#self harm fic

[yellowroseswrites]

Hi, I was wondering if you could write a fic about Spencer Reid x sh/ed reader. The reader is very insecure because she feels like she used to be smart but isn't anymore and maybe after failing a case she starts harming herself again.

I was also wondering if you could include

that she wears a watch all the time

that she tends to cut small cuts on her fingers because she can blame them on other things and often digs her nails into them when anxious

has a good relationship with family so she feels her actions are unjustified

Spencer and reader are friends but shes always thought of him as more

I totally understand if this isn't possible and thank you.

"I want to help you carry it."

Spencer Reid x Sh!BAU!Reader

Author's notes- [ “has a good relationship with her family so she feels her actions are unjustified’ called me out personally and i need emotional compensation /j. Sorry these pieces have taken so long, a lot of my requests have been sh related and i wasn’t in the right headspace until recently, i hope you understand and i hope you enjoy this piece <3 also this is taken quite far from the prompt, so i’m sorry about that. I’ll definitely try to write more with reid and sh reader, so i’ll try to follow the request a bit more closely next time]

TW- {Self harm mentions, not super graphic, but it is a bit detailed, mentions of kidnapping and su!c!de (briefly), Eating habits mentioned, but not detailed at all, disassociation scenes, 2 of them i think, use of y/n}

1.2k words, enjoy

You looked down at your watch, watching the second hand tick all the way around the circle, desperately trying not to look up. If you looked up, all you would see is the dissapointed face of your best friend, Spencer.

You were sat on a stool near his kitchen counter. Usually if you were sitting here, there would be laughter and smiles, maybe pizza or some freshly baked cupcakes, but this was different. You only ever saw Reid like this once, when he sat you down to talk to you about your eating habits. You swore you would never do anything that would make him that upset again. You never wanted him to worry about you. He had enough on his plate, you would only be a burden. And yet, here you are.

You thought you were hiding it well, to be honest you really were. You never let anything slip, not a wince, not a complain, nothing. No one knew a thing, until today.

You were finishing a case, a rough one if you’re being honest. There was a young girl, one with scars everywhere, self inflicted. Everyone thought she had killed herself, except you and Reid. You both fought hard to find the girl. The team did end up finding her, she was trapped in some freaks attic. The case was closed, she was found, it was fine. You told yourself it was fine, you did your best to convince yourself that it didn’t bother you. It wasn’t until you were filling out your case reports that you finally let yourself dwell on it. You could hear Derek’s voice so clearly in your head, “Is it possible that she took her own life? It’s clear she has suicidal tendencies.” Even after JJ and Hotch explained the complexities of non-suicidal self injury, his words still rang in your head. You dont even know why it bothered you. I wasn’t judgmental, it wasn’t disrespectful, it wasn’t even a bad theory, but it rattled you. It’s like you could perfectly imagine them talking about you like that, like you were nothing but your habits. You knew that wasn’t how Morgan meant it, he was doing his job, you would do the same for any other case, but this one just stung.

As you thought about it, you faded into your mind. It’s like you weren’t even there at your desk, you were inside your head. Your nails found there way to your other hands knuckles. You were good at hiding the marks, and it was easy to lie about them. They were your hands, anyone would believe that you just knicked them, or got them stuck in your car door, or that your neighbors cat was a playful fella, or the countless other excuses you had saved in your resevoir. You never hurt youself in public, or when people could catch you, except today apperently. Your finger was red and bleeding by the time you snapped out of your haze. Or rather, was rudely dragged out of our haze by Spencer. You blinked a few times as you focused on him and what he was saying.

“Y/n stop that.” His hands were on yours. You were frozen for a second, your mind almost buffering, before the reality of that moment actually dawned on you. Without speaking a word you pulled your hands back and stoop up from your desk.

You grabbed your bag, sliding your unfinished report into your desk drawer, before beginning to walk off, “Good work Spence, I’ll see you tommorow.” You made your way to the elevator, ttrying to avoid the obvious footsteps following you. He put his hand on your shoulder as you made your way out of the building, gently guiding you to his car. You didn’t fight it, you knew you couldn’t, and you would really rather not make a scene in your work parking lot. You listened to the hum of his car air conditioner as he drove the all familiar route to his appartment. 

That’s how you ended up here. A few warm tears falling down your cheeks while Spencer silently stares at your shrunken figure. He was trying to find the words that he wanted to say, which was never a good thing. He was the Spencer Reid, he always knew what to say. 

He finally cleared his throat, after what felt like ages, “Non-suicidal self injury is a habitual addiction, but it’s possible to recover from it. You just have to tell someone about it, that’s step one. That’s always been step one. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know Spence. I’m sorry.” Your voice was small. You felt small compared to your all knowing best friend. You knew everything there was to know about self harm, sometimes it was the only thing you wanted to read about or learn about, sometimes you felt like it was the only thing you knew about,  but you knew this was how Reid helped, so you tried to stay calm as you let him tell you everything that you already had memorized. 

“We’re friends y/n, you can talk to me.”

You huffed at that, mumbling a small, “Yea friends.”

“You’re deflecting.” He sounded softer, you hurt him. You were deflecting, and now you feel worse than you did before. You hated this, you wanted to go home and relive this day. Your nails started to sink into the skin on your thigh.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Great, Spencer saw. Spencer knows. Spencers going to think your insane, he’s going to talk about you like your a victim. He’s going to talk to you like a baby and look at you like your bleeding out in front of him. He’s never going to think about you the way you think of him, your just some charity case for him. He doesn’t -

His hand grabs yours, taking it away from your leg. Before your brain can catch up with you, your arms are wrapped around him, pressing your face into his torso. Your tears are falling more freely now. You feel his hands run through your hair and rub against your back. You never feel more safe than you do when your in his arms, your thoughts can’t catch you here. 

You aren’t sure how long you stay like that before you gently pull away from him. You sit patiently as he examines your hands. You can see the hurt in his eyes, you do your best to ignore it. 

“I love you, y/n. I don’t want you to do this to youself. You can get help for this. You can talk to me about it if you need to.” He was soft, but not condescending. You could feel yourself melt, as though you needed another reason to love him.

“I can’t do that, I’ll just be a burden. This isn’t your baggage to carry.” You started to pull away again.

“It’s still your baggage, I just want to help you carry it. Let me help you, please.” His voice pulled you right back in.

You wiped the remaining tears from your face, “Okay Spence.” He sighed in relief, taking your hands and leading you to the couch. You both sat, you resting your head against his chest. You didn’t have to talk about it now. You knew you would eventually, but that's another thing about Spencer, you felt comfortable. You didn’t feel anxious about the impending conversations to be had, you weren’t stressing about him watching you or knowing your secrets, you simply felt safe. That was enough for now.

[moonstruckme]

could i req any marauder finding r’s sh scars and being loving about them? going through hell rn. it’s okay if u cant, love u mae

Wishing you all the best sweetheart, hope you're doing what you can to support yourself and let others around you support you too <33

cw: past self harm

modern au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Did his wife cheat on him?”

“Why would you think that?” 

“I mean, if not, why does the mother-in-law hate her so much?” 

Remus shrugs, a secret smile playing on the edge of his mouth. His knuckles run over the skin of your shoulder idly as he keeps his eyes on the laptop screen. “Suppose you’ll have to wait and see.” 

You huff a laugh. “What’s the point of watching with someone who’s already seen it if you won’t tell me anything?” 

“It’s only ever really fun for the person who’s already seen it. I get to watch you go through the agonies I did.” 

“The agonies.” You roll your eyes, leaning deeper into his side. You could be a bit more convincing about holding this against him, but Remus’ bed is almost as comfortable as Remus himself, and you’ve found it impossible to pretend at being any less smitten with him than you really are. He sees right through you every time. “If you’d mentioned the agonies in your pitch, I might not have agreed to this.” 

“You’ll like it,” he promises, leaning back on you in turn, your shoulder pushing into his arm. 

The two of you are having the laziest of afternoons. What had started as a coffee date had turned into a trip to the bookstore across the street and then a walk in a park, and when it had gotten too warm out for the both of you Remus had invited you over for lunch and somehow you’ve ended up here, sitting on his bed in a borrowed pair of sweatpants while you watch a film on his laptop and he touches you like you’re a fascination he’d like to spend years studying. 

It’s an indolent, distracted sort of touching. Almost like he’s mapping you out in his subconscious, so that someday he’ll know you by instinct and memory but he’s in no hurry to get there. Like he’s got time. It’s also hypnotic. As captivating as Remus’ film selection is, you’re having a difficult time keeping up with the plot when your eyelids are so, so heavy. 

His knuckles stroke over your neck, the bare skin of your collarbone, down the slope of your shoulder. You don’t realize your shirt has slipped off the top of your arm until he does.

You freeze, Remus doesn’t. His fingers continue to graze lightly over the neat rows of scars, slowing as though losing momentum. You close your eyes. 

Emotion rises like a gag reflex in your throat. Apprehension and shame and a guilt you don’t quite understand. Like you’re wrong for ever having had the audacity to hurt, like this is something you’re doing to him, somehow, even though it’s long over and was only ever a misguided attempt at making yourself feel better. It’s nonsensical, and you feel it anyway. 

Remus is quiet for a long while. 

His touch moves back up your shoulder, to unmarred skin and safer territory. He asks, “You okay?” 

You swallow. “You mean, like, presently?”

“Yeah.” There’s the faintest hint of teasing in Remus’ voice. He sweeps his thumb over the back of your neck, an attempt at soothing you. “Or in general, whatever suits you.” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped just now. I didn’t know.”

“No…no, you’re alright. I wasn’t…” You rub your lips together, taking in what you hope is a subtle breath through your nose. “You’re fine.” 

“Does it bother you to think about them?” he asks. You can feel him looking at you, now, but you keep your eyes on the screen. It’s the only way for you to have this conversation. 

“Not really. It was just something I did for a while, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, that makes sense.” 

You sit there for another quiet minute, you watching the movie and Remus watching you. The coil of apprehension in you starts to loosen. Your breaths come easier. 

“Sorry,” you say, not bothering to force lightness into your tone, “I didn’t mean to spring that on you. It’s not a secret, but it’s not something that tends to come up, like, casually.” 

“No, hey, you’re fine.” Remus sounds serious enough that you turn to look at him, and you find him with a hard notch between his brows, a surprised sort of frown on his lips. “If anyone sprung anything, it was me. You haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t imagine it’s an easy subject to broach.” 

“It’s not a big deal to me anymore.” You’re beginning to sound almost as if you’re pleading with him. 

“Alright.” 

“And it was a long time ago now.” 

“It’s okay, love.” 

“I just know people sometimes get freaked out, and I don’t want you to worry—” 

“Hey.” There’s a tenderness to Remus’ voice as he cuts you off. His honey-toned eyes are soft. “It’s okay. Can I hug you?” 

You nod mutely. The hand currently resting by your neck slips down to hug your ribs, and his other arm comes around your front, palming your bare upper arm. He rubs up and down comfortingly, seemingly mindless of the faint lines under his touch. 

Remus’ lips touch to your hair. When he pulls you tighter against him, it feels almost like you’re rocking. “You’re alright,” he murmurs, to you, to himself. “You’re alright.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper, self-conscious now of your nervous blithering and slightly stunned by the way he’s touching you. 

“For what, sweetheart? Don’t be sorry. If you want to talk about it—about anything—I will always want to hear it, but you don’t owe me any explanation, alright?” 

“Yeah.” Your lungs deflate a little, a relief you hadn’t known you needed. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me, either.” Remus is teasing again, the press of his lips to your hair at once firm and fond. He lets you go but keeps his arm around your waist, dropping his head to rest on yours again. “You’re just fine, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You snuggle into his side, somehow safer than before. “I’m good. I’ve been good.” 

His thumb sweeps over your side. “And you can tell me if you’re ever not. You’re perfect regardless.”  

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."

[blaiddraws]

2/3 comms for @rwyvernarts

tfw you got worms and you just wanna show them to your bestie and she freaks out for some reason 🙄

[anonymous-dentist]

Bleeding Heart Part One

Or: Somebody is attacking members of the Federation of Heroes, and Cellbit is, for once, not the killer

(TW: Blood, Self Harm [by technicality])

----

Cellbit first hears about the attacks from Bagi while they're getting lunch together for the first time in almost a month.

"I've just been so busy," she sighs. She looks about one insult away from slamming Cellbit's face into the table, and she looks about one wet piece of lettuce away from slamming her own face into her salad.

