and killthem.

“...Does he pay well?”

Raphaelblinks. Takes a second, still stuck somewhere in the pit of his gut,all protectiveness and anger. Then he snorts.

“No,”he says, and Mikey’s eyes turn up at the corners, and Raph knowsthere’s a smile, there. “I’m only doing it for the reward offucking over Leo.”

Mikeysnorts. He twists down his face, hides it in his blanket, and Raphaelreaches out, lays his hand on the curve of Mikey’s head, and theworry is on his tongue once more.

“Seriouslythough. What’s up?”

Hecan feel the smile leaving Mikey’s face. Can feel it in the wayMike goes all tense, all still and prickly, and Raphael wonders whatpart of this Mikey got from him.What part of this stupid dance he copied from Raph’s own refusal totalk about his feelings, about the things that cut so fucking deep hedon’t think they’ll ever scar right.

Stopit,he thinks at himself. Thisisn’t about you.

“It’snothing,” Mikey says, muffled into his blanket. Raph spreads outhis fingers, pushes down just a bit. Presses i’mhere andcomfortintothe back of Mikey’s head, and his brother huffs.

“Really,”he says, and twists out beneath Raph’s hand; he flips over, craneshis head back to look up at Raph, and there’s this stupid, falsesmile on his face. Like Mikey actually thinksRaphwould fall for it. “Nothing’s up.”

Raphdoesn’t bite down on the urge this time. He smacks the side ofMichaelangelo’s side, a sharp but weak blow, and Mikey yelps,flails out of the way much too late.

“Don’tdo that,” Raph says, flat as can be. “Don’t pretend with me.”

Mikeywhines. He’s turned away from Raph, now, shell to him, and Mikey’srubbing at his shoulder, likely pouting like a brat, and Raph crosseshis arms, waits.

Considers,just briefly, kicking Mikey in the legs.

“It’sjust-” Mikey’s voice is quiet, soft. He inhales, keeps it therefor a while, and then goes slack with the exhale.

“Justa bad day. Really.”

Raphfurrows his brows. Tilts his head, and examines the way his brother’ssitting, the way he’s curling in on himself, just a bit, all sadand miserable, and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk aboutwhatever’s nagging him.

AndRaph gets that. He does,but if their places were switched, well. Mikey wouldn’t just lethim get away with that.

“Yousure?” he asks, and reaches over, snags Mikey by the top of hisshell and pulls him back; Mike goes without even a hint of a fight,limp as a noodle, and Raph drops Mikey on the curve of his knee,drapes an arm over his brother’s shoulder.

Mikeylooks up at him. Raph stares down at him, eyebrows raised, and triesreally hard not to shake his brother till he spills.

Mikeylooks away first.

“You...you know how we kinda got roles? Like, you’re the muscles and Leo’sthe leader and Donnie’s the smart guy and-” Raph pats at Mikey’splastron, and there’s a strain, to the edge of Mike’s mouth. Astrain to the way his voice falls, a quiver that shouldn’t bethere, and there’s a sinking feeling in Raphael’s gut.

“And,and, well-” Mikey inhales shakily, doesn’t look at Raph, and hischest rises sharply, hovers there, anxious and shuddery. “I’m thefunny guy, right? I’m the- the jokester, and the one who’s alwayssmiling, and-”

Helaughs, this choked thing that shouldn’t ever be leaving Mikey, alltangled and twisted and bloody, and there’s a shine to his eyes,now. “And sometimes it’s sohard!”

Hecurls his hands up, presses them to his chest, to somewhere above hisheart, and Raph clutches at Mikey’s arm, swallows down on the urgeto say something.

“Sometimesit’s so fuckinghardtosmile and laugh and joke, but I just- I can’t notdoit! Because I know you guys need me there, need me to be happy and,and upbeat, and it’s not that I’m forcing it, not always, and Ilikebeinglike that, I like making jokes and making you guys laugh, but Ijust-!”

Hechokes himself off, eyes wide and wet, and a tear’s sliding downhis cheek, creeping down the side of his head, and Raph raises hisfree hand to thumb it away.

“Sometimesit’s just really hard,” Mikey says, so fragile and quiet, andyoung.

“I’msorry,” Raph says, because he thinks maybe he has to. “I- we-didn’t mean to put that on you.”

Andthey didn’t. They really didn’t,but Mikey’s not wrong; they need him there, their own personallittle sun, joking and bright and something to cling to, becausesometimes they get so caught up in their own problems, their ownshadows, and it feels like they’d drown without Michelangelo.

Mikeysniffs.

“It’snot like you told me to do it,” he says, and Raph huffs, pats athis face.

“Sure,but still. You’re not wrong.”

Theylay there, quiet for a while. Mikey sniffs from time to time, eyesshimmering, and Raph looks out at the bedroom, still and kind ofguilty, because he can’t believe he hadn’t noticed this.

Can’tbelieve he was putting so much pain on his brother without evenrealising it.

“Areyou being stupid?” Mikey asks, voice snotty. Raph snorts.

“Maybe,”he says, and then sighs. “Can’t help it though. I hurt you.”

Mikeyhuffs. Flips over so he can lie on his stomach instead, and punchesthe space above Raph’s heart. It’s awkward and weak and kind ofpathetic, but Raph doesn’t laugh.

“Ilike doing it, though,” Mikey says, steel in his voice. “I likecheeringyou guys up, and I like being happy. So it’s not your fault, okay?”

Raphsighs. Taps his knuckles against Mikey’s head, and doesn’t sayokay.

“Just.Don’t bottle it up, okay? You know what happens when you do that.”

Mikeylaughs. Twists around, out of Raph’s lap, and flips himselfupright. His eyes are red and there’s still something heavy tuggingat his shoulders, but he’s smiling again, crooked as it may be.

Mikeydoesn’t say okay either.

“Videogames?” he asks instead, and Raph snorts, shoves him to the sidewith one foot, and doesn’t even bother answering.

Justgets up, and ignores Mikey’s little offended cry as he opens thedoor, pads out to flip downstairs.

“Lastone gets the second controller!” he throws over his shoulder, andgrins when Mikey’s voice pitches up in accusation, affronted andloud.

“Itwas my idea!” Mikey yells, sounding exactly like he should be, andit’s almost like none of the last few minutes even happened.

[women-inthe-sequel]

Scarred Hearts (Jily)

JILY CHALLENGE | @women-inthe-sequel vs @curiosity-at-its-finnest angst +  prompt: After 5 happy months together, Lily dumps James for his own safety from blood purists who were hurting him because they were together. After begging her for a reason, Lily lies and tells him, "I just don't love you anymore, James," and it hits him right in the gut. But, it hits her worse because she knows it's so far from the truth. 

read on ao3

--

Sticks and stones may break my bones, her mother always said, but words will never hurt me.

From the time Lily was young, however, she knew that words had power.

Witch, they would call her where she came from, if they knew where she went for several months a year. Freak, her sister declared when the letter came. Mudblood, a former friend sneered, revealing what everyone else already saw.

The words etch themselves in her mind, even when she outwardly assures everyone else that they don’t matter.

New rumors shouldn’t get to her, but there is something different about these ones. From across the hall, she can hear every word that is meant for or about her.

“Yeah, that’s her. It’s sick, if you ask me.”