Cellbit hums in response. He's been busy, too. Not with police work, but photo editing is fucking hard, okay? Especially when your apartment is a fucking war zone thanks to yet another patented Richarlyson Temper Tantrum.

Only a little annoyed, Cellbit pokes at his barbecue hard enough with his fork to scrape it against the plate.

Bagi scowls and kicks Cellbit underneath the table.

Cellbit kicks Bagi back, with purpose.

"Fuck you!" she snaps, stomping down hard on his foot.

Cellbit responds by snatching her glass of water from next to her plate and turning it over above her salad.

"What?" Cellbit casually asks as Bagi starts visibly shaking with rage. "At least I'm not stabbing you this time."

"You-" Bagi cuts herself off with a frustrated groan.

She reaches across the table and steals his plate; he lets her, the meat is a bit too well-done for his tastes.

Cellbit leans back in his seat and watches her stab into the barbecue with the rage of a goddamn beast.

"Aren't you vegan?" he asks her.

"Fuck you," she tensely responds. "I don't have the patience for this today. Between you and those fucking- the Federation, I'm going to lose it."

Cellbit tenses at the mention of the Federation- the Federation of Heroes: Q City's defense against supervillains and petty criminals alike, the unofficial backer of the city's educational system and the police force and the courts, and Cellbit's unrequited worst enemy.

His nose wrinkles in distaste. "What do they want?"

"What don't they want?" Bagi sighs. "I don't see why they need us to solve this if they're in charge of literally every superhero in the city. It's just a couple of assault cases, that's it."

...Ah.

Casually- oh, so casually, Cellbit rolls his eyes and cracks a grin.

"What, is someone going around and beating up Federation guys again?" he asks. "I thought Enigma was dead."

Bagi nods, annoyance written all across her face in big red letters. "He is, I was there when he died! But freaking Foolish-"

"Oh, God, Foolish is on this case?"

"The Federation requested him specifically, but he's like-" (She screws her voice up into something approximating her coworker's.) "'Oh, no, Bagi! It's the dead guy assaulting all these Federation guys!' Like? Enigma is dead, how the hell is he still getting assault charges?"

Cellbit shrugs. "You know how Foolish is. He's probably still pissed about never actually getting to figure out Enigma's secret identity. He's just salty."

"Yeah, well. Whatever."

"Whatever," Cellbit echoes.

Bagi, somehow, looks much closer to death. She looks tired, but that's just what happens when you're stuck dealing with Cucurucho for an extended period of time; Cellbit swears he only gets sleep when Cucurucho is out of the city on official Federation business.

Now, Cellbit should probably be grilling his sister for more information. Any enemy of the Federation of Heroes is a friend of his, and he's got some contacts that he might want to hook this mystery person up with.

But.

Smile softening just slightly, Cellbit asks, "How has Empanada been? Is she doing better at this new school?"

Bagi's entire being brightens up, and she starts talking about her daughter's first day at her new school and how Empanada had the best time and how the school is actually accommodating for her disabilities and how... Well, Cellbit stops listening after a couple of minutes while he starts thinking about his own child.

Oh, Richarlyson.

He's so grounded.

-

But, funnily enough, it's while he's walking Richarlyson to school a week later that Cellbit finds the first official murder victim of Bagi's mystery assaulter.

"Oh," says Cellbit, looking down at the corpse lounging in front of his apartment building surrounded by its own brains and blood.

He blocks Richarlyson from following him out the door, much to Richarlyson's annoyance.

"What is it?" Richarlyson asks, squirming and trying to slip under Cellbit's arm. "I wanna see!"

"I think your other dads would kill me," Cellbit replies. He glances over his shoulder and down. "Can you go get my camera for me? I'll let you carry it to school."

Eyes widening excitedly, Richarlyson turns on his heel and bolts up the stairs.

As soon as he's gone, Cellbit looks back at the corpse.

It isn't a particularly good corpse. It's... messy. Too many wounds, too random. Skull fracture and cave-in seems accidental based off the location of the fracture and the location of the body; the killer probably smashed the victim's head against the building's railing and killed them just like that.

It's early in the morning. Early enough that Cellbit's street is basically empty; the Favela isn't really ever quiet, but people are smart enough to stay off the streets from sundown until sun-up. And the Federation of Heroes isn't dumb enough to try putting cameras up in a place like the Favela; it'd be a waste of money with how many times they'd have to replace them all.

So nobody is there to watch as Cellbit crouches next to the corpse and sticks a finger in the puddle of blood.

(Water holds memories, and blood is ninety-two percent water, so...)

The blood ripples like a lake after a stone was tossed into it, waves moving from Cellbit's finger outwards.

And then-

"Pai! I got it!"

Cellbit swiftly stands and turns and hides his hand in his coat pocket and smiles a thanks at Richarlyson. Damnit.

"Did you remember to lock the door behind you?" Cellbit asks.

He tries to block the view of the corpse again, but Richarlyson just barely manages to squeeze past him and out the door.

Cellbit sighs, "Don't tell your Pai Pac I let you see this. He'll kill me."

Richarlyson stares down at the body, frozen in shock.

Well. At least he isn't screaming?

Cellbit slings his camera bag over his shoulder and pulls his camera out. He's got work to do.

"Why do their brains look like that?" Richarlyson asks, nose wrinkled. "Gross."

"Brains don't look like they do in the movies," Cellbit explains, moving past Richarlyson and turning his camera on. He points it at the corpse's face, and he clicks the button. "They're a lot more... gooey. Not as solid as you'd think. It's mostly just the skull keeping them together."

"Really?"

"No, this is just kind of fucked up."

Richarlyson sits on the steps, arms crossed across his knees. He watches Cellbit work, not as disturbed as Cellbit thought he'd be. But, well, he is Richarlyson. He's seen worse than loose brains and a bit of blood. This is nothing.

"I think I know them," Richarlyson says after a bit.

Cellbit glaces up at him, camera focused on the bloody railing.

Richarlyson thinks some more, and then he nods. "Yeah, okay, so I don't know them, but I know their face! They were on the news last week! Super Hamster!"

Super... oh, right. Super Hamster, one of the Federation's newest recruits. Super low-ranked hero who spends their patrols getting cats out of trees and doing battle with a similarly low-ranked villain named Mongoose Man. Kind of stupid, but in a dumb college student way. Weird interviews. Weirder costume.

Cellbit lowers his camera and looks the corpse in the face. Super Hamster wore a mask over their eyes, but the cheeks and chin look the same...

Oh. Oh no.

God. Damnit.

-

Okay, so.

So.

Once upon a time, there was a supervillain named Enigma. He was a bit of a serial killer, but he only attacked and killed those affiliated with the Federation of Heroes: office workers, doctors, weapons suppliers. Heroes.

He did this for years. He founded the Order of Villains alongside fellow villains: the Demon and Crow Man. He killed dozens upon dozens of people, took down seemingly-endless numbers of rookie and professional heroes alike, made himself a reputation as the worst villain Q City had ever known.

And then he died.

There was an explosion during a chase he and the Federation's Sharkboy were involved in. Sharkboy was sent into early civilian retirement. Enigma was sent to his grave.

But.

Cellbit slinks his way down the alley with his camera bag slung over his shoulder. He's wearing sunglasses and a black surgical mask leftover from the last time Richarlyson was sick, and his hair is mostly hidden under a borrowed baseball cap.

Recently, according to both Bagi and the evening news, people seem to think that Enigma has done the impossible and risen from the grave. Somehow.

The thing is, the new guy doesn't kill the same way that Enigma did. Enigma used weapons the color of fresh blood. All reports from surviving victims of "Enigma" mention someone with a black sword and-slash-or a steel baseball bat.

Honestly? Cellbit wishes this new killer all the luck in the world. Going up against the Federation is risky business; that's why Cellbit retired in the first place: his family was at risk.

But, really, Cellbit can't have the rumors about Enigma's return continue to go around. They're making everyone pay too much attention to everyone else, and Cellbit really doesn't like getting stared at.

He really, really doesn't like getting stared at by Pac of all people.

So. For Pac's sake, and for Pac's sake only, Cellbit is on the prowl tonight. He's been studying up on the assault cases that Bagi has been investigating, and he's determined that nearly all of the assaults happened within a three-block circumference of the Federation's main building downtown. The outlier so far is Super Hamster, who was apparently Cellbit's upstairs neighbor before their death.

So. Downtown.

Cellbit doesn't have much on him. He has his phone and wallet, and he has a pocketknife and a pocket first aid kit. He's wearing gloves to hide his fingerprints, and because he knows better than to make skin-to-skin contact with an unknown super. (Because the new guy is a super, Cellbit can just tell; who else would have the balls to fight other supers hand-to-hand?)

And, of course, he has his camera. He needs to get proof for Pac, and then he'll get Pac to deliver the pictures to the right people.

Enigma might be dead, but "Enigma" would fit right in with the Order of Villains.

Cellbit steps out of the alley and looks up at the imposing Federation building rising above the buildings around him. It's big and white and glowing and shaped like the letter 'F' and it's fucking ugly, but it's also absolutely terrifying.

("Dispose of him.")

A helicopter lands on the Federation building's roof. Cellbit hopes it fucking crashes after takeoff.

With a sigh, Cellbit turns on his heel and starts down the street towards the building. He looks suspicious as hell, but he also has his P.I.'s license in his wallet if he needs to pull it out.

(He may not be an investigator anymore, but the license doesn't expire for another couple of years. Thanks, Federation!)

There's an itch on the back of Cellbit's neck. A mosquito, probably; it's summer, unfortunately.

Cellbit raises his hand to swat the bug away.

He blinks, and there's a figure in front of him standing beneath a streetlight in all black: hoodie, cargo shorts, what are probably athletic leggings beneath them, gas mask, and- for some reason- a medieval-style cloak with the hood pulled up.

Their hand rests on a sword hung on their side.

Cellbit doesn't so much as blink. Interesting outfit; the gas mask is a nice touch. Probably hiding a voice modulator inside it.

The sword almost seems to sing with all the blood coating it. Fresh blood, still dripping.

Slowly, Cellbit lowers his hand.

"Hey," he lamely says. "Nice cloak."

The killer's head slowly tilts to one side.

A deep, gravelly, very artificial-sounding voice drawls out, "You are not one of theirs."

Oh, so the killer is a nerd. That's cool. They'll fit in great with the Order.

Cellbit shakes his head. "No. I'm not. I'm on your side, actually. I'm just-"

The killer laughs, long and drawn out and painful sounding.

They shake their head slowly. "Don't fuck with me. No one is on my side."

Oh, so the killer is a depressed nerd. Who has obviously read a few too many comic books with how they're talking.

"No," Cellbit quickly says, "but I am. I hate those guys!"

The killer is silent. Still.

Cellbit watches them just stand there.

Swallowing a lump of anticipation in his throat, Cellbit continues:

"The Federation sucks. Everyone who works for it, or with it, deserves to die. I agree with you! But you-"

He cuts himself off with a gasp of pain as the killer vanishes in front of him and as a sharp blade stings along his ribcage from behind.

"Shit!" the killer snaps, voice modulator staticking in panic.

Cellbit staggers forward and throws himself onto the ground, careful not to crush his camera back. His sunglasses come flying off, but fuck them, he stole them, anyway.

His hand flies to his side, and it comes away bloody.

He grins. Perfect.

The killer lunges at him with his sword, aiming right for Cellbit's chest, but-

Cellbit raises his hand to catch the sword, hissing as the blade sinks into the palm of his hand. It cuts right through his glove like it was made of butter, but fuck the gloves, he stole them, anyway.

The killer freezes, confused as Cellbit drags his hand up the length of the blade. His blood drips down onto his hoodie, staining it dark.

"I told you," Cellbit growls, clenching his hand down and grinning. "I'm on your side."

And then Cellbit jerks his hand back and rolls to the side, narrowly dodging a stab to the chest. He raises his hand just in time for the blood running down his arm to ripple and start running backwards.

The killer must catch the movement, because they swing their sword towards Cellbit's wrist. Smart thought, but too late.

Steel clashes against iron with sparks and nausea as the killer's blade meets Cellbit's own.

Vaguely, Cellbit can see the killer's eyes widen through the goggles of their mask.

Cellbit swallows down a fever as he pulls the blood off of his hoodie and forms it into a tiny buckler shield. (If this other guy wants to go medieval, so will Cellbit.)