Lily determinedly faces away from the table at the other end of the hall. She tries to look like nothing rattles her and eats breakfast, as if sordid tales about what she was doing during the last Hogsmeade visit isn’t the topic of choice this morning.

“Heard they caught Evans with her hand down a girl’s skirt.”

Jamie squeezes her hand under the table. Ordinarily, it might make her heart skip or at least get Lily to smile. Now, it feels like a weight on her chest.

“In the alley, is what I heard.”

Setting her fork down noisily, Lily moves as if she’s going to try to leave. Jamie’s hand is insistent in hers when hazel and green eyes meet. “We don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” she whispers, and Lily almost believes her.

“They’re idiots,” Sirius adds from across the table. The fact that he says it through a mouthful of toast actually makes it feel more genuine.

“Mudblood whores like her will take anything they can get!”

At this, Lily snaps to attention. The word goes through her like a bolt of lightning, charring the branch of hope Jamie’s words inspired.

She’s aware suddenly that a hand is no longer in hers.

Lily whips her head around in time to see the star Gryffindor chaser running across the Great Hall. Her dark hair is going in every direction. There’s intent clear in her eyes, her tie is half undone as always, and damn it, Lily has never seen anyone so heartbreakingly beautiful.

Even when she’s being held back by two professors, shouting threats and vowing to do a whole lot worse than a punch.

Mulciber is on the ground for a few seconds, but he comes up snarling. Professor McGonagall casts a shield between them before there can be more blood.

Lily is out of her seat and by Jamie’s side in an instant, trying to evaluate what went so horribly wrong so quickly.

“Evans,” her Head of House says, relief clear in her voice at the sight of the generally more reasonable of the two Head Girls, “please escort Miss Potter to the Hospital Wing.”

She nods, not trusting herself to speak.

The visible struggle goes out of Jamie when Lily touches her arm, but she levels another threat toward the laughing group of Slytherins by the table. “I’m not finished with you!”

“That will be enough, Miss Potter! Another ten points from Gryffindor.”

Lily tugs on her arm urgently, desperate to get away from any prying questions and curious eyes. Thankfully, Jamie knows when to follow and does so now.

The Entrance Hall is quiet compared to the commotion of the Great Hall. It feels even quieter, because, for once, Jamie doesn’t try to fill the silence with noise. Lily doesn’t try to say anything until they’re in an empty corridor and behind a tapestry, safely tucked in a spot only known to four particular mapmakers and Lily.

The light hasn’t gone from Jamie’s eyes, though it has changed. Only a few minutes ago, it was something desperate and vicious. Now, it’s the more common kind of spark, as if this morning was some grand adventure she planned from the start.

“Did you see me, Evans? Defending your honor and all that?”

“Was that what that was?” Lily counters, voice fragile.

Jamie shrugs the same way she does when she gets caught in the middle of some prank. Like the whole world is a joke and she’s the only one who gets it. Like she’ll get another detention on her record and move on, learning another way to not get caught next time.

“‘Course,” she answers. “I’m not going to let them talk about you like that. Don’t girls like it when their boyfriends defend their honor?” A brief look of confusion momentarily crosses her face, but Jamie takes a step closer to Lily, her hands finding a familiar place on her waist. “I’m not exactly your boyfriend, but I thought you’d be happy.”

“You’re bleeding, and I’m supposed to be happy?”

Jamie’s gaze drops to her hand for the first time. “This?” She holds her split knuckles up to the light. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Lily shakes her head, the wall behind her back keeping her in Jamie’s hold. “You punched him. You never think about what you’re doing, and it’s going to -”

Jamie cuts Lily off by pressing her lips against hers.

It’s heaven and every lovely thing in the world and how she wants to spend the rest of her life. Lily melts against her, and Jamie pulls closer so more parts of them are touching. For a few seconds, nothing else matters except never letting this feeling disappear.

When she remembers what happened at breakfast, Lily makes herself push Jamie away. Even now, she can’t make herself take her hands off her shoulders. Touching her somewhere is better than nothing.

“You can’t just kiss me and make this go away, Potter.”

“And why not?”

“We can’t. They don’t even want purebloods like you talking to people like me. If they knew -”

Jamie doesn’t let her finish. “I don’t care, Lily!” She can hear the note of anger in Jamie’s voice, and Lily doesn’t think it’s only directed at the Slytherins.

“We have to care! It’s not that easy, Jamie. Don’t you know what they’re capable of? They could hurt you, they could...”

Hands are in her hair, and she doesn’t have the energy to pull away. She doesn’t want to pull away. She wants things to be as easy as the other girl thinks they can be. She wants to hug herself close and forget about everything else.

Softly, Jamie pressed a kiss to her forehead. Lily lets herself release a sob when words don’t work and buries her face in Jamie’s neck. The arms around her don’t make everything go away, but they do make her feel better.

Slowly, she pulls away and wipes her face with the back of her hand. Jamie runs her thumb over Lily’s cheeks, brushing away tear tracks.

Before either of them can say anything else, Lily pulls Jamie down, fits her body against hers, and kisses her.

--

Although Jamie let her clean the worst of it and wrap her knuckles with a bandage, Lily wonders if it was the best thing to do. The whole school knew about the fight McGonagall stopped, so she doesn’t really see the logic in not going to Madame Pomfrey. Jamie insists, though, and Lily doesn’t have the heart to enforce something that might not matter.

One night, with their legs tangled in the covers of Lily’s bed and the curtains pulled shut to keep everyone else out, Lily adds Jamie’s arm to the list of places she seeks to memorize with her mouth. She isn’t deterred from her mission when her lips brush across Jamie’s pulse point and make her giggle.

Jamie’s hand closes abruptly, however, when Lily’s mouth makes it to the back of her hand.

“You think it’s going to scar?”

Lily drops a row of kisses across Jamie’s knuckles and nods. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Good.” Lily looks up and sees a familiar half smirk that she can draw from memory. “Reminder to everyone not to mess with my girl.”

In the moment, Lily rolls her eyes, decides to leave the memorization of her hand for another day, and presses Jamie into the mattress.

Now, she can’t stop thinking about the fact that she’s the cause of an actual scar, something permanent, something forever.

Jamie may think it’s nothing, but Lily is used to her dismissing every injury as if it’s a papercut. When she’s nearly knocked off her broom in the middle of a Quidditch match, she insists that it was only for dramatic effect. When a prank goes slightly awry and she comes back to the Common Room with a black eye, she calls it nothing more than a laugh.

For days, she carries the guilt inside of her.

To avoid it, Lily starts kissing her in increasingly dangerous places. Breaks between classes are chances to sneak away and forget about everything except Jamie’s mouth and hands. Any time that isn’t taken by schoolwork or mandatory responsibilities is spent memorizing each other. In the middle of rounds, Lily hooks her leg around Jamie’s hip and dares her to make her scream.

When they’re alone, it feels like it can be all right.

As soon as they’re back, however, she wonders if she’s making it worse. This path can lead to exactly what scares her. Rumors can become confirmed fact, and the new scar on Jamie’s hand will look like child’s play.

And what does Jamie think about Lily’s inability to keep her hands off of her?

Jamie grins crookedly at her over breakfast, and Lily almost breaks.

So, it’s her only choice. She has to end this while her heart will be the one that’s permanently broken.

She lets herself watch for a second from the edge of the room. Jamie is laughing with her friends and running a hand through her hair in that maddeningly charming way. Anyone could fall in love with her bravery, her humor, her.

For just a little while, Lily got to be that anyone.

Relying on a small dose of courage, Lily pulls Jamie aside with nothing more than a tap on her shoulder when she passes. Almost instantly, she drops the essay she’s pretending to work on and follows Lily out of the portrait hole.

Then, it’s all happening too fast because they’re in a secluded alcove that has seen far more pleasant times between them.

Jamie tries to kiss her neck, but Lily holds her hands up.

The other girl’s brow knits, and her hand rests on Lily’s hip. “All right, Evans?”

Lily forces it out before she loses her nerve.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Jamie’s face immediately falls. “What?”

“This.” She gestures between them and feels Jamie’s grip on her hip tighten. “I can’t… We can’t do this - us - anymore.” Lily makes herself hold her gaze, even though she can swear that she hears her own heart breaking in her chest.

She has to do it now. Waiting will only make it worse. Waiting is the cowardly option. Waiting will hurt her more.

“You’re breaking up with me?” Jamie’s voice sounds the way Lily would never describe her - weak.

Lily nods. “It’s better for both of us if -”

“I don’t care about any of that nonsense.” The temporary weakness in Jamie’s tone is replaced with something more common. Anger. “We’re happy. You’re happy. I know you are, Lily, so you don’t mean that.”

“I - I do mean it,” she answers quickly, unable to hide the waver in her voice.

“No, there’s some…” Jamie’s hand moves to her shoulder, urgency written across her entire body. “What did they say to you?”

“Nothing,” Lily says. “No one said anything.” Her voice already has an edge of hoarseness from swallowing back tears. This is the lie she’s practiced until she can almost fool herself. “I just don’t love you anymore.”

As quickly as the anger came, it disappears. Jamie’s hand falls from her shoulder. Her glasses slide down her nose, but she doesn't notice. She doesn’t seem to notice anything when Lily’s worst words hit their target.

Lily wraps her arms around her middle to prevent herself from reaching out to comfort the person she wants to protect from all pain. She’s the cause of it now, she knows, but this is temporary. It’s saving Jamie from future pain, from worse pain. It’s what she has to do.

Jamie will marry a nice, pureblood man and have nice, pureblood children and make her nice, pureblood mother cry tears of joy. Jamie has a whole life in front of her, and there’s no room in it for mudbloods with dirt on their knees and in their blood.

Before Jamie can see her cry, Lily slips past her and back to the Gryffindor dormitory to hide under the covers of her lonely bed.

--

Keeping to herself is the easiest solution. Lily wakes up before everyone else, pulls the curtains closed around her bed before anyone comes upstairs, and specifically avoids the gazes of four particular Gryffindors.

When she walks into Potions class, though, she isn’t prepared. Her usual chair, right next to Jamie, is open. She’s halfway there before she realizes that it was where she was headed.

Lily looks up, meeting Jamie’s eyes for the first time since she broke everything.

They aren’t filled with the light that made her pulse dance. Instead, dark circles mirror the ones that reflect back to Lily in the mirror each morning. She can only stomach it for a few seconds before she casts her eyes down and then across the room, searching for anywhere else to go.

Slowly, Lily makes her way to the back of the classroom and drops her bag by a chair. It’s the only spot that isn’t next to a Slytherin or her heartbreak. She can handle Potions without a partner better than trying to pretend that everything is okay in front of people who don’t know why it isn’t.

Sirius turns around in his chair to face her, his eyes piercing. Lily remembers when that stare was used to protect Jamie and her. She swallows and looks down at her parchment.

Once she’s seated, Lily really notices the fumes wafting from the cauldron in the front of the room. They reach her, even in the back row.

Peanut butter cups. Fresh air.

A familiar mix of fresh cut grass and faint perfume.

But no, she forces her brain to insist, despite the obvious. It’s just a breeze that sent the scent her way from the girl a few rows ahead of her. Forget that they’re in a dungeon with no windows to allow in a stray wind. She’s so used to smelling it near her and on her sheets that it’s following her. It has to be.

Professor Slughorn’s handwriting on the board, however, doesn’t lie. Amortentia.

Lily freezes. When they were sneaking into each other’s beds every other night, the scent started to linger, even when Jamie was gone. Since breaking it off, she’s pressed her face against her pillow, trying to catch any leftover trace of the other person who used to be there.

She would know it anywhere.

The only movement she registers is a dark head of hair in front of her, twisting to see the back of the room. Lily refuses to look anywhere near her eyes. She stares determinedly ahead at the board, seeing nothing and not letting her eyes drift.

As soon as Slughorn dismisses them, Lily is out of the room like a shot. She’s still stuffing a book in her bag as she walks, determined to let nothing disrupt her path.

Sitting in class is hard enough, even without Jamie’s smell surrounding her. Attending one might have taken all of her strength for the day. Maybe it won’t matter if she misses the next one. If she can make it to the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, they’ll mistake her tears for Myrtle.

A hand grabs her arm and stops her. Lily’s book hits the floor.

They’re already away from the noise of dismissed students, since she set a furious pace, but someone pushes her into an empty hallway.

Her back is against the wall and that scent is everywhere. Lily can barely think when she is so close, her hands on Lily’s shoulders and body only inches from hers.

“I know what you smelled in there,” Jamie whispers, since they’re close enough to do so.

“I don’t - I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Quidditch Pitch. Treacle tart. You. That’s what I smelled.”

Lily shakes her head, still determined to avoid Jamie’s eyes. If she doesn’t look up, if she can just slip away… It’s hard now, and it’s going to be hard for the rest of her life, but Jamie has a chance to move on, a chance to get out before the war takes her too.

“You lied,” Jamie says, voice louder this time. “I know you love me. Like I love you, Lily. I love you.”

“Don’t,” Lily answers, feeling heat behind her eyes that she can’t stop. She isn’t in the bathroom or behind her four poster curtains. She can’t let anyone see her break, and now she’s about to break in front of the person who she needs to hide from the most.

“Don’t what? Love you? It’s too late for that, Evans.”

Fingers under Lily’s chin make her look up. It’s a command, but the touch isn’t rough. It’s still gentle, even when power is radiating from Jamie in waves. Even when she is pressed between Jamie and a wall, she doesn’t feel unsafe. Even when she knows this is one of the most dangerous places to be, her body wants to find its place against Jamie.

Lily finally meets Jamie’s eyes and a sob catches in her throat. “Someone is going to see.”

“Let them.”

“Jamie, they’ll hurt you, they’ll -”

Their foreheads touch, and Lily wishes she could see a way forward. She wants to forget about the war and slip her fingers under Jamie’s shirt. She wants how they feel about each other, how they make each other feel, to be the only things that matter.

“Then we’ll fight. Together.”

Lily shakes her head. How doesn’t she understand? How can Lily ask her to give up safety just to be with someone, just to be with her? “I can’t do that to you. I can’t make you choose.”

Jamie shrugs, the trace of a familiar smile at the corner of her mouth. “Too late, Evans.”

“It’s not a joke, Potter.”

“I’m not joking. Not about this.”

The flicker of light is back in Jamie’s eyes. It’s the way she eyes at the goal posts at the end of the Quidditch Pitch when she formulates her next play. It’s the way she looks at Lily before tackling her on the bed and making her giggle.