And then he pushes upwards with his blood sword with all his strength, forcing the killer to take a step backwards to keep themselves from falling on their ass.

"The cameras in this part of the city don't work," Cellbit breathes, pushing himself to his feet and desperately trying not to collapse under the weight of his own being. "You know this, but how? Only the Federation knows. They planned it this way. Job security."

"How do you know, culero?" the killer snaps.

They spin their sword once, look Cellbit over, and freeze.

Cellbit frowns. Just like before...

But then what happened before was-

Eyes widening in realization, Cellbit ducks to the side, just barely getting grazed by a sword skimming across the back of his neck.

The killer groans and tries again, this time catching the meat of Cellbit's bicep.

Cellbit groans, but he forces his blood to push the sword out of his body. It does so with a little protest, too weak to do much, but it manages.

"Enigma," the killer breathes. "You're supposed to be dead, man!"

"I am," Cellbit lowly says.

He hunches over slightly, more than a little out of practice. He holds his shield in front of himself, his sword quivering and at the ready.

"This is great!" the killer excitedly says. "Now that I know it's you..."

They lower their sword and sheathe it, practically bouncing on their toes. Their eyes glitter behind their mask, but they betray nothing.

"...we can team up!" they finish.

They reach a hand out.

Cellbit steps back warily. He holds his sword level with the killer's throat; it drips onto the sidewalk, blood splattering everywhere.

"I'm dead," Cellbit snaps. "You weren't supposed to even see me tonight! I just- oh, fuck."

He groans as a wave of heat washes over him. Pre-faint symptoms, he's close. He used to be better at this, fuck.

He staggers, both his sword and shield splashing onto the ground as he loses his hold over their forms. He braces himself against a streetlight, the same one he first saw the killer under, and he tries not to vomit.

The killer rushes towards him, gloved hands hesitating awkwardly next to his shoulders.

"You okay?" the killer asks. Even through their modulator, they sound concerned. Okay.

"I'm fine," Cellbit wheezes. He waves them off with a glare. "You just- I need proof. That it isn't me this time."

The killer stops breathing. They stop breathing for a long time.

And then they're next to Cellbit rather than in front of him holding his camera.

Cellbit's eyes widen. "Hey, no! Put that back!"

"Relax," the killer says, smile evident in their voice. "I'm getting you proof."

Cellbit's head spins. He hears the camera snap, and then he's on the ground. Oooohh, he's out of practice. (But isn't that a good thing?)

Another camera snap, and he's dry heaving. He hasn't eaten enough to be able to actually throw up anything, but his body sure wants him to try.

"Shit, hold on!" the killer exclaims, and then Cellbit knows nothing.

-

He wakes up to the familiar sound of the beeping of a heart monitor. There's a familiar alien sensation in his arm- I.V. drip, okay.

Okay, he's at the hospital.

Eyes flickering open, Cellbit lets out a sigh. Bagi is going to hate this.

"Fuck," he sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

Once upon a time, Enigma was the most feared villain in the city. But then he got a son, and he found his long-lost twin sister, and he realized that dying either from blood loss or from Federation execution wasn't the ending he wanted anymore. He wanted to live, and so Enigma had to die.

Cellbit hasn't passed out from blood loss since he was just starting out as a villain. It's been almost a decade since then, and he's definitely lost his touch. But that's for the better, really. He doesn't need to use his powers for that kind of stuff anymore. He can heal his son's wounds. He can read the lives of the deceased.

...Or, he would if he could.

He's startled out of his thoughts as someone comes into his room with an armload of vending machine snacks.

"Oh!" the new person exclaims, eyes widening. "You're alive!"

Cellbit doesn't know this person, but he thinks that he wants to.

"Who are you?" Cellbit croaks. "What happened?"

He was with the killer... and then he passed out... and...

"Oh, yeah, so I was walking home from work, and I found you all bloody and passed out on the sidewalk," the man explains.

He sits in the chair by Cellbit's bed, and then he dumps his snacks on the bed and lets out a sigh.

"I'm glad you're okay," he continues. "I was seriously worried."

Cellbit blinks. He's tired, God.

"My camera?" he asks.

"Over there," the man replies. He points towards the other side of the room with his head. "That Hombre Misterioso left it behind when he saw me there."

Cellbit frowns. "Hombre...?"

"Hombre Misterioso. The guy killing all those Federation workers? Apparently, he took a bunch of pictures of himself and managed to send them to the police. That's what they're calling him."

Cellbit's brain ticks away. "Doesn't that just mean 'mysterious guy' in Spanish?"

"Ay, you know Spanish?" The man grins. "That's cool!"

"I'm Brazilian," Cellbit murmurs, not really answering.

He gives the man an appraising look: brown hair, soft looking; dark eyes, glittering; red t-shirt, form-fitting; blue bandana, goofy. Biceps.

The man catches his gaze and winks.

"I'm Roier," he says.

Cellbit gives up on his analyzing; he'll get back to it when he isn't still so drained from losing so much blood.

"Cellbit," he replies. "Thank you for saving me."

"Nah, it's nothing."

(Roier's smile is sharp-toothed and positively breathtaking [or maybe that's just the blood loss talking.])

"Thank you for waking up."

[romidoes]

“What happened?” He asks, pulling Mickey’s arm closer to him, trying to look over the raw skin.

Mickey tugs it back, ants crawling over his skin. He doesn’t say anything, stepping out of the shower and turning off the spray. Despite how wet his legs are, he pulls on his boxers and hopes that Ian will leave him be.

“Mickey. What the fuck were you doing?” Ian demands, accusation behind the words. It makes the back of his neck heat up and it makes him burn with annoyance.

shower by @em-harlsnow

i read this fic the same day as it was uploaded and my mind kept going back to it and wanted to do something inspired from that specific scene quoted above. the ‘way’ he does it isn’t the same as in my drawing but i guess it felt more personal that way?

i kind of wanted to show mickey ‘snapping’ out of it as he gets called by ian and see how much he hurt himself without really noticing it

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi, how are you?

I'm looking for a sterek fic where Stiles is taken by an alpha after slashing his wrists, his dad finds a journal written by Stiles on why he died. He becomes a mage and goes by Gage, and his new pack is basically werewolf royalty. The McCall pack comes to a convention thing to look for a new emissary since Deaton told them it was supposed to be Stiles. Stiles interviews Derek's pack and Scott's pack but becomes Derek's emissary.

Please help 🙏🏼 thank you 💛

Hi @apileofdragons! @wolfandravenrecs and @anowlnamedpig says it's this one.

The Son I Should Have Had by misteeirene

(1/1 I 18,772 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Stiles can't handle the pain from being pushed out of the pack and the fact that his dad would rather spend time with Scott instead of him so he decides to take his own life. Will he succeed, or will someone step in and save Stiles?

[mrs-kodzuken]

half of a whole - hajime i.

synopsis: being abused, mentally and physically, caused you to resort to unhealthy coping mechanisms (TW) and made you feel even worse when you knew your soulmate could feel every ounce of pain you felt too. running away to give yourself a better life right out of high school, you managed to run into the one person who somehow knows you like the back of his hand (soulmate!au, self-harm mentions [not explicit], age gap, older!iwa, mentions of homelessness, long fic)

You never gave a thought to how your soulmate would be feeling this, it honestly never crossed your mind. Living in a situation where you're always worried about the next temper tantrum that your parents might have lives in your mind constantly.

Having to share this pain with someone who was fated to you hurt indescribably. You never wanted abusive parents, more so, you never wanted to cope by self-harming either. You tried to shove the thought to the back of your mind and focus on the now.

Another empty beer bottle flew past your head, you felt the sharp air against your face before it crashed and broke into the wall. That definitely brought you back to the now. Your father was drunk, again. It also worsened when he was never sober for even an hour, leading to this rampage.

Between the fighting, the overly loud TVs that would keep you up, the lack of food in the pantries, and the physical and verbal abuse your so-called parents 'graced' you with, it was hard to survive.

You finally made it out of the house, having been trying to be as quiet as possible before your mother could start screaming and calling you all kinds of obscenities.

Blowing a sigh of relief, you were able to walk to work. You had a part-time job, which recently became a full-time job since you graduated, a job that you made it to every day, no matter what.

It was the key to getting out of this hell hole that you lived in too. You were so close in savings to buy a car and have racked up a good amount of experience in food and serving.

The cool wind blew past your face, enlightening a shiver out of you and goosebumps appeared on your arms. It was mid-October, and it was nearing to be very cold outside soon.

Not only did the cold weather make you freeze but it also made your thighs ache from your past unhealthy habits of coping with the parents you have. Being clean was hard, but getting out of here was even harder and you needed to be sane to do that, you thought.

Arriving at your safe haven every day for seven days a week was a blessing that you humbly enjoyed. The warmth caressed you and made you feel safe and even enticed a smile from your face.

"Now there's my favorite employee." Your manager calls over the counter. She slightly knew that things were bad at home but never mentioned it to you, knowing you always got uncomfortable with that kind of situation.

So, she made work feel like the home you never got to have.

"Hi, I'll be here till close again." You softly smiled, glad that she paid you well and enough to keep you saving good money.

"Of course, go ahead and wash up, kiddo. Don't forget bonuses go out today before your shift is over!" She said over her shoulder as you walked into the back to put your raggedy zip up jacket you've had since you were in junior high.

Your manager fed you, on rare occasions hugged you when she could tell a day had been particularly horrible for you. She was like the mother you never got, which made you sad that you wouldn't have any contact with her when you would finally run away. Not having a phone or paying a phone bill saved a lot of money for you, and being blessed with food from work was also a blessing you didn't forget.

As the night began, you found yourself enjoying your shift as per usual. Sometimes, you wondered if your soulmate knew. Like really knew what was going on with you.

They had to, indefinitely, because unhealthy coping mechanisms along with struggling to feed yourself most likely don't go unnoticed by someone who can feel all of your pain.

And for some reason, you rarely ever felt pain that wasn't yours nowadays. Maybe when you were in primary school almost nearing junior high, but your memory was hazy then.

You also often found thinking about what your soulmate was like, how would you meet them, would they even find it in themself to love you? God, you hated that thought.

Soon, it was time of night that always came. Your shift was over. The only thing that you were actually happy about was that you would be getting a bonus and that made you exceptionally happy because who knew how much that would be?

"Here you go kiddo. You're a great worker and I may or may not have put something else in there of my own. Be safe on your way home, okay?" You nodded and allowed her to give you a hug, giving her a smile in return.

On your walk home, you opened the white, crisp envelope with your work number and slowly counted up the bills that were all in there. It came up to roughly around the amount you had needed to finally buy a car and even some leftover. You reached for the little letter with teary eyes that your manager put in there.

It gave her reasoning for adding a couple more hundreds dollar bills for you. That's when the water works really hit. That night you didn't bother entering the house, you snuck in through your window and grabbed your already packed bag. You had packed it of all your essentials that you knew you'd need for when the day came.

That night, you were absolutely elated to finally leave that hell hole. It jumpstarted you finally being able to live your life too.

Two months later, you were working nonstop. You had found a great job that surprisingly paid even more than the one that got you almost all the way through high school. Of course, you were still living in your car until you could save enough to live in an apartment.

Tying your apron back, you grabbed the notepad that had come with it and went out to take orders from more customers. You loved your job; however, you didn't realize how much you never stopped. You always worked, the fear of not having enough, not being able to eat, and never having a stable place to live haunted you.

Believably, you were exhausted.

"Hi, my name is Y/n and I'll be your server for tonight. Is there anything I can start you all off with?" You faked a smile trying to bite back the exhaustion, glancing around the large table filled with even larger, built men. They had taken up the hugest dining table that the restaurant had to offer.

As you wrote down all of their drink orders, some consisting of water, alcohol, juice, and even soda one particular one made you linger.

"Smooth whiskey, please dear." A gruff voice spoke, effectively making your tired eyes meet his older olive-green ones. It wasn't new that all kinds of customers would call you pet-names, but this particular one stood out to you and the way it melted on your skin.

He looked absolutely divine. His hair was neatly gelled into a pristine style, the watch on his wrist looked like it cost a pretty good amount of money and underneath all those clothes, he looked very fit, exceptionally muscular and well built. You just couldn’t help but to ogle him.

When you happened to realize you were staring at him, you cleared your throat feeling your cheeks flush. You heard him let out a small chuckle as you wrote down his drink order.