It’s the way Jamie makes her feel. Like anything is possible and they’re capable of fighting the world because they have the nerve to try.

“You,” Jamie says, closing the distance between them to kiss her nose, “are worth fighting for. More than worth it.”

Before she can let fear drive her again, Lily tangles her fingers in Jamie’s permanently mussed hair and rises to meet her.

[angryzilla]

Every moment undone (implosions of beauty back to where we begun) | | Gradence related to an upcoming AU of mine, based on an anon ask for the following prompt: “here, take my sweater.”

The rough plaster of these walls really is horrifically ugly—

”Why are you handing me this?” Credence mumbles with his cigarette between his lips as he points at the sweater Graves is offering, dark eyebrow arched; the floor under the soles of his shoes feels incoherent, as if asphalt cracks were being pushed apart in every direction. ”I thought you hated my guts.”

”When did I say that?” Graves grumbles back, arm still stretched out with the material clenched between the flesh-shaped tan of his fingers.

He can’t stop staring, for a moment, at the milky skin with a map of dark freckles exposed by the slouchy neckline of the wool sweater Credence is wearing, at the cigarette cradled between his reddened fingers.

”When you made sure to be extra unpleasant every single day of your presence here?”

Graves frowns, and there’s light seeping into the alley where the shop is located; golden and iridescent, almost glowing all over them. Credence scrubs at his eyes, and he’s scrubbing so hard, so damn hard that Percival wonders if he’s trying to erase something from his eyes; anything, everything, or even the world in itself.

”I was never unpleasant— come on, you’re the one who’s so—” and he waves his hands in the air, ”obnoxious.”

Credence chuckles bitterly; if only you knew why, Graves, if only you knew why, and the thought is a deeper blue, a raw silver, a clarity Credence feels like he can’t carry anymore.

”We don’t have the same definition of unpleasant, then.”

”Will you take the goddamn sweater, Credence?”

Credence rolls his eyes, lets out a sigh. ”You’re definitely so charming, Percival, that’s for sure.” He rolls the cigarette between his fingers as smoke curls in the air, staring at the glowing tip of it through hooded eyes. ”I’m fine. You don’t have to be agreeable for Theseus’ sake, you know.”

What do we lose to recover ourselves?

There’s a static charge of particles and dust in the wake of the rays of light that are blessing the ground, sleeves of fractured whites. Credence can’t stop looking, can’t stop being magnetized by how simple things can be, how easy the cigarette smoke swirls around his bandaged fingers and the cut edges of his ribs.

How easy it would be to crumple to the ground and let himself be— how easy, exactly, not to cease being but to recede to a time of unknown pains and warmer smiles.

Our soul and mind, our memories and ghost of a heart?

Smoking an idle cigarette seemed like a good idea at the time, right until Percival Graves showed up on the doorstep to throw this day off, gnawing the mood to spit and sawdust— making all the barriers and hopes Credence had managed to gather around himself shatter to the ground.

It’s an anger that scorches, that simmers, that stays. It’s waiting and sometimes gets soft, sometimes gets hot; as if there were an explosion about to go off in the middle of his ribs, breathing in the pulmonary cavities and taking his voice away.

Percival Graves, stitched into the intricate web of his worst nightmare, whom Credence just wishes he could paint in blues and greens and golden hues to trace a hopeful future and not drown in matte black clouds backlit with raw grayness and hot tears; Percival Graves and the possible outline of his slurring words and stumbling legs and gripping hands on a passionate evening, Credence’s throat in a clench of callous fingers and blunt nails— the stub of his cigarette and a kiss on his forehead, behind his ear, along the bumpy, raw curve of his right knee.

Would that be clawing out the terms of their love? A soft, luminous moment before it’s stolen by time yet again, before it fades away, before cheeks made as fragile as cigarette paper recover their dry patches of skin and fear kicks back in.

Love—

If only.

If only there was love in there; love to spare. If only he could persuade himself that there was, that there was anything else.

Anything at all rather than this darkness.

Percival’s fingers twitch around the fistful of sweater at the sight before him— Credence’s already pale skin turns ghostly white; it reminds him of his own face when he took a first good look at himself at the hospital, holes and gashes and bruises and burns thrown in disarray everywhere— everything; he had suffered everything (headaches slow breathing panic attacks blood loss teeth and nails pulled—).

The welts that run across his palm sting but he barely feels them anymore; time has passed; so much time has passed and yet Credence is still here, stumbling, falling, revolving. He clenches his hands into fists for a fleeting moment; one two three release, one two three release.

“Are you blind?” he lets out, anger soaking into his words. “I’m already wearing a sweater.”

He tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach, and Percival looks at him as if seeing him clearly for the first time; Credence feels like he can’t breathe, a vice around his lungs, iron and silver and melting glass.

“I may be slower ever since�� what happened, but I’m nowhere near stupid, Credence,” Percival manages to say through gritted teeth, and Credence can hear the patience bleeding out of his words; he should be pleased at that fact, but it only makes him more frustrated and he hates that it even does.

What happened? Credence thinks, I know what happened. Of course you don’t remember that and it’s better that way.

Percival ends up sitting next to the younger man, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. He’s leaning on the scorching walls of scar tissue all over his back, stretched and sensitive, but he doesn’t say anything— takes comfort in feeling its presence if it means he’s alive. He feels like he has aged a dozen years since getting out of bed, and that might be the worst part— worse than having Credence gaze at him with dark flashes of an angry storm, worse than nodding off the pain to pretend his body isn’t a mess of lost connections and severed synapses.

They lock gazes until Credence’s end of cigarette becomes too heavy, ashes scattering on the front of his jeans (looks like snow; dead, plague-bringing snow), until Percival stops staring at him brushing the white dust away, stops feeling for Credence’s dark green magic.

The dust is settling softly on the asphalt while the sun is peeking through the trees and concrete stripes of buildings and smoke is attacking his lungs, the anger in his chest expanding before finding somewhere to hide between muscles and veins, blood and pleural fluid. Won’t you stop thinking for a while? Won’t you stop being haunted for a bit of time?

“Look, I’m fine—”

“Take it.”

It’s automatic, how defenses kick in and build up in front of him. “Theseus isn’t my mother, you can tell him—”

“Just take the goddamn sweater, Credence,” Graves mumbles, and shadows bruise deep beneath his eyes. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

It’s not about Theseus or Newt making sure he’s alright, this time; it’s about Graves caring for him.

Credence didn’t expect it to be a straight arrow to his chest, spiking between his ribs as it ascends; he knows Graves can feel him grow silent under the wash of new, confusing information.

He breathes.

The fists Credence was keeping on his lap uncurl, fingers seeing light again— flowers of sorts, unbent, unravelling and blossoming; and they reach up and out to pull at the front of the sweater offered by the older man, twisting and losing themselves in the rough, warm expanse of fabric.

He pulls it closer, senses the swirls of warmth and magic running along the seams; can still feel every inch of Graves’ bare hands holding it.

“Thank you,” Credence manages, voice slightly raspy. His own heart stops, skids; light to the left.

It’s just the sun hitting Graves’ hair, now, golden sandstorms drowned in gasoline, butterfly-like flicks of glitter and shrunken strands of black liquid.

For the first time in years, the anger in Credence’s throat recedes.

| | Notes

A giant thank you to my darlings from the Trio of Puns because I love these ladies and their support means everything to me ;v;

Please enjoy this as an introduction to the upcoming AU I’ve been talking about, ehe.