“Would you guys like anything else to order?” You asked, not paying attention to the moment you just had with this man you don’t even know. Once you got your response from the group, you quickly turned around and headed back to the kitchen to prepare and gather the said drinks.

You just weren’t sure how or why this random man’s eyes and voice were making you feel the way you did. You’ve never even met him before. He seemed to have a certain aura about him that drew you in closer for some reason.

Soon enough, you were back out there to take everybody’s food orders, and after a bunch of disagreements within the group that you listened to because honestly, they were quite funny. You finally got an order from the mysterious man that your heartbeat fast for, for some reason.

He ordered miso soup, “Gotta gotta stay healthy.” He chuckled to his friends, who seemingly groaned, such a weird dynamic, you thought. You didn’t really understand what they were about.

You couldn’t help the tiredness from hitting your eyeballs and making them even more heavy as you were carrying out the plates, three at a time. Since there were nine people, including him, sitting at the large table, you figured it was the best way to handle the food.

As you were on your last round, your body slightly gave out to exhaustion, and the scolding hot bowl of miso soup spilled all over the lower half of your body.

Gasps were heard from the table and surrounding tables whenever you shrieked out in pain.

A hiss also came from the man who’s been watching you all night too, you could feel the first degree burn aching on your legs as you stood there dumbfounded by the pain and exhaustion from working so much.

That's when it all hit you.

The man jumped forward setting the empty, pristine white glass bowl onto the table with a clink then took your hands in his larger, warmer ones as he pulled you towards the nearest bathroom. 

He quickly and effortlessly picked you up and set you on the cold bathroom counters, which was a stark contrast from the burning of your legs. That seemed to numb by now, just a stinging pain left behind. 

Which still really hurts. He grabbed paper towels and wet them with cold water, trying to soothe your pain through your black jeans that you wore for your shift. 

“How does it feel now?” He inquired, his voice full to the brim with a preoccupation for your body, which made no sense to you. He just met you after all.

“It’s fine, thank you. I didn't expect you to help me like this. I was just in pure shock that it even happened and now I'm really ashamed as a server.” You added, disregarding the pain that you were still in, but it was a nice gesture of his to help you, you thought.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned. “I guess this is a good time to tell you that I also felt that without actually feeling it.” He let out a dry chuckle, turning around to gather more paper towels.

That left you shocked and frozen in your place on the counter.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you thought, finally putting all the pieces together now. About why his mere present did something to you however, you decided to play dumb and unknowing about the situation you could view through glass at this point.

“What do you mean?” You queried, your voice sounded pitchy and not like you at all. Quite frankly, you were a bit scared.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it either.” He faltered, “Listen, I have a first-aid kit in my car. If you'd like me to go out and grab it. I just wanna check to make sure your skin is actually okay.” He paused, looking down in discontent at your legs. 

“I feel like we’ve already pushed the boundaries of being weird once I felt that hot soup hit my legs through your own.” He gave you a half smile and put his hand on your shoulder to say that it’ll be okay and then left, leaving you with your racing thoughts and heart.

You were in a terrible predicament.

You didn’t know what to do. You, first embarrassed yourself as a server in front of the entire restaurant, then unintentionally met your soulmate who seemed to be a way a lot older than you as you were just graduated high school. Not to mention just left an abusive household.

And third, it’s going to be increasingly awkward talking to him about the past pains he’s experienced from you, nonetheless when he starts asking questions about you in general.

You had half of mind just to get up and ignore the pain and trudge on through your shift since you didn’t really have a place to go home besides your car. 

You could hear the chatter in the restaurant now. It seems like everyone must’ve forgotten the incident that happened or at least you hoped they did. You also hope to the gods that you weren’t going to be fired for an incident like that. You knew how strict your boss was which was a huge difference from your first manager that you’ve ever had.

Before you could even gather a decision of what to do, the ladies room doors were opening again, and you hoped for a split second that it was just another woman. Instead, it was the man you had met, who had said he felt your pain, the man who was supposed to be your soulmate.

“Hey look, I know it’s gonna be really weird and a lot has already happened tonight, but I have some shorts you can change into. You can go into a stall, and I can turn around even, but I just really wanna check out your legs to make sure your skin is okay.” He offered the black basketball shorts to you before continuing.

“I’m a personal trainer and I went to college for this so please don’t think I have any ulterior motives," he affirmed, and that’s when you got a real good look at him.

He was definitely taller than you even though you were sitting on a bathroom counter, he had nice, impeccable work clothes on. Which made you think that he and his friends have possibly headed here from a workplace. Concern was riddled all over his features, inexplicably handsome features at that.

He was built as you could see the biceps flexing when he gestured to the stall for you to go into.

You got a redolence of his scent when you took the basketball shorts that he apparently kept in his car for what reason? You don’t know. You don’t even know this man, and that thought made it all the more strange to you, leaving you speechless as you did what he asked.

What else were you supposed to do? Tell him no?

You were only eighteen and followed the instructions of this older man who said he was your soulmate in which you’d have to verify before actually trusting him, but you trusted his profession and allowed him to help you once you got changed. 

It was ultimately awkward, peeling off your wet jeans in a bathroom stall. The squelching of it made you cringe inside and you mumbled out a little ‘sorry’ to him.

The tension between you two was very thick and you could feel it. You could probably even cut it with a knife and eat it as cake.

Whenever you unlocked the stall, he turned around and let out yet another hiss at the sight of your legs. They were a reddish color now without your jeans covering them and looked like they just radiated off pain.

The hot soup marks came from mid thigh to about your knee and a bit lower on your calf. He seemed to go into a focused mode as he inspected your legs by putting different kinds of ointment on them to help.

That’s whenever you decide to strike up a conversation by slapping yourself in the face.

“Ow, what the hell was that for?” His gruff voice yelped and made your body shiver as you realized he wasn’t lying about being your soulmate, which made things even more awkward because now it was not an accident that you both met.

“Oh, I’m–I’m sorry. I just, uh, wanted to make sure that you were actually my soulmate not lying. I’ve never done this before.” You embarrassingly stated to the handsome man, you could feel your face heating up at the mistake you made. At least you knew he wasn’t lying now though.

That brought you some kind of comfort.

He let out a nice laugh that warmed your insides and not just the warmth from your legs.

“It’s okay.” He comforted you. “I can understand when someone as young as you can get a bit frightened and unsure when someone as old as me randomly tells you that you’re their soulmate.”

“Just to be clear,” he said, “I’m not that old, just twenty-seven.” He locked eyes with you and looked you up and down.

He continued, “Which probably seems like a creep’s age given the fact that they look like you’re even twenty.”

You let out a dry laugh before stating, “Yeah I actually am eighteen, freshly graduated from high school.” That made things all the more weird for some reason.

He let out an exasperated sigh, “I guess fate works in mysterious ways.” He said, and then his expression got more serious as did his rough hands on your legs, which stopped moving, and working the ointment into your skin.

“You know, I would understand if you needed space to process this new predicament because I’ve been waiting for you for years to settle down and now it seems like you necessarily haven’t really given a thought about your soulmate, especially on settling down.” The olive-eyed man stated, and you realized you don’t even know his name yet.

You mumble, “Thanks.” 

Not mentioning his smile that he gave you, the crinkle around his eyes that made your heart flutter, even if you were just fresh out of high school and have no intent of settling down or whatever he meant by that in his words, you sure would do it to see him smile again.

You were too caught up and admiring him that you didn’t realize his hands went just a bit higher than your upper thigh and had found the pain you had caused him on some faithful nights a couple years ago.

Your eyes widened as you shoved his hands away and scooted yourself back further on the public bathroom counter until your back roughly hit the mirror.

“I’m–I’m sorry, dear.” He sputtered and it felt like he actually meant that apology too. “I just got a bit curious,” He murmured.

“I’ve been waiting for you so I could tell you that it would be okay in the end. I would be worried about you and hoped nothing horrible would happen in the end.”

His words somehow make you feel speechless for the second time in that same night and after that you didn’t speak again until you both left the bathroom, which encased you both in silence. 

After your soulmate–referring to him as that felt so perplexing but gratifying at the same time–had left his share of money on the table while you went to tell your manager you were injured on the job and had to leave. With a raised eyebrow, and a glance at the new shorts you wore that showed your naked legs which encased your first-degree burn. Your boss finally allowed you to take your leave early.

However, more unfortunate secrets for you were disclosed when the intense, bitter air encompassed your lower legs, and the ringing of the bell was heard.

"Would you like to come to my place to talk over tea or yours?" Your arms were wrapped around your frame, forgetting your zip up in the car.

The older male probably thought he would meet your parents and then talk with them and you about the situation you both happened to get into. How wrong he was for thinking that.

You cleared your throat, not meeting him in the eyes. "I guess yours is fine," you dryly chuckled before continuing. "My place is right there." You motioned at your beauty of a car that aided in the escape of your abuse.

"Oh, and my name is Y/n L/n. Which you probably knew because of dinner and my name tag." You stated the obvious after realizing your mistake, but you knew it'd be an opening to hear his.

"Hajime Iwaizumi." He sounded curt after your previous admittance, because while you were averting your eyes to gaze at the stars you could almost barely see due to the lights, he was staring at you.

His dark olive-green eyes look in your whole for the umpteenth time that night. Nevertheless, you admitting you were basically homeless and living in your car didn't make him back away from you in any form. It quite actually did the opposite and Iwaizumi wanted nothing more than to shield you from any other harm that might be in your future.

"My place then," You eventually looked over at him and couldn't shake the uncanny look he was giving you. It was something more than friendly, more than the looks you've seen after doing well for customers, more than niceness, something you haven't been given your entire life.

"Okay." You breathlessly confirmed, wanting nothing more to stop the chills that were jumping on your skin and the shaking of your body.

Following Iwaizumi in his expensive looking car was something out of a dream to look at. You realized on the way to his place that you really haven't got a clue about this older man you're following–except his name and that he's bound to you by fate.

The heat from your car was the only thing warming you up at the moment, like it has for many nights before this one too. It was different living in a car than a broken home, but you'd take it over it any day.

Pulling into the driveway, you gawked at his house. It was a very refined home that you had wished you lived in as a kid. Just the sight of it was something you could ever imagine living in.

Getting out of your car, you locked it and followed Iwaizumi across the concrete stepping stones that were placed before the door. He gave you a quick smile before unlocking the dark brown wooden door with a gold knocker.

You copied his actions of whatever he did when you walked in, self-conscious from not performing these when you lived in a house. You took off your shoes carefully and placed them beside his, then copied him when he set his keys down on a hook and you did the same with your tote bag.

He peripherally eyed you as your widened eyes were looking everywhere in his home. In pictures, the floor, the paint job, the lamps that were lit up before he left for dinner, the Christmas tree he put up and decorations scattered around the home.

He smiled at you and admired all the lights, then it faltered when he thought about how you may not have ever experienced something like this.

"Do you prefer a certain type of tea?" Iwaizumi asked, plugging in his electric kettle that he was gifted from his birthday months back.

"Uh, no." You really haven't drunk tea like this before. The sweet tea from working in a fast-food restaurant sure, but not individually bagged tea with different flavors and spices.

You meticulosity watched him arrange everything neatly for the two of you. It was kind of him to invite you here but that's when you felt all the more out of place.

"You can take a seat in the living room or on a bar stool if you'd like." His back was turned as he worked but you could hear the smile in his voice, the gruffness almost gone and replaced with something softer.

You drifted to the living room, in awe of everything that was in here. The soft velvet of the couch, the colorful lights of the green Christmas tree, and the snow globes on shelves of a bookcase were your favorite things.

The couch had plenty of throw pillows that matched the rooms' theme and even a couple throw blankets which undeniably smelled like Iwaizumi.

The thought of coming back to a house like this, to a home like this, made your eyes water and your throat get tight. You tried swallowing it down before Iwaizumi would eventually walk in here, but you were too late.

"I made you a Hōjicha tea, I figured you might like it because it's not really bitter and I got-" He stopped speaking when he sat down next to you and noticed the slight shake of your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, what's the matter?" His large hands took in your smaller ones as he didn't know what else he could do to comfort you within your boundaries.

You took a moment to collect yourself and wiped away the few stray tears, "I just... This is a really nice home. You're-you're just very nice to me."

Hajime's heart literally broke into two, definitely sure you could probably feel that too. It was pain after all, it didn't just have to be physical.

"I'm sorry you had to go through whatever happened to you. I really am. You don't ever have to go through that again nor live in your car anymore if you don't mind living here with me." He comforted, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your hands and that's when you completely broke down.

You cried into his arms; it was warm and comforting which made things all the more saddening for you. You never got this, never experienced warmth like this, it hurt. After giving yourself a few minutes to calm down, you finally told him about your past up to now.

By the time you were done, he had been so angry for you. You, in his eyes, were a legal adult now but now you carry the trauma that your parents weren't supposed to give to you. You carry the hurt from younger you and the pain that you never shouldn't have dealt with.

Hajime then vowed to never let a single thing cause you pain like this ever again.

He stayed like that with you in his arms, thankful that his soulmate was finally safe and sound with him. He would worry about everything else later but to carefully be heedful about you and your well-being for now.

"You should call out of work for a few. I want your burn to heal and for you to get accustomed to living here and having a new, healthy normal. You can decline anytime but as someone who is bound to you by fate, I feel like this is what is best for now." Iwaizumi let go of you while you thought about what you would do.

You were technically homeless unless you accepted his offer, taking some days off work would hurt but if you lived here, it would be okay. You really haven't taken care of yourself, not having an actual shower in almost two months and resorting to sink baths was getting tiring. Not to mention sleeping in the car every night.

That effectively already decided what you were going to do, "I'll take some days off work. Are you sure you want me to live here? I don't want to intrude." You trailed, knowing he was fine with it but at the same time you had learned that your mere presence can be irritating.

"Of course, I'm sure. Don't even worry about it. You're my soulmate, remember?" He chuckled as he already planned a few things in his head to help you from your trauma if you wanted it. Therapy, coping skills, taking time off work, taking you to a doctor and specially making sure you realize you won't go without.

Your face flushed; this was all so new to you that it was hard to navigate through the fight or flight your mind and body wanted to revert to.

"Here's your tea, it should be cooled down by now." He handed you a glass mug that warms your hands–they've always been so cold, more so when you 'lived' on your own.

"Thank you, this is all so kind of you. I really appreciate it. I also really like your Christmas tree, it's so pretty."

He chuckled as you stared at it, "Thank you, I can put a miniature one in your room before the big day comes." Iwaizumi hoped that the closer you both would become, that it would help you ease into a healthier version of yourself.

He didn't expect you both to be dating immediately because, well, he would rather you talk to him about anything romantic first on your own terms. His mother raised him to be a good man.

"My room? Actually? This all feels so surreal." And bizarre that you were able to get out of a hellhole that you felt like you were going to be trapped in forever. Fate was such a weird thing.

After moving in, not that you barely had much to move in with, a new normal was settled for you and Hajime–he told you not to call him by his last name no matter how much you did. He got his guest bedroom ready, which you were thankful for. You wouldn’t know what to do if you were going to share a bedroom with him when you weren’t even ready. 

Celebrating Christmas was something you also never experienced. Waking up to a good breakfast and presents to open under the Christmas tree and watching the famous movies Hajime always talks about was so new. You loved every bit of it.

Being able to take a warm, bubble filled bath, eat a nice healthy meal, and even be introduced to Iwazumi’s friends at his workplace was so outlandish for you and the situation you had once been in. 

It got awkward sometimes between you and Hajime because after all, you can’t help the inexplicit attraction you feel when it comes to him. And of course, he feels the same but won’t act on it till you’re ready. 

“What was the highest point of your day, dear?” Hajime’s usual name that he called you with such sincerity never failed to send your heart beating wildly in your ribcage. 

You set your fork down, “Probably when I saw your friends again. I was able to talk to Miya’s wife again. She’s very sweet.” You noted, smiling. Your new normal consisted of on your days off from working you’d go with Iwaizumi to work on the days his coworkers would bring their soulmates. You were very fond of Atsumu’s wife. 

The highest and lowest point of your day started as a coping mechanism from your therapist which you both do every day now for the fun of it instead of using it to get you to open up about your past. 

You were the happiest you’ve been in forever and even though you went through literal hell, you definitely wouldn’t change a thing now. Especially with the kind and patient man sitting across from you at the dinner table. The way he looked at you with love and how you reciprocated by your actions instead of words of touches. 

Fate did work in mysterious ways. 

a/n: this shit is so ass im so sorry, i hope you guys enjoyed and even though no one requested, i hope it helps anyone who needs comfort from older iwa <3

[queenie-the-court-jester]

If there will be a part two for yandere online friend, once I found out im pregnant, I will cause a miscarriage on purpose and blame him for the lying, the cheating, the drugs, EVERYTHING. Tormenting him for his betrayal, because it’s not fair that he messed around with another girl while I was there for him when his own family wasn’t.

(I know i was aware high school love wasn’t gonna last but i love being petty and holding on grudges brings me joy.) 🥰💅

you're more fucked up than me dawg 😭 but at the same time it's understandable?? In a way?? But then again that isn't any better than the yandere... This will be the first, and last darkfic I will ever write

Tw: self abortion, guilt tripping, toxic relationship, mentioned non-con, this whole fic is a warning in itself, self harming, suicide. readers be warned,dead dove do not eat

🥀no no NO! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS!? WHY WOULD YOU RUIN EVERYTHING HE WAS SO CLOSE TO ACCOMPLISHING?? you were supposed to love the baby.. all in all, he goes into hysteria when he sees you on the floor of the bathroom. Blood all over the tiles and toilet

💔calling 911 and breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably as they load you onto the stretcher and go to the hospital. When you wake up, he expected you to call the police or scream for help. But you just.. stared at him? No emotion..

🥀you stayed in the hospital for a week, he stuck to your side like glue. The nurses always commented on how much of a loyal boyfriend you had, but they were met with silence. It unnerved them a bit but they just brushed it off as you processing the miscarriage

💔when Damien took you back to his house, he boarded up the windows and doors. Adding multiple locks all while looking like he was hyperventilating. Images of you bleeding flashing through his head. the doctors said it was a miracle they even managed to save you

🥀he froze when he finally heard you speak for what felt like the first time in weeks.

"this is all your fault. You did this to me."

"d-darling please! Let's not go there.."

"you're a worthless pathetic bastard. I hate you."

💔he slowly goes back into his old destructive habits, cutting his arms and smashing solid objects against his thigh or legs. Making himself feel the pain you must've felt, always crawling back to you. Bloody and bruised, begging to be forgiven

🥀he starts making up stories. Saying the girl pushed herself onto him, or he wasn't thinking straight when it happened. He'd be so unstable you could even manage to get him to off himself if you pushed him farther, taking his money and leaving his bloody corpse in the shitty house he called a home. Did he seriously expect to raise a family here? Pfft, what a weirdo..

[imtryingbuck]

Still beautiful

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: you have self harm scars but Bucky doesn’t care

Word count: 1,157

Warnings: self harm scars. insecurities. mentions of mental health issues (depression). swearing. Bucky being the best. this is mainly me just going through some shit sorry.

Masterlist

You always covered your arms up no matter the weather, everyone would see you wearing a long sleeved shirt or jumpers even on the hottest days, people would wonder why but never asked which you were grateful for.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of your scars it’s just you couldn’t deal with the pity looks or hearing the words ‘you can always talk to me’ anymore, the looks of pity never helped always making you feel worse about the scars and those words were never true. You couldn’t talk to anyone because half of the time you didn’t understand it yourself.

Being diagnosed with depression as a teenager you didn’t know what it really meant and when you asked the doctor he looked at you and told you that you’re just sad. And while yes sometimes that was the case you knew that it wasn’t the full truth, but trying to understand an illness that was different for everyone was difficult.

Self harming was a terrible way to deal with the emotions but it gave you that sense of relief even if it was for a few moments. You tried so many different techniques to try and get yourself from hurting yourself such as drawing on your skin, writing letters, baking, exercising, everything really that was written down on a website you had found. But sadly these things only helped for a little while.

Like I said you wasn’t ashamed of the scars because you had no reason to but covering them up was better.

Nobody was supposed to see them ever. Until one person did.

Bucky was told by Nat to go and fetch you for dinner as it was nearly done, he was waiting patiently for you to answer the door after he knocked, getting no response he repeated the action.

“Y/n? You in?”

Wrapping his hand around the door handle he prayed silently that you was in, he stood there as the door pushed open to scared to go in fully as he thought he was violating your trust and privacy. Calling out your name a few more times he ended up going in after he heard the soft tunes, knowing for a full fact that you had your headphones on.

Bucky has always thought you were beautiful, right from the second he met you but seeing you sitting at the desk as you drew another masterpiece as he always called your artwork he leant against the door thinking that there wasn’t a perfect word to describe how you looked right there in that moment.

Then his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

For the first time since him joining the team had he seen your bare arms. His eyes going from the pencil to the fingers wrapped around it, to your hand and up the piece of skin that nobody ever saw. Bucky had his own scars, both mental and physical, so he knew what the angry, raised marks were.

His heart clenched painfully at the thought of you hurting yourself in such a way, he can’t help but wonder why or what was going through your head as you sliced your skin.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he flinched at hearing your screams.

“B-Bucky? W-what are you doing in my room?”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why? Why would you hurt yourself?”

“I… I don’t know.” He watches as you tap the side of your head before tucking both arms behind your back. “It helps, I guess.”

“Doll-“

“I don’t want to hear it Bucky. Not from you. Please.”

“But you know it’s true though, don’t you?”

“I can’t, you have your own shit to deal with and I can’t put my shit on you. It isn’t fair.”

With quick steps Bucky stands in front of you, pulling your arms out so he can hold them, his thumbs rub over the scars. “Doll. Y/n, the whole world could be burning down around us and I’m still gonna want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, I want to know how you are feeling on your best and worst days, I want to be there.”

“But it isn’t fair.”

“It’s not fair that you think you have to suffer alone, baby I’m right here, always… well until you tell me to leave.” He mumbled the last part in hopes that you didn’t hear, because he was so afraid that you would tell him to leave and he really didn’t want to keep loving you from afar but he was too afraid to say anything incase you didn’t feel the same way.

“Maybe one day but not today, please.” You knew that if there was ever going to be a person who would be there for you no matter what, you knew that person would always be Bucky.

And that’s one of the reasons why you fell in love with him.

“Whenever you are ready.” He squeezed your hand, bringing one to his lips and gently kissed your knuckles. “You’re so beautiful, do you know that?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “The sc-“

“Still beautiful. Still so so beautiful.” In that moment Bucky wanted to kiss you, the urge to take a hold of your face gently in his hands and press his lips against yours had his heart rate spiking but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, so instead he cleared his throat hoping that his thoughts would clear too. “Come, dinners done.”

When you walked hand in hand with Bucky into the dining room where everyone was waiting you felt the need to run back into your room and grab a jumper, but it was as if Bucky could read your mind as he squeezed your hand lightly and gave you a soft smile.

Your found family saw the scars but none of them made a comment, their eyes mainly focused on your intertwined fingers with the super solider next to you. Bucky led the two of you towards the table, sitting down and practically pulling you along with him.

The once quiet room soon became loud as everyone began talking about everything and anything, Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off you, he was so proud to see you sitting there only in a vest shirt instead of your usual long sleeved shirts, he understood that it was probably a massive step for you and for that he was proud.

Little did he know that you wanted him to kiss you when the two of you was in your bedroom, little did he know that when his eyes weren’t on you your eyes were on him.

Seeing his hand on his thigh you moved your hand to his, Bucky turned his hand upward so you could link your fingers with his.

Maybe one day you both will find the courage to confess your feelings but until then you’ll continue loving each other from afar.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fly by Moonlight

CW: Vaguely fantasy, hunting, possessive whumper referenced, bullet wound, guns, blood, makeshift surgery, implied dehumanization, scarring

Chapter One

-

The sky above them was an explosion of stars. With her head tilted back until it tipped against the sleeping bag, providing her the barest protection from simple dirt, she could see the Milky Way itself, winding its ghostly way from one horizon to the other. It was funny, to think that she was a part of that winding, sinuous length of endless light. 

The people who think they came from stars, she thought, must have been people who thought highly of themselves. There was nothing more incredible than this, and it seemed impossible to understand how something as amazing as stardust could coalesce into the reality of wind rushing through leaves around their campsite, the simple beauty of her own heartbeat and blood.

Alongside the universes she could imagine above her, the moon hung heavy and full. Supermoon time, it was so much larger than usual, blocking some of the stars when Anaya tried to find them. 