[eternlmisery]

Glider- Rewritten (4/?)

Read chapter on ao3 | Read story on ao3

The next morning Sara woke up with the smell of fresh coffee and omelet and she let her feet guide her to the kitchen where Leonard was in front of the cooker and was frying an omelet. She felt her mouth water at the sight; the sleeves of Leonard’s pajama top pushed up and she noticed that he was barefoot too and his blue/green eyes were glowing against the morning sunlight that was flowing from the window. Yeah, the omelet was nice too.

“Good morning.” Leonard said and turned to look at her with a smirk. Damn, that smirk was going to be the death of her. He transferred the omelet to a plate and gestured to the wooden counter where a coffee pot was waiting for her next to a mug.

“Morning.” She answered as she took the plate from him and sat on one of stools. Sara waited until the slender man settled on the one across hers and then she poured herself some coffee. “Want some?”

“I don’t drink coffee.” Leonard stated nonchalantly; cutting a piece and eating from his own omelet. Sara lifted an eyebrow but didn’t say anything and ate from the omelet which was at least as tasty as it looked.

“Gosh, where did you learn to cook like this? This is incredible.” He smirked at her half-moan.

“I have a lot of talents, Canary. And when my dear dad decided to let us starve; I had to learn to cook for Lisa.” Leonard explained and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Speaking of my baby sister…”

Like on a cue; the front door of the apartment cracked open and a woman walked in. She was holding a large gym bag and she was trying to move the curls of her brown hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. Leonard immediately stood up and walked over to the woman who smiled when she saw him and set the bag down.

“Good morning, Lenny.” She said and the man smirked and pulled her in for a hug; all while Sara was watching the scene with utter confusion. “I got the stuff you wanted.”  Her blue/green eyes settled on Sara and yep, this was definitely Leonard’s sister. “Is this her?”

“No, I have about another dozen of shot assassin vigilantes in my bedroom.” Leonard said and the woman glared at him before stepping closer to Sara and stretching her hand out towards her.  

“I’m Lisa; Lenny’s little sister. You must be Sara.” Lisa stated as Sara shook her hand and made a mental note of Leonard’s nickname.

“Nice to meet you.” She answered and Lisa lifted her eyebrow before grabbing the bag that she was previously holding. “Now don’t be alarmed when the police inform you that someone broke into your apartment last night. That was me getting you some new clothes and your phone.” She handed her the bag and Sara opened it to find that it was filled with her clothes and she also noticed that her phone was also in there. Family of Rogues indeed.

“Thank you, even though this is all very weird. My security system is top-quality. I wouldn’t anyone to break in and find…”

“Your hundreds of knifes, katanas and guns?” Lisa questioned as she poured a cup of coffee for herself and leaned against one of the kitchen countertops. “Don’t worry; didn’t take anything other than your clothes and also you are welcome.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.” She answered, even though her eyes were set on Leonard as she smiled genuinely. “If you’ll excuse me I’ll go take a shower and wash this blood off of me. Nice meeting you Lisa.”

“Likewise, Sara.” Before Sara had the chance to grab the bag and stand up, Leonard had taken it and she crossed her hands in front of her chest.

“No chance I’m letting you carry weight and pull your stitches. I’ll have to be the one to clean up your mess afterwards.” Leonard pointed out as he leaded her to the closed bathroom door. “I suggest using only the products on the right side which are mine if Lisa didn’t get you any of yours. If you want to you can tell me and I’ll go grab the things you use from the store-.”

“Leonard; relax. It’s not like I’m moving in. It’s for a couple of days and until I won’t feel like I’m gonna pass out each time I take more than five steps.” She explained and she saw Leonard’s face drop for a moment before his mask was back on and he opened the bathroom door; setting the bag on top of the washing machine.

“Just trying to be a good host. Towels are here.” He pointed at the cupboard next to the sink. “And if blood comes out of your wound; just call and I’ll come right in.”

“I’m not giving you a free show.” Sara answered and Leonard winked before walking out and closing the door; only to find his sister with her arms crossed in front of her chest, sitting on the sofa.

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me Lenny. You know exactly what is happening here.” She said and stood up as Leonard lifted his shoulders. “You have a thing for her. You saved her and then you brought her here…”

“I’m just being a good Samaritan, Lisa. Nothing malicious behind it.” Leonard answered even though he couldn’t help keeping his mind from wandering to the bathroom where Sara was naked under the shower head and drops were caressing her warm skin just like his tongue wanted-

“Lenny, I’m not saying that liking someone is bad.” She said and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Just… Be careful. You don’t know this woman.”

“I know enough.”

“And I trust that you won’t get yourself in too much trouble.” Leonard smirked and she grabbed her phone. “And sex isn’t considered trouble, Lenny. You might as well do it with blondie and get it out of your system.”

“I’m not having sex with Sara.” He hissed under his breath as Lisa gave him a kiss on the cheek and rushed to the front door.

“I give you two months! Bye Lenny; love you!”

“Be careful!” He called out as the door closed shut and he now only heard the water that was running on the shower. He sighed and turned to the kitchen; finding a distraction in washing the dishes himself.

After what seemed like an eternity he heard the door open and soon Sara had walked in the living room wearing only a towel. He could see the straps of a sports bra and she probably wore a pair of shorts underneath but still… He was grateful that he wasn’t wearing his pajama pants anymore.

“Enjoy your shower?” He asked as he looked up from the blueprints that he was currently studying. He felt Sara’s eyes lit up and suddenly a smile broke on her face. “Something funny to you?”

“I just didn’t know that you wear glasses.” She answered with a smile as she watched him intently; biting her bottom lip in the most distracting way as she toyed with the cellphone she was holding in her hands. “You do look… very nice with them…”

His eyes fell on the faint sound of liquid that was landing on the floor.

“Canary… you’re leaking.” He said and pointed on the floor; where Sara saw that drops of blood were falling. “Take the towel off; I’ll go get the medical kit… That didn’t come out right.”

When he returned; medical kit in hand, Sara was laying on her back on the couch, minus the towel, and her toned body was bare hence of the sports bra and tiny shorts she was wearing. He felt his throat go dry. He sat next to her and examined the wound.

“Looks like only one stitch popped open. You were pretty lucky.” He observed as he took out a piece of gauze and cleaned the wound softly before taking out a tube of antiseptic ointment and applying it on her abdomen just as cautiously. He pretended not to hear Sara suck her breath at his touch and re-bandaged the wound thoroughly.  “See, all done. Even though you’ll need to refrain from… physical activity for a while. How is the hip?” His hand brushed her large bruise ever-so-featherlike.

“Hurts like a bitch.” Sara answered with a sigh. “But it’s not my first rodeo, so nothing I can’t handle.”

“I can see that.” His eyes fell on the small scars all over her abdomen and stomach and even some that went all the way to her back.

“Memories from the League and other, less pleasant experiences. It’s the past now.” She replied and her tone showed that she didn’t want to talk about it. He accepted that even though he really wanted to find every single person who was responsible for these scars and give them excruciating deaths.

“Guess it’s my fault that you have one more.”

“You saved my ass. I would have been dead if it weren’t for you and this scar is proof.” She reached for his hand and after the faintest flinch he let her take it and he embraced the warmth that spread on his body at this simple touch. “So thank you.” He coughed and stood up; letting her hand fall on the couch.

“You’re welcome.” Leonard answered as he sat on the dining table and put all of his attention back to the blueprints and laptop. He was cashing the Central City bank with Mick and he was trying to find the exact date and time it would be better to break in according to the guards’ schedules and cameras shifts.

He felt Sara’s blue eyes set on him as he worked but tried to ignore the woman until the sound of a foreign cell phone was heard and Sara stirred. She tried to stand up but again she fell back in pain. Quickly Leonard took it from the coffee table and handed it to Sara who flashed him a grateful smile.

Leonard took it as his cue to leave when she answered the phone so he walked over to his bedroom and decided to reassemble his cold-gun again. At some point he thought he heard Sara’s voice rise, so as soon as he heard her silence he walked back out and saw her wiping moisture from her eyes.

“You okay?” He asked her with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Just my sister. She was… she was worried that I didn’t call for so many days and when I talked her what happened she wanted to take the train here and help me out.”

“And that’s bad how..?”

“I told you what I did Leonard. What I did to my sister… And after so many years she was worried about me… I thought I would never have that again. When I came back she threw a bottle at me and told me that I had stolen her whole life away from her and that everything that happened was my fault… and I didn’t know even after we talked things out… If we could go back to being sisters. And now she was worried and wanted to take care of me-. It’s silly, I know.” He kneeled next to her; a sincere expression on his face.

“It’s human. Your sister is a big part of your life and the guilt is normal too. Now that she has found it in her heart to forgive you; you should forgive yourself too. I might not know you for a long time, but I know this: You deserve someone who cares for you unconditionally.”

Sara looked at him and there was that expression again. Those bright blue eyes that looked right through him and that made him feel all sorts of things he shouldn’t be feeling.

“I’m gonna head to the store.” He announced and stood up again. “Want anything?” She made a face.

“Uhm, maybe a pack of gummy bears. If you can.” He lifted his eyebrows and smirked.

“I’m more of an M&Ms kind of guy, but sure.” She flashed him a grateful smile as he handed her the remote and Sara soon finding herself lulled back to sleep by the distant sound of the TV in her unexpected ally’s home.

 “Sara!” She heard Ollie’s voice in the distance as she fell into the dark sea; her head was pounding like crazy and she tried to hold on, reach out for him… But the pull of the water was much bigger and she just couldn’t.

 “You stole my whole life away from me! Get out!” Laurel screamed at her and the glass she threw landed only a few centimeters away from her head.

 “In the name of Ra’s Al Ghul, I release you.” Nyssa told her and the freedom she felt coursing through her veins was laced by the sorrow that she would never see her again. But she would try to make things better; make herself a better person. A person who was worth happiness.

 “Get out!”

 “Sara… Sara! Wake up dammit!”

 She jumped up and her hand fell instinctively on her abdomen and the sharp sting of her wound. After her eyes adjusted to the now dimly-lit room she saw Leonard kneeling next to her; hands bracing her shoulders. His face was evidently worried and he reached out to touch her cheek and make sure that she was okay. Sara gave him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t do anything to make his worry subside.

“What was that?” He questioned with his voice soft like a purr.

“Just nightmares. After I came back from the League they started to get worse and now all I can do is let them torture me every time I fall asleep.” Sara explained and Leonard sighed. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About 5 hours. Didn’t know you had that much sleep in you.” He glanced at the pot where he had the lasagna he had cooked. “Want some food?”

“No… I think I want to sleep a bit more.” She hesitated; biting her bottom lip again. “Do you mind lying with me?”

The blonde scooted further away and gave Leonard enough space so he could lay. He looked at the empty spot and contemplated his next decision. He could tell her that he was busy; that Mick told him to join him on Saints and Sinners for a drink or that he needed to finish studying the schedules of the guards…

“Okay. Just for a little.” He answered and lied next to Sara on his back; making his hand a pillow where Sara placed her head. “Though I’m not really used to cuddling with anyone.”

“Didn’t expect anything less.” She mumbled against his shoulder in a sleepy voice that made a smile form on his lips. Sara placed her hand on his chest and soon he felt her breathing even out and the tiny assassin was fast asleep next to him.

He knew he should get up before Mick returned home and found him and Sara in such a compromising position. But somehow with Sara snuggled up against him… he threw logic out of the window and closed his own eyes.

Neither of them didn’t hear Leonard’s phone that was buzzing on the dining table; the name of a man lighting up the screen:

Sam Scudder

[frequent-phases]

Fixed - Part 1

| Last Part | Masterlist |

“You’re all done.” The tattoo artist said as he placed the bandage over my fresh tattoo on the right side of my collar bone, directly opposite to my newly formed scar.

Want you to make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world like I’m the only one that you’ll ever love like I’m the only one who knows your heart, only girl in the world.

My phone blared from inside of my bag that sat beside Stiles, I stood up from the leather chair and dug around in my bag until I found the noisy object.

“Hey, Lyds.” I answered.

“Where are you?” She snapped back.

“What do you mean where am I?” I asked, confused.

“I mean where are you because you’re not at your house.” Lydia sassed and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m at the tattoo parlor in town, why?” I said, still confused.

“Are you around werewolf ears?” She asked.

“Yeah, what does that have to do with anything?” I was still extremely confused.

“Then I’ll tell you when I pick you up in twenty minutes.” She promptly stated before hanging up, causing me to sigh.

“I will never understand her.” I muttered to myself as I turned to see that Scott had taken my place in the leather chair, his left shirt sleeve rolled up and Stiles looked through a book of tattoo ideas.

“Hey, Scott, you sure you don’t want something like this?” Stiles asked as he flipped around the book so that Scott and I could see a picture of a creature that looked very similar to how they had described the kanima. Scott and I both gave him a look, so he did an awkward nod, smile thing that I found absolutely adorable. “Too soon? Yeah.”

“I don’t know, man, you sure about this? I mean these things are pretty permanent.” Stiles said as he flipped through the book a few more times before setting it down.

“I’m not changing my mind.” Scott said with a stupid grin and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay, but why two bands?” Stiles asked, not understanding the point of tattoos.

“I just like it.” Scott shrugged as the tattooist prepared his equipment for him.

“But don’t you think that your first tattoo should have some sort of meaning, you know, or something, like Liv’s?” Stiles questioned, waving his hands around.

“Stiles, getting a tattoo means something.” I deadpanned and Stiles went to say something but was cut off by the tattooist.

“She's right, tattooing goes back thousands of years. The Tahitian word tatua means ‘to leave a mark’, like a rite of passage.” Stiles crossed his arms, still not on board with Scott’s tattoo.

“You see, they get it.” Scott said with raised eyebrows.

“He’s covered in tattoos, Scott, literally!” Stiles exclaimed as he gestured to the tattooist.

“What about me?” I asked, waving my hands and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You don’t count. You and Scott have this whole unspoken understanding about this.”

“Okay, you ready?” The tattooist asked Scott and he nodded. “You ain’t got any problems with needles, do you?”

“Nope.” Scott said simply as he shook his head and the tattooist began.

“I tend to get a little squeamish though, so...” Stiles trailed off as he scratched his chin, leaning around so that he could see.

“Oh man.” Scott groaned and at the same time, I heard something heavy hit the floor. I looked over to find my crush laying on the floor in a heap, passed out.