The moon, she thought, felt like what it was - a piece of earth thrown into space by asteroid impact. Like a mother who loses the grip of her child’s hand, and all of history had been the story of their slow reconciliation. Or maybe of the child running, always staying just ahead of her mother’s reach.

Anaya Cross laced her fingers together behind her head, her heavy, dark hair providing as much softness as any pillow. Beside her, in another sleeping bag, her boyfriend Eden had long since fallen asleep. His heavy, soft breathing and the sight of his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead was another kind of peace. Eden only slept well in the wilderness, and Anaya never slept well at all. 

Even if she didn’t sleep much, here, she could rest by watching the stars. Her eyes traced a constellation, catching on the edge of the corona borealis and following its C-shaped swing from one end to the other. 

Then, she heard a sound.

It was a faded sort of boom, as if someone in the park had set off a huge firework, one of those big mortar kinds Anaya had been terrified of as a child and still avoided today. She frowned, shifting uneasily and pushing herself up a little onto her elbows.

At first all she heard was the wind, the soft whispering of the leaves.

Then it happened again.

Boom.

Anaya took in a quick breath and sat up fully, head tipped to one side. This time, the sound was followed by a high-pitched squeal, almost a scream, but totally inhuman. Anaya’s breath caught, and she scrambled to push herself out of the sleeping bag, leaning on her knees over to shake Eden’s shoulder. “Eden-... Eden! Wake up!”

Eden groaned, slapping ineffectually at her hand, before his eyes finally blinked slowly open. They looked fogged over, still half-asleep, but he moved to sit as Anaya popped up to standing. “Wh-... what’sit?” It was all one run-on sound, hardly language. “Naya? What’ss… what time’sit?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, shifting forward slowly. Between the stars and the moon, the night around them was nearly as bright as daylight, only with a cool, almost blue tint to everything around them. “I heard something. Like a-... like a gunshot. I think. From a really fucking big gun.”

“You heard-...” Eden’s brain was still struggling to come online. He raked a hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in wild chunks all over his head, before he started wiggling his way out of his sleeping bag, too. He stood, scratching at his stomach underneath his ratty old t-shirt, gray sweatpants hanging low on narrow hips. “A gunshot? Here? But-”

“Protected reserve, I know. But I definitely heard it. Do you think…” She trailed off. All she heard now was the wind, rushing through the trees. Only-... was it only the wind? Or was there a discordant note, crashing of something desperate running for its life?

Boom.

This time she could see Eden heard it too, his eyes widening. The sound was closer, louder, more immediate. Anaya and Eden’s gazes met, and then without a word spoken the two of them half-ran, half-walked as one to the edge of the clearing and away from the obviousness of their campsite. Eden’s car was parked at the camp lot a three-hour hike away, and they were deep within a part of the reserve no one was supposed to go to. It had seemed romantic, when they came here and chose this space, carefully marking their trail to ensure they could make it back. It had seemed like a way to get away from it all and really find peace, let Eden get some real sleep.

Now, though, it seemed to hit Anaya all at once that coming out here - alone, with only her boyfriend, with no one really aware of where they’d gone other than ‘camping’ - had been monumentally, impossibly stupid.

Anaya crouched down behind a tree, keeping the campsite in view. Woods like these could get you lost within a few feet of where you’d been, the trees so close together that they hid you from your own trail unless it was well-marked. Eden moved to be just slightly in front of her, shielding her a little.

Not that it would matter against a gun that could make a sound like that.

“Poacher?” She whispered. 

“Probably,” He whispered back. Now the crashing seemed close, and Eden’s body was warm against hers even as both of them were shivering. “But what is there even to hunt here? You can find deer anywhere in this stupid state, you don’t need-”

The answer to his question came flying out of the woods in front of them.

A huge wolf that somehow still looked half-grown and spindly, with too-long legs and giant paws, flashed through their campsite in a reddish-gray gleam lit by moonlight. Until it tripped over Anaya’s cooler full of beer and went tumbling, high-pitched whimpers and whines filling the air. Anaya jerked forward when she realized the cooler now had a red smear along the white lid, but Eden grabbed her arm to pull her back out of sight. 

“It’s bleeding!” Anaya hissed. “That poacher shot it! We should go help!”

Eden’s grip only tightened. “It’s not a dog,” He hissed back. “It’ll just attack you. Not to mention the poacher will shoot you, too. Just stay here, Naya!”

The wolf stood on shaking legs, a low soft whine in its throat. The light of the moon seemed to turn the tips of its red fur to silver, reflected in its strangely human-looking eyes. Anaya blinked at the sight of scarring around its snout, like something had been wrapped there at some point until it dug in. It limped to the edge of the clearing, tumbling hard to one side before righting itself. Blood streamed from one back leg, clumping the fur and leaving a dark stain. 

The wolf’s tongue hung from its mouth and it panted heavily even as it tried to lick at the blood and the wound beneath it, ears pricked and moving constantly. Its tail was tucked between its legs. Its nose went to the ground, picking up the scents of Anaya and Eden probably, and Anaya shivered when it growled.

The low rumble was more frightening than the sound of the gun.

At least the gunshots hadn’t been about her.

After a long pause, the wolf’s growl ended. It did what Anaya could only call taking a deep breath to steady itself, and then limped heavily away, out of the clearing in the general direction of the main hiking trails where Anaya and Eden had started their hike out here. Its nose stayed low, and Anaya heard Eden let out a breath in a rush once it was out of sight.

“Uh… what do we do now-”

Anaya clapped her hand over Eden’s mouth, shushing him and yanking him further back around the tree trunk.

The man with the gun - and holy shit, Anaya didn’t even know they made guns that big - stepped into the clearing, taking in the sight of the destroyed campsite smeared with wolf blood with a baffled, incredulous expression. He wasn’t too much older than them, maybe in his thirties, but he had a hardness to his jaw that said whatever his age, the years had definitely sucked the life out of him.

“Well… shit.” The man huffed, moving forward and using the muzzle of his gun to nudge the blood-stained cooler, lifting up the sleeping bag Eden had been in only a few moments ago. He ran a hand back over his crew cut, looking around. “Hey! Is anyone here? Anyone hurt?” The sound of concern in his voice seemed real. 

But Anaya and Eden were alone, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. And this guy had an enormous fucking gun. They stayed silent, in the dark.

“God damn it.” The poacher sighed, looking down at the sleeping bags. “Shit shit shit. If he killed somebody… that little shit. Fucking campers on our land. Bet he chased them off. I’ll have to call Bill and report it. He’s gonna kill me when he sees Rusty got out, let alone that he made a mess out of campers… if they find bodies on our land again, we are going to have the government up our fucking ass…”

He pulled out a compass and looked at it, then looked ahead, eyes scanning the ground. He must have seen some of the wolf’s blood on a leaf in some underbrush, because he moved forward confidently then. He went through the clearing, from one side to the other, and then was gone. 

Anaya and Eden waited until the sound of the man moving through the forest had faded into the distance, and then looked at each other. 

“... Did we go too far and end up on private land?” Anaya asked.

At the same time, Eden said, “Did he say ‘if they find bodies on our land again?’”

Both of them stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then, as if they’d come to some agreement that didn’t need words, they moved out to the wreckage of the campsite. Anaya rolled up the sleeping bags while Eden checked on the small cooler, wiped the rest of the blood off of it with a shudder, and then shifted it back into the heavy pack he’d carried out here. Anaya felt the tension rising between them, until it was tight enough it might snap. Her heart pounded so hard it found its way up her throat, making her occasionally stop to catch her breath. The two of them pulled their socks on and then laced up their hiking boots after. Neither even bothered to dress in daytime clothing. Their sweatpants and t-shirts seemed like enough, for now. 

The hike back was silent and slow.

They put one foot carefully in front of the other, following the markings Anaya had left wrapped around trees in non-obvious places. She undid each and every colorful ribbon, packing them back away. Taking back everything they’d brought with them. No sign they’d ever been here at all, ideally.

She found herself wondering where the park ended and private land began. There’d been no signs, no warnings. Not any that they saw, anyway. Then again, it’s not like you could mark every square inch of a wild forest like this one.

Above them, the moon hung heavy. When its light cut through the canopy overhead, it made everything otherworldly and beautiful.

If only Anaya could appreciate it, and not take every quiet step sure she’d see the end of a gun between her eyes the moment she looked up.

At some point, they got close enough to the trail for cell phone signal to come back, and her phone buzzed with a handful of missed messages. Nothing that suggested anything big had happened while they were out of reach. She didn’t dare check it - not yet. Not until she felt sure that the light from her screen wouldn’t draw in either an injured, probably hostile wolf and a healthy, definitely hostile guy with a gun.

She kept cycling her thoughts back to the sight of the thing. Something had been off about it, but she didn’t know enough about guns to even begin to know what. Hell, she didn’t know enough about guns to even know if anything was actually off, or if she was just thinking of movie-guns and not understanding that the real thing was different.

Exhaustion dragged at the edges of her mind, even as adrenaline kept her so wired that she knew she couldn’t possibly have fallen asleep even if they simply laid down right here. Hours passed, Eden and Anaya saying little to each other. They heard the boom just once more, far enough away that they felt themselves finally able to relax.

Wherever the guy had tracked the injured wolf, it wasn’t in the direction they were going. 

Finally, they stumbled back out onto the trail. 

Anaya checked her phone, as surreptitiously as she could.

It was almost three in the morning, and they had another good two hours of hiking on the trail before they got to the parking lot. 

“I say we sleep in the car,” Eden said, voice heavy and husky. When Anaya glanced over at him, his half-lidded eyes reminded her of a sleepy kitten, and she found herself smiling, briefly overwhelmed with love for him. He frowned back at her. “What?”

“You’re cute,” She said. He shook his head and started walking again, but she caught the edge of his smile before he turned to hide it from her.

“Pretty sure the T was supposed to make me handsome, not cute,” He said over his shoulder as he started walking again.

Anaya had to stifle a laugh - talking might be okay, might be safe, but laughter carried further. Especially Anaya’s laughter, which had a tendency to be too loud, according to her mother. Too loud, attention-taking. Just like all her emotions. “Well, you’re definitely handsome,” Anaya said brightly, falling in behind him. “You’re just also cute. You were handsome before the T, too, by the way.”

He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders straightened a little, and she caught the edge of a flush to his cheeks.

Her feet ached by the time they had Eden’s car in view, the ancient Subaru with its huge trunk thanks to the removed backseat a white gleam in the pinkish light of early dawn. The moon was still visible, just now beginning to fade as sunlight overtook it, wiped it out. Each throb was in time with her pulse, and Anaya’s brain seemed to have become mush at some point.

They could sleep in the back of Eden’s car, if they made it to a safe parking lot or something in town. Maybe the diner where they had parked before they came up here, those people had seemed pretty cool about it. 

Eden came to a sudden stop, and Anaya walked into him so hard the two of them both stumbled, Eden with a huffed breath, an oof that any other day would have been funny. But now Anaya just groaned. It better not be the poacher having found them. She was too damn tired to deal with that, or even be scared of it anymore.

At least if he shoots me I can get some damn rest, she thought.

Out loud, she only mumbled, “What?”

Eden swallowed. Anaya could hear it. Something about that woke her back up all at once, sent brand new adrenaline flooding through her. Her head began to pound in time with her feet and her heart. Would anything not hurt by the end of today?

“There’s something under our car,” Eden said, voice hushed. 

Anaya stiffened. “The wolf?”

Eden took one step forward, and then another. He squinted. “... No. I think it’s… a person.”

“A what?”

Who would be out here? Thanks to flooding on the more well-known trails, this park had been more or less empty of tourists. It was one of the reasons Eden and Anaya had chosen this for their off-trail campsite. Eden moved slowly forward, and Anaya followed him. Once she got closer, though, she moved more quickly, dropping her bag next to the car and moving into a crouch.

The sound of her pack hitting the pavement made the boy curled up under the car flinch, his arms jerking to cover his head with his hands, knees nearly to his chin. Anaya caught a glimpse of reddish-brown hair through his fingers, a swath of pale skin marked with brown freckles at the shoulders, the tip of his nose.

“Hello?” Anaya whispered, reaching slowly out. Her fingertips just touched the boy when his eyes snapped open and he looked at her with wild, animal terror.

His eyes were the same color as the wolf’s. 

His hair was the same color as the wolf’s fur had been, reddish brown, maybe tipped with some gray.

His left leg had a wound blown right through it - bullet wound, Anaya thought a little wildly, I’m looking at the entrance and the exit’s at the back, he’s lucky it didn’t hit the artery there - and the blood was… everywhere.

The boy’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a useless snarl. His teeth were flat, human, except for maybe his incisors being a little too long, a little too sharp. He had scars marked across his face, around his neck, all over his arms. Some old, simply silk-soft skin marked in risen lines, some fresher, still bright red. A couple even looked like they’d been bleeding recently, too. He made a sound that Anaya only realized after a beat was an attempt to growl.

“... This is the wolf,” Anaya said, voice low. “Eden… Eden, this is the wolf.”

“What? No. That’s clearly a dude. The poacher must have seen him and shot him.”

“No, this is-... his eyes Eden-”

“That’s not a wolf, Naya. End of story. That is a dumbass teenager who did dumbass things. Somebody’s probably looking for him.”

Anaya thought of the poacher’s confusion, his angry concern. “... Yeah, somebody probably is.”

Eden dropped into a crouch beside her, casually pulling out the knife he always had on him, flicking it so the blade showed. “Naya, something’s wrong with this kid.”

The boy’s eyes went to the gleam of sharp metal and he whined, curling up tighter. Anaya frowned, looking at his leg. The blood. The wound. The way the boy’s skin was ash-pale under his freckles. The scars, half of them rough but the other half precise.

Knife-blade scars. She had some old ones herself, although hers had been self-inflicted.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, felt it trembling under her touch. She could barely reach him, he was so far under the car. “Hey.” She gentled her voice as much as she could, rubbing lightly. Goosebumps rose where her fingertips went, but the trembling seemed to settle a little. “Hey, kid. You’re… you’re really hurt. We’re gonna call someone-”

The boy scrambled backwards away. “No!” His voice came out hoarse, as if he wasn’t used to speaking - or speaking with a human mouth, anyway. “No! Don’t! Don’t call!” He made it to the other side of the car, scrambling to his feet. Anaya went to chase him, but in the end she didn’t have to - as soon as he tried to put weight on his leg, he went down hard, scraping the palms of his hands on the pavement and letting out a pained cry.

Anaya swallowed. “Eden-”

“I’ll call 911-”

“No,” she whispered. “He’s scared of that. Let’s just… let’s just put him in the back of the car, yeah?”

Eden paused. “Naya, are you fucking out of your mind? Where are we gonna take him? He needs a hospital.”

“Or a vet clinic,” She muttered, ignoring the look Eden gave her at the dark joke. “No, let’s just. Okay, let’s just… we have our first aid kit. You know how to do stitches-”

“Stitches, sure, but I’m not exactly qualified to treat wounds like that.”

“Try. Let’s get him into the car. Hey, kid? Kid, hey.” Anaya went to the crumpled heap of teenager, grasping onto his arm. He shivered and tried weakly to pull away, but between the pain and the blood loss, he wasn’t exactly able to put up much of a fight. Eden opened the trunk of the car and threw in their packs while Anaya helped the boy to stand. She could hear Eden laying down the towels and sleeping bags, opening up the first aid kit.

That’s why she loved him. He might think she’d lost her mind on this, but he’d still follow her lead.

The injured boy gripped onto her once he was upright, his eyes dancing in terror from Eden to Anaya and back again.

“Don’t,” He whispered. “Don’t.”

“We’re just going to get you bandaged up and something to eat,” Anaya said, voice soothing, easing him into the trunk until he could lay down in there. “Then we can talk, okay? First off, we need to stop the bleeding.”

Those odd eyes stared at her, but he laid down on his side slowly. Anaya had been vaguely aware the boy was naked, but only now did it hit her that the boy didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. 

“I’m Anaya,” She said, softly, taking his hand and holding it while Eden took a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood to try and get a better look at the wound. “I’m Anaya Cross, and this is my boyfriend Eden Yarrow. We’re going to help you.”

“There’s no exit wound,” Eden muttered, looking at the backside of the boy’s thigh. “He needs a surgeon, Naya-”

“Well, good thing you trained to be one, huh?"

"Yeah, before I quit residency-"

"Eden, just... can you get the bullet out?”

Eden exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. It's a pretty clean wound. I definitely shouldn’t, but…”

“Well, try.” She turned back to the boy, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. The kid stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but he didn’t pull his hand back. He just… watched her, with those strange canine eyes. “Hey. We’re gonna get the bullet out of you, and then we’ll help you get somewhere with people.”

“No,” He said again. His eyes moved from one to the other. “No… people.”

Eden’s eyes closed. He muttered something under his breath that Anaya didn’t quite hear. Then he moved to dig around in the first aid kit again. 

“Okay. Well, we’ll figure that bit out as we go, then. Can you tell us your name?”

She thought of the poacher mentioning Rusty.

The boy was quiet for a long, drawn-out silence broken only by a hiss when Eden used a sanitizing wipe on the wound, cleaning it out again as best he could. Finally, almost under his breath, he whispered, “Misae.”

“Missy?” Eden said, nose wrinkling. “Your name is Missy?”

The boy’s odd eyes narrowed. “Misae,” He repeated, a little louder. Mih-say-eh. Some of the gravelly hoarseness was leaving his voice, the more he spoke. Anaya wondered if he didn’t speak often. 

“That man with the gun called you Rusty, I think,” Anaya said, keeping her own voice gentle.

“... their name for me.” Misae hissed through his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl again as Eden began to probe into the wound, eyes closing tightly. Tears leaked fro the corners of his eyes. Anaya gave him both her hands and he gripped on tight enough to hurt, making a sound that was clearly meant to be a canine whine. “Not… my name.”

“But Misae is your name.”

“Y… Yes.” His head lowered until the top of it, the shaggy reddish hair, pressed against her. He kept pushing against her, until she twisted one hand free and laid it there, scratching her fingers against his scalp. His whining softened, then. It was all so terribly… doglike.

No.

Wolf.

Anaya tried not to look as his leg twitched and oozed blood even as Eden carefully worked one of the tools he kept on hand into the wound, searching for the bullet. Misae didn’t answer at first. She leaned over, hoping her voice could carry through the pain. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be okay.”

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Misae groaned, finally laying his head directly in her lap. She could feel his tears soaking into her sweatpants, the hitching of his breath as he fought not to sob. His voice was a whisper she barely heard, twisted around his pained, frightened whimpers.

“Th-thank… thank you…”

“Found it!” Eden shouted, triumphant. He might have been reluctant to do this, but there was a reason he’d worked so hard to fill his first aid kit with anything you might need to stay alive in the wilderness when medical care was too far to get to in time. There was a reason he’d trained as a surgeon. He was good at this, he always had been. He wiggled the little tool, making Misae cry harder, but then something bloody and shimmering beneath the red came out, and Eden dropped it on a towel beside Misae. “Intact, even. Nice.”

Eden was focused on getting the wound closed up and stitches sewn. Anaya though, watched blood slide along the surface of the bullet, too big, a terrifying size. The gleam of the metal, though, along with the strange runes carved into it, made her eyebrows furrow. “... Eden.”

“Mmmn?” He dipped the needle, pulled it through skin. Anaya knew if she looked she’d faint dead away, so she kept her eyes on the bullet. On the shine. 

“That’s… that hunter shot him with silver.”

Eden stilled and looked up, his eyes catching on the bullet, too. Then shifting over to Misae, who was shaking like a leaf, eyes open now, wide and almost sightless. In shock, Anaya thought, not that she knew for sure or even really understood what being in shock meant. But it reminded her of people going into shock in the movies, on television. Eden’s eyes moved to meet Anaya’s.

“Once I finish stitching him up,” He said, voice low and calm, “We drive this car as far away from here as we can get before we stop.”

“We’re taking him with us.” 

“... Naya-”

Anaya’s jaw set and she raised her chin. “We’re taking Misae.”

Eden looked down at the boy, who didn’t seem to hear or even see the two of them any longer. Then he huffed and went back to what he was doing, sewing slow, careful, precise stitches even as he had to continually wipe away blood, too. “Fine. We go as far as we can with him, and then we… think about what we do next. Figure out how to call his family or something.”

“Fair.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They paused, and smiled at each other.

Then Misae whimpered, and Anaya realized she’d stopped scratching his head. She started up again, and felt some of his shaking settle once more. “Do you have family?” Anaya asked, trying to distract him as Eden finished up. “Someone looking for you?”

Misae was silent for so long that she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her.

Then he answered, voice low, “No family. Not… anymore."

"Did you run away from them?"

"No.” Misae's body shuddered, and Anaya found herself rubbing her thumb in little circles just behind one ear. "No."

"Then-"

"Dead. Everyone... is dead. But me."

-

[enderlovez]

How To Never Stop Being Sad

Spencer Reid x Female Reader WORD COUNT: 2900+

Summary: After the death of your parents, you have nobody to talk to, nobody to turn to for help. Spencer wants to help, but how can he when you don't want him to?

Content Warning: readers parents are dead, brief description of a car accident, insinuated abuse, readers dad was an alcoholic, readers mother was a drug addict, mentions of heroin and being high, mentions of overdose, self-blame, intentional sleep-deprivation is insinuated, metaphors about demons and God, prescribed drugs and irresponsible mixing of drugs and alcohol, reader is depressed and lonely, suicidal ideation, references to self-harm (nothing happens and it's not explicit)

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Repeat to yourself that they're not really gone Time has proven that fooling yourself into believing a lie Is the most effective way to deal with things You have no control over

Realistically I know it's not really my fault.

I've made it clear time and time again that I never wanted to see them again, and yet, their car went off that bridge when they were on their way to come see me.

I was on my lunch break when I got the call. My parent's car had driven off a bridge into a river. My dad was intoxicated so he didn't see the truck driving head-on at them until it was too late to do anything but swerve off the road, and they found that my mother had a substantial amount of heroin in her bloodstream.

Enough to overdose, had she not died in the accident.

It's not my fault, I know it's not my fault...

But I can't help but think that maybe if I had been a little more clear about what I wanted from them, or better yet, sucked it up and stayed in contact, things might've turned out a little bit differently.

Growing up with a drunk dad and an addict mom was never easy, and it was a relief to leave home the moment I turned eighteen and move across the country, but they're dead now. They're my parents.

They were my parents.

What kind of girl kills her own parents?

Now I just try not to think about the bad stuff. Pretend that they're safe at home in Washington, still distanced from me, but breathing.

But they're not. Now they're just hunks of decomposing flesh six feet underground, like they never even existed in the first place.

Trying to convince myself otherwise only makes it hurt more.

Keep listening to the mixtapes they made you Overanalyze every single word you hear 'Was this a sign that things were going wrong?' No, no, you were the one that cared too hard, not them

My mom was much like me in the way she never really had any friends, partly because she didn't want to burden them with her addiction issues, but mostly because she never had the time.

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep."

She sounds so chipper in her voicemail, but I know the truth. I was there when she recorded it, sitting right next to her on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands, she was high out of her mind the entire time.

It's one of my best memories of her — the only fond memory I have, actually, because it was the first night since I was a toddler she actually realized I was even in the room with her.

A low bar, but one I happily set for her.

I was a child, after all, what else was I supposed to think? All I knew was that Mommy was finally paying attention to me.

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep.'

'Hi it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep.'

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now—'

She may have been a terrible mother at times, but God do I miss her voice.

And sometimes I wonder if this little moment together was the real her breaking through the drug-induced haze she seemed to be in at all times. I wonder if this was a sign that she cared enough to make some changes for my sake, possibly run away from Dad with me.

For the love of her only child — her daughter.

But I know that's not the truth. I was always the one who loved her, not the other way around, and that's the way it always has been.

She was just a little delirious.

Stay up every single night staring at your phone Either attempting to gather up the courage to turn these demons, These constant reminders of your loneliness Into nothing more than a bad dream Or praying just for one second You could feel the warmth of equally returned love

Most nights I don't even go to bed anymore. Instead I lay on the bathroom floor with the light switched off, the bright light of my phone illuminating my face.

I'm not doing anything on it, just staring at my home screen, as if that'll fix all my problems for me.

I think I'm too far gone to even be fixed.

Maybe it would be better if I just... didn't exist anymore.

It's a thought that frequently crosses my mind. My coworkers never speak to me enough to be considered my friends, yet they're the closest thing I have to them. My parents never had another child, and they themselves were only children, so I have to family I can talk to.

Really, when you think about, there's not that many people that would care if I were to die tonight.

But I'm already shattered beyond human comprehension. I don't want to be seen as weak, too.