“Stiles!” I squeaked as I ran over to make sure he was okay.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re being so secretive about?” I asked as Lydia drove through town.

“We’re picking up Allison from the airport.” She said simply and my eyes went wide as I whipped my head towards my strawberry blonde friend.

“I thought that she was staying in France for a whole year!” I exclaimed.

“That’s what I thought too, but she texted me a few days ago and told me that she was coming home and demanded that I keep it a secret.”

“And I guess you’re just so good at keeping secrets, right?” I asked, with a raised eyebrow and Lydia gave me a look.

“She meant from Scott and Stiles, which is why I only told you when you couldn’t let it slip to them.” She said and I rolled my eyes. “So what were you doing at a tattoo parlor with them?”

“I was getting a tattoo.” I shrugged as Lydia’s eyes bulged.

“It’s not a triple date. It’s a group thing.” Lydia insisted and Allison and I gave her a look.

“Do they know that it’s a group thing? ‘Cause I told you, I’m not ready to get back out there.” Allison said with a hint of a sarcastic smile.

“You were in France and didn’t do any dating for four months?” Lydia asked as she raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“Did you?” Allison asked and I laughed, causing Lydia to shoot me a glare through the rearview mirror. “I mean after Ja-”

“Do not say his name!” Lydia exclaimed, cutting Allison off before she dared to speak Jackson’s name.

“Is he okay? Like, did everything work out? No one really filled me in on that bit.” I asked and my friends glanced back at me.

“Well, the doctors looked like total idiots when he turned up alive, but everyone got over it. And yes, Derek taught him the werewolf 101, like how not to randomly kill people during a full moon.” Lydia mused and Allison smiled.

“So then you’ve talked to him?” Allison questioned and Lydia went silent.

“Uh, not since he left for London.” She muttered.

“You mean since his dad moved him to London.” Allison corrected, letting her head loll towards Lydia.

“Whatever, he left.” She snapped. “And seriously, an American werewolf in London? Like that’s not gonna be a disaster.”

“So you’re totally over him?” Allison asked, setting Lydia up to admit her scheme and said friend rolled her eyes.

“Would I be going on a triple date if I wasn’t?” Lydia snapped and Allison and I laughed. “Yes, it is a triple date. It’s not an orgy, you’ll both live.”

“You know what? This could be good for me.” I mused as we sat at a red light, causing Allison and Lydia to whip around. “What, you think because I’m, like, the only virgin left that I’m a total prude?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Lydia said, her eyes still wide.

“It’s not my fault that I’ve never been asked out. Believe it or not, I actually do want to get out there.” I said and my friends shrugged before turning back around.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘But Liv, what about the adorable spaz that you’re always fawning over?’, well, my theory is that if I get out there, start dating some random jock that Lydia sets me up with, it’ll help me get over Stiles.

Lydia, Allison and I were laughing at a story that Allison told about some American tourist hitting on her obnoxiously, but she pretended that she was French and didn’t understand English. Suddenly Allison started freaking out.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't see him, not now.” Allison exclaimed as she sank down into her seat. Lydia and I glanced left to find Roscoe sitting beside us at the light. Stiles waved and Lydia awkwardly pretended that she didn’t see.

“Lydia go! Just go!” Allison shouted.

“But the light.” Lydia said as she gestured to the longest red light that I’ve ever seen.

“Hi! Heeeyyy!” Stiles shouted as he leaned over Scott and rolled down his window. Lydia didn’t even give anyone a chance to speak anymore, ignoring the red light, speeding down the road and Allison let out a huge sigh of relief.

“You alright?” Lydia asked and Allison nodded.

“Lydia, stop. We need to go back and talk to them.” Allison said after a few silent seconds. I turned around in my seat as Lydia slowed to a stop and saw the Jeep stopped in the middle of the road.

“They stopped. Why would they stop?” Allison questioned. 

“It’s Scott and Stiles, logic doesn’t apply to them.” I muttered as I stared at Roscoe.

“Maybe we should go ba-” Allison began but cut herself off with and began to scream along with Lydia and I as a deer ran straight through the windshield. We scrambled out of the car as fast as we could, staring at the dead animal sprawled across the hood of Lydia’s car.

Jealousy managed to set itself in my gut as Stiles ran straight for Lydia and Scott ran for Allison.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked Allison, but I didn’t pay attention to her answer, I was too focused on the deer’s body.

“Are you hurt?” Stiles asked Lydia and my heart clenched.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked Allison once more.

“I’m okay.” She assured him breathlessly.

“Well, I’m not okay!” I shrieked as I ripped my eyes away from the body and turned to my friends, Scott made his way to the front of the car while Stiles came over and began to check me for injuries, gently pulling a piece of glass off of my cheek. “I am totally freaking out right now! We were parked, how the hell did it just run into us!”

“I saw its eyes right before it hit us, it was like it, it was like it was crazy.” Lydia said.

“No, it was scared.” Scott corrected, raising his hand and laying it on the body. “Actually, it was terrified.”

“Isn’t Stiles picking you up soon?” My mom asked as she walked into my room to find me blankly staring at my closet.

“Allison’s picking me up, so I should have a little more time to figure out what to wear.” I muttered as I began to rummage through my closet, an idea finally coming to mind. I dug out a pair of tan ankle boots, a pair of cut off jean shorts and a white top. 

“Well, I’m headed off to work. Have a great first day back.” My mom said with a smile, making a kissy face at me.

I blew her a kiss as I sat at my vanity, curling pieces of hair that had gone flat in the night and doing my make up. I’m not quite sure how much time passed before my phone rang, but I picked up, not bothering to look at the name before I answered.

“Hello?” I answered as I took off the lid of my lipstick.

“You know how many vehicle collisions last year involved deer? Two hundred forty-seven thousand.” Stiles stressed through the phone and I rolled my eyes as I applied the red coating to my lips.

“And you’re telling me this, why?”  I asked, putting the cap back on and started messing with my hair a little more.

“Because a freaking deer ran right down the middle of the road and hit you head on last night!” He shouted and I could practically see his spastic hand gestures. I laughed at his adorable antics as I nodded at myself, finally satisfied with my appearance, I made my way downstairs to get some coffee. “What’s so funny?”

“You are, Stiles. It was one deer acting weird, do you remember Scott telling us about the night that he got bit? A whole herd of deer almost trampled him, now that’s weird.” I said as I began to search for my k cups that seemed to have vanished.

“Yeah, but-” 

“You have got to be kidding me!” I shouted, cutting Stiles off.

“What? What’s wrong?!” Stiles rushed and I thought it was so sweet that he was instantly worried.

“I’m out of coffee.” I pouted and the line was silent for a few minutes.

“You, you’re joking, right?” He asked in a flat tone.

“I wish I was.” I whined.

“I thought something happened!” He shouted as a horn honked outside, causing me to perk up.

“Gotta go, Allison’s here!” I exclaimed, about to pull the phone away, but then Stiles spoke up.

“I thought I was picking you up?” 

“Nope, Allison is, like, right now.” I said as I grabbed my bag and walked out the door, pausing for a moment to lock it.

“But we always ride together on the first day.” Stiles protested as I slid into Allison’s back seat.

“I literally spent all summer with you and Scott, I need a little time away from the testosterone.” I said causing Allison and Lydia to laugh as we pulled away from the curb.