So here I am — not religious in any sense of the word, but silently praying to anything that might be listening as I stare blankly at my phone screen. To bring anyone along that'll keep me from being completely alone, anything that'll give me a reason to continue living.

A person to love me. Just for a moment or two, just enough to keep me here a little while longer. To free me of the burning chains shackling me down.

Only God could relinquish these demons, is the conclusion I come to, and for a single, morbid moment, a thought crosses my mind —

What if that relinquishes me, too.

Go out for coffee four times a week by yourself Always bring your notebook, never stop writing Leave little comics and thank you notes with your tip Watch them smile as you get in your car

Coffee doesn't mix very well with the antidepressants I'm on, it makes me all anxious and jittery. But the pain of the adrenaline racing through me at all times, it's like an addiction.

I hated coffee when I was younger. Still do hate the bitter taste of the stuff, but the effects it has on me are like a drug.

Coffee doesn't mix well with the antidepressants I'm on, it makes me anxious and makes it harder to sleep at night. But the pain of having to keep my eyes open, it's like an addiction.

I hated coffee when I was younger, and I still do hate the bitter taste of the stuff, but it's effects are like a drug.

The worn pink notebook in front of me is open, its pages filled with my thoughts and whatever random ramblings I come up with that I have nobody to share with.

It's the only way I can properly get my thoughts in order, having them written down. It's what my therapist suggested I do. Not going out for coffee, but sitting down and journaling. And she said that being kind to others might lead to more self-acceptance.

It won't, but surely there's no harm in trying.

Lately, I've been leaving little thank you notes with my tips as I leave the café I frequent. I have to admit, it lightens my mood a little to see the smile on the workers' faces as they tuck the little pieces of paper into their pockets, but I wouldn't say it makes me feel any better.

Not about myself, anyway.

Still, I continue to leave them on the table for whoever cleans up my mess to find, car idling out front until the smile brightens their face.

Talk down to yourself whenever possible 'My life is shit because I deserve it, right?' You must have done something really bad It's nearly impossibly for you to cry now

There are times that I wonder if I'm worth all the trouble.

I'm so battered and damaged and broken, there's really not much point trying to put me back together.

There's this one man I work with — Spencer — who I think is trying to undo all the hurt. He's extremely intelligent and a profiler, so I think know he can see everything that's wrong with me.

And I hate it, more than anything.

I hate being so vulnerable in front of someone, that's the one thing he doesn't seem to realize. The discomfort I feel when he watches me, peels my psyche apart piece by piece like I'm some kind of project.

But the thing I hate the most is how much I enjoy his presence. I've had friends in my life, but they're few and far between, and they almost never want to deal with me.

Spencer is unlike anyone I've ever met. He doesn't seem to mind the extra weight I carry on my back or how it's often hard for me to communicate — doesn't care that I'm practically never okay.

I've told him so much about myself, more than I've ever told anybody before, practically everything I can think of. Never having someone to talk to leads to major oversharing, but he doesn't complain, just quietly listens.

The one thing I don't bring up much is my childhood, but I'm sure he can deduce that it wasn't very good, from the things I've already said.

'Sometimes, I wonder if maybe I deserve this,' I told him once, face blank of any emotion as I typed on my computer. He never commented on that, but responded with a non-question of his own.

'You never cry when you talk about this stuff,' he'd mentioned one time while he was sitting in my office with me, eating his lunch as I worked. 'Generally speaking, when someone's talking about something that upsets them, the natural reaction would be to cry.'

I wanted to tell him that nothing about me is natural.

'Suppose I just don't have any tears left.'

And in true Spencer fashion, he rattled on about how you physically can't just run out of tears.

Avoid your friends for weeks even though They're the only sense of consistency you have left in your life If they really wanted to see you they'd come, but they won't Who cares?

Spencer is my friend, there's not doubt about it. He does his best to make me feel better about myself when I'm down, which is all the time, and horrifyingly enough, it works.

Horrifyingly enough, I hate the feeling of it.

So, for that very reason, I've been avoiding him whenever possible. It's been weeks now, and the only time I've seen him is when he shows up at my office before I can rush out for my lunch break. His sad puppy-dog eyes only work to make me feel worse, as I leave.

My address is with the rest of my information, which is (strangely) quite easy to access. Admittedly, I've been hoping that he'll find it and show up at my door. That he'll care enough to make sure I'm okay. That he likes being around me enough to come see me himself.

But he never does.

I can't really blame him for that, though. I think I would do the exact same thing, if I were in his shoes.

The truth is that I miss him, more than I've missed anyone before. I miss his constant ramblings about things too complicated for my understanding, and the sympathy he shows me when I share just a little too much about my life. It's comforting, and that disturbs me.

Why does that disturb me.

I don't want his comfort to disturb me as much as it does.

Allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love Watch as you begin to take a backseat To the world around you, don't fight it Become a secondary character in your own motion picture

Spencer is standing outside my front door.

Why is Spencer standing outside my front door?

"Why are you here?" I ask, more snap in my tone than I mean to have.

He doesn't flinch at my hostility, holding something out towards me with a small smile on his face. "I thought you could use the company, so I brought you some food," he replies, as if it's the most casual thing in the world for him to be here. "We don't have to talk, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone."

I'm always alone, though.

The hidden meaning in his words is not lost on me, but I don't say anything about it — I don't want you to do anything to yourself, so I'm here to keep an eye on you whether you like it or not.

I hesitantly take the warm dish into my own hands and step aside so he can come in. My apartment is a mess, enough to color my face with embarrassment, but he says nothing as he sits on my couch and looks around the place. He's never been here before. Nobody's been here before, nobody except myself.

So just... nobody, then?

Spencer is the first person here, ever.

It's clear when he spots the easel in the corner, a half-finished painting on the canvas upon it.

"I didn't know you like to paint," he says softly as I sit on the couch beside him, peeling the foil off the top of the ceramic dish. I'm not quite sure what it is, but it looks homemade, and smells better than any of the takeout I've been eating recently.

He watches me curiously as I stand to grab two plates and two forks from the kitchen.

"I used to like doing a lot of things," I mutter, dropping back down beside him and handing him a plate and a fork. "There's not much I like doing anymore."

Painting, reading, writing — you name it and I've probably enjoyed doing it at some point in my life.

"That's understandable. You've been thorough a lot," he says. A faint smile flits across my mouth before it evaporates again. I place my plate onto the table, appetite next to gone, and let myself curl up onto a ball, pressing my face into my knees as I begin to silently cry.

I have been though a lot, but I barely ever cry about it anymore.

This is the first time I've cried in months, and it's in front of Spencer, the only person I have left now.

I don't want to scare him away.

He doesn't say anything, gently rubbing my shoulder for a short moment before removing it and (presumably) putting some food onto his plate. I want him to touch me again, to comfort me.

"You should eat something," he says, using his thumb to carefully lift my head and handing me a plate. I'm not hungry, but I take it from him anyway and place a small bite into my mouth.

But most importantly Drown every single one of your feelings in old stolen rum Learn to love the taste of it dripping down your throat Find comfort in the warmth coming from your stomach You're drinking bottled love now

It was never my intention to end up in the same situation that my father found himself in most nights, laying limp in an armchair with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in my hand.

As a child I'd promised myself it'd never get to this point — promised myself that I'd never turn to alcohol like he did, scared to hurt the people I love the way he hurt me.

But here I am, and I'm ashamed of myself.

Spencer is standing across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. I don't know why he's even still here. Most people would run for the hills the second they hear how messed up I really am, let alone when they actually have a chance to see it.

He's probably so disappointed in me — isn't everyone? Disappointed in the... miserable creature I'm turning into.

It's not like I can stop, though. The fuzzy feeling in my head is the only thing that can take me away from it all nowadays, the warm tingling in my stomach bringing me more comfort than anybody in my life ever has.

Not for the first time, I wonder if this is what it feels like to be loved.

"It's a bad idea to mix drugs and alcohol," he says. I don't know why he cares so much about what I do. Nobody ever has before.

"It's none of your business," I slur, words barely coherent.

"Mixing antidepressants and hard liqueur increases the risk of overdose and blackouts," he sighs, pushing off the wall and stepping towards me, "so it actually is my business."

'Please help me,' my mouth begs to say. 'Please don't let me end up like him.'

Anger bubbles up inside me instead. "Piss off, Reid."

And for some reasons beyond my comprehension, he doesn't.

Spencer doesn't leave.

And I think I might be kind of in love with him.

You don't need other people to drive away your loneliness You just needed to find a way to talk to it

[watchyourbuck]

if you wish to stay (we'll stay too)

Day 1/7 @buddietommy-week | Hurt/Comfort

buddietommy | 4,6k | mature | tw: self harm (mention)

Tommy’s head snapped up, only to find Eddie already frowning back at him. “What— who called you that?”

Silence. Deafening silence.

“Buck,” Eddie insisted, taking a step forward but stopping when Tommy raised his hand, signaling for him to stay in place. Eddie pursed his lips, a little annoyed, but obeyed.

“M-my mom. My dad.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, the world stopping around him. “Excuse me?”

OR: Buck tells his parents he's in love with two men. It doesn't go so well. (Includes Tommy and Eddie taking care of him + Eddie's inner monologue about the Buckley Parents).

Read on ao3

[dreamlandcreations]

Imagine Elrond taking you to meet Disa...

• previous part •

Imagine Elrond taking you to meet Disa, as far as you know just to show you how they sing to the mountain...

What your dear brother failed to mention when he offered this distraction from your current issue with a certain hopefully not too dark lord is that he promised the dwarves your help in trying to find the light in the darkened caverns of their kingdom.

You only know how to sign to animals, trees and water to enchant them. You never tried with earth! Never even been in a mountain before! He is asking for the impossible and he knows it, yet he is asking anyway.

And it is hard to not instantly love Disa, even when you are practically steaming in your anger. So you agree. To try. Just that, no promises.

She shows you how they sing and tries to explain the basics. After attempting to mimic her you feel nothing. No, not nothing, a disturbing stillness that lingers somewhere on the edge of your senses.

You try your magic with the waters flowing through their kingdom and you sense a bit more but it's like something is sucking away the light of the nature around you. You do not plan to give up though, stubbornness is a serious a family trait after all, and Elrond should have expected you would go to great lengths to figure this out. Although, to be fair, he could not have any idea how deep your connection run with the man you had gotten close to since you arrived at Númenor.

The image of Halbrand quoting Galadriel comes to your mind, and after exhausting all other options, you think it's time to touch the darkness.

Instead of the words you would usually use for enchantments, the spell comes out in a language you shouldn't even know let alone be able to use. You pay the price for it too.

The Black Speech burns your throat as soon as you began but by the end of the short command for the darkness to show itself, you are barely able to speak, choking on your own blood, gasping for air and hardly hanging on to consciousness. At least it worked, you think as your vision goes hazy from the pain and lack of air, watching as the walls show darkened veins and the clear, untainted path becomes visible on one side of the main cavern of the city.

Elrond knows the dwarves couldn't help with this wound so he hurried back to Eriador with you, hoping the healers could at least stop this unnatural infection spreading from your throat. He doesn't know that he is bringing you to the only being who can actually help you...

• next part •

[moyazaika]

people don’t write it often, probably bc it’s a bit intense and can be triggering

but my favorite type of darling are the ones who are 100% seriously willing and able to kill themselves to escape their yan

i don’t care about the having the will to survive and escape i want to have the pettiness and spite to take away the only thing they truly love (me)

ooooh ur right nonniee!!!! ☝🏽☝🏽

iii i agree it can be quite triggering. think for a lot of people it also breaks the immersion; if ur reading yandere to feel like you matter to the extent where someone is so enamoured with you they’d condemn the law and their own morals, it defeats the purpose if darling just ,,, like,,,, kills themselves,,,,,,

but there’s also a sort of power in that!!

the sheer devastation it would entail for them, to lose the object of their affection by their own fucking hand. they promised to keep you safe, tucked away from the rest of the world and all its dangers; and yet, in a tragically ironic way—

you were the one thing they couldn’t protect you from.

wonder who gets the last laugh, then.

[sketchthetofu]

JRWI MINIBANG ART APON YE!!!

This piece is for the fabulous fic “not today” by @anachronistic-falsehood , I had a blast working on this art piece (even tho it took me FOREVER) and working with the wonderful group I was a part of <3!!! PLS go read the fic and enjoy the little snip-bits of different scenes in the fic here on this silly cork-board of memories :]!