“Fine, I’ll see you at school.” He muttered.

“Bye, Stiles.” I said in a playful tone to which he grumbled and hung up. I laughed as I stuck my phone in my back pocket before turning my attention to Lydia and Allison. “Hey, can we stop by Starbucks? I think my dad took my coffee.”

Lydia and I stood with Allison as she organized her locker.

“Freshmen.” Lydia mused, waving her finger around. “Tons and tons of freshmen.”

“You mean boys, their fourteen, Lydia. I know I want a senior.” I said as I bit the straw of my coffee and sent a flirty wink to a particularly hot passing senior who smiled in return. 

“You know, it’s okay to be single. Focus on yourself for a little while, work on becoming a better person.” Allison said as she stared off into space and I scoffed.

“Honey, I’ve been focusing on myself for seventeen years.” Lydia laughed at my comment before turning to face Allison

“Allison, I love you. So if you need to do that thing where we talk about me and pretend like we're not actually talking about you, it's totally fine. But I don't want a boyfriend. I want a distraction.” Lydia said and she suddenly zeroed in on two guys in leather jackets practically strutting down the hallway holding helmets.

“Brothers?” I asked not being able to see their faces from the angle that I was at

“Twins.” Lydia mused, looking ready to pounce.

Allison, Lydia and I walked into English, there were only three seats left, Lydia took the one to Stiles’ right, I took the one behind him, not realizing that the only seat left for Allison was in front of Scott.

“Is someone sitting here?” Allison asked nervously and Scott shook his head vigorously.

“No, no, no, no. No, it's all you, all yours. Uh, it's totally vacant.” He rushed, and I smiled at him before gathering my things for class from my bag. As soon as I sat up, I felt my phone start to vibrate in my back pocket. I furrowed my eyebrows as I reached back and grabbed it, not having a chance to read the text before a feminine voice spoke.

"'An overcast sky, seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.’ This is the last line of the first book we are going to read. It is also the last text you will receive in this class. Phones off, everyone.” A woman, who I guessed was Miss. Blake said, holding up her phone as she walked into the classroom. I raised my eyebrows and shut my phone off, that’s one hell of a first impression, although it is kind of creepy that she somehow got all of our numbers.

I zoned out on my surroundings as I concentrated on our worksheet, that is of course until jealousy made me pay attention to Stiles and Lydia’s conversation.

“Hey, Lydia.” Stiles whispered loudly causing both her and me to look at him and he pointed at Lydia’s bandaged ankle. “What is that? Is that from the accident?”

“No, Prada bit me.” She said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“He bit you? But he’s always so good.” I said and Lydia just gave me a sad look.

“The dog?” Stiles asked confused.

“No, her designer handbag.” I said and Stiles gave me a look, “Yes, her dog. And it’s really weird because he’s, like, the most well-behaved dog ever.”

“Okay. What if it's, like, the same thing as the deer? You know, like, how animals start acting weird right before an earthquake or something?” Stiles suggested and I gave him an odd look, but of course, he was focused on Lydia.

“Meaning what? There’s gonna be an earthquake?” Lydia asked raising her eyebrow.

“Or something. I just, maybe it means something’s coming. Something bad.” Stiles said, leaning closer to Lydia.

“Stiles, it was a deer and a dog.” I said, but he still had his tunnel vision focused on Lydia.

“What’s that thing you say about threes? Once, twice-.” Suddenly a bird collided with the window, leaving a large blood spot in its wake. 

Miss. Blake set down her chalk and slowly walked over to the window and looked out with her mouth agape. I followed her eyes and my mouth copied hers when I saw the cloud of crows flying straight for the school. We all were silent for a few minutes, jumping each time a bird hit the window, that is until they finally broke through the glass and everyone began to scream as they were attacked.

“Get down, everyone! Get down, down! Get down! Get down!” Miss. Blake shouted and I gladly complied, diving out of my chair and under my desk, where Allison quickly joined me. We wrapped our arms around each other as we huddled together until everything was suddenly still.

Allison and I slowly let go of each other, hesitantly standing up and looking at the feathery carnage around us. As I looked around I noticed Stiles removing himself from Lydia and instantly fear and confusion were replaced with a white-hot rage.

I’m not quite sure how much time had passed, but the paramedics and the police had shown up, along with Allison’s dad. Allison and I sat together on a desk while her dad examined her scratched up hand.

“Next time you’re feeling like you want to stay home, you stay home.” Argent told Allison before looking at me. “You too, I know about your condition.”

“I’m okay, thank you.” I smiled. It was oddly comforting to have Argent act like another father to me.

“I’m fine. But, Dad, the deer and now this?” Allison said, looking at her dad with a worried expression. Anyone who knew about the supernatural knew that this was a very, very bad sign.

“I know, I know.” Argent whispered as he shifted his weight around.

“This can’t be a coincidence.” I whispered as I noticed sheriff walking over.

“Mr. Argent, you wouldn’t have any insight on this would you?” Sheriff asked and three pairs of eyes grew wide of a second before Argent put on his poker face.

“Me?”

“Yeah. All this bizarre animal behavior, it's... you must have seen something like this before, right?” Sheriff asked with a hopeful expression.

“I’m not sure why I would or why you would think I would.” Argent said with a confused smile.

“I'm sorry. I-I could've sworn I overheard my son talking about how you were an experienced hunter.” Sheriff said, now also confused.

“Ah, right. Well, not anymore.” Argent said glancing at Allison before looking back to Sheriff who nodded awkwardly before turning to Allison and me.

“You two alright?” He asked and Allison and I nodded, muttering a simple ‘yeah’. That seemed so satisfy Sheriff and he walked away.

Suddenly Stiles had ahold of my wrist and started to drag me outside. Typically I would follow happily, but I was so pissed, I didn’t even want to talk to him. He managed to drag me out of the doors before I was finally able to plant my feet to the ground causing him to look at me with a ‘wtf’ face.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing,” I said as I practically ripped my arm from his grasp.

“Come on, Liv, we need to get to Derek’s house.” He insisted, taking a few steps towards the Jeep, only stopping when he realized that I was still firmly planted on the sidewalk. “Liv!” 

“We don’t need to go anywhere.” I snapped, venom lacing my words. I could tell that I had instantly frustrated him because he swiped his hand over his face before stomping back over to me.

“Why are you mad?” Stiles groaned and I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms.

“I don’t know, Stiles, I just think it’s kinda fucked up that you would go through hell and high water to protect Lydia and not the girl that you have literally known since birth.” I sneered.

“Liv-” Stiles began with an exasperated sigh, but I cut him off.

“I get that you have some weird obsession with her, I mean she’s gorgeous, but face it, Stiles! You don’t even have the possibility of a chance of being with her! The sad thing is, you know that she basically couldn’t care less about you and you still try. In the end, you’re just gonna end up all alone with a broken heart and I won’t be there to pick up the pieces of your mistake.” I shook my head with disgust before whipping around and storming back inside.

It killed me to say all of those things, but what killed me more was the look of betrayal and pain that he wore, like the venom in my words was actually killing him. I broke into a run to the girl's bathroom, locking myself in a stall as the tears began to fall. I hadn’t meant to say those things, but I was just so angry and jealous that I couldn’t have stopped them from falling out of my mouth, even if I tried.

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