#there's nail dents on the door and everything

[mettywiththenotes]

This series really is just Izuku attempting to drag Tomura into a therapy session while he claws at the floor screaming. Refusing to let go of the doorframe as Izuku tries to pull him off, the therapist just sat there stunned as Izuku assures them he's got it handled

[ajortga]

can you keep a secret?

pairing: wednesday addams x werewolf fem reader

summary: you miss your girlfriend who's recently transferred to nevermore academy. your persistent whining is able to transfer you to nevermore and cling onto her the whole time there.

word count: 5k+

based off request!

-

W and R are in a relationship, W transfers to Nevermore. W and R may not have anything in common, but they do on some things, like R being an outcast as well (a werewolf ), R insists their parents that they transfer to Nevermore too. After they successfully did, R immediately finds W, the outcast's curious to what'll happen to R (obvi doesn't know they knew each other).. Basically every student in Nevermore sees them together everyday. One, asks W who R is to W, she answers truthfully, "They're My Lover." everything and everyone just goes crazy

-

“Cara mia, we live next to each other,” Wednesday says softly, brushing your hair back as you braid her black silky hair.

You hum, a little sad, finishing to braid her two tiny braids that hung low to her chest.

“But I won’t see you in school, baby." A huff escapes your lips as your girlfriend sighs, giving up on trying to coax your madness.

“Or at all,” you add, “you’ll have a damn dorm with some girl that you’ve never seen before. It’s not fair.”

The raven-haired girl rolls her eyes, “I’ll cut off my heart with the sharpest knife I know if I ever started to love someone more than you,” Wednesday suggests, trying to make you feel better.

She cups your cheeks as you refuse to speak and rubs her thumb gently around the pink tint covering them. A way to always make you feel better. Yet she knows better because you certainly don’t look better.

“We’re both outcasts Weds. My stupid parents just won’t allow me to transfer because they think Nevermore is weird. Yet they went to school there. That's not fair."

“They’re just trying to protect you. I'd feel that way too for our daughter if Nevermore had hurt me. If someone ever hurt you, they’re death will be a long one. Sufferable and miserable. So bad that they’ll beg for forgiveness before they bleed out.”

Usually Wednesday would expect you to smile and giggle, but you’re not. Why does your girlfriend have to leave you?

“Can’t you stay?” You ask, voice tiny.

“As much as I sneak out, Mother has already informed everyone including your parents not to let me stay the night. They are used to my.. Tactics per say.”

Your sharp nails from your growth as a soon to be wolfed out werewolf emerges, clawing the wood you attached to your wall when this kind of stuff happens.

"I can sneak you in and I'll even build you a door in my closet," you suggest.

"No, Y/N."

"What if we install a life-like robot and I'll sneak out with you?"

"No."

You huff angrily, slashing the wood.

Wednesday firmly takes your hand, and your hand almost scratches her, yet it stops as you don’t want to hurt her, “Stop that.”

“No,” you state, tugging your hand away and sinking them into the wood, so hard that a big ass dent forms.

Your girlfriend sighs, rolling her eyes as she sweeps her bangs away from her eyes, “I don’t know what you want me to do bambina. Maybe I could.. Sneak you away from this horrid place. But at what cost? Nevermore seems strange. Not strange in a way I’d want to discover in mysteries though.”

She sees the way you sigh, disappointed. Upset.

“You’ll be there for a whole school year, it’s far.”

“I’ll bring my typewriter. Distance won’t change that, swear on my cemetery. I’ll write you letters at night, secretly take the principal's mailbox and send them to you. Or I’ll threaten Thing in my backpack and crawl till he can give it to you.” Wednesday isn’t kidding, her stare is cold, well usually it was cold, but not towards you. “He can suffer in thorns, I’ll stitch him up, just as long as.. You’ll write back?”

You nod, yet you don’t care about the letters, you care about her.

“You’ll send them?”

“Yes.”

“Every night?”

“Yes.”

“What if you begin to stop when you feel like it’s not working anymore?”

“I won’t Y/N.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do.”

"No you don't, you don't know the future."

"But I do know that I won't stop sending my letters. I can feel it."

You stop scratching the wood and you bury yourself on Wednesday, breathing in her scent as you try to comfort yourself. Yet even when the lights are off, your heart is pounding, feeling alone.

-

A tear falls from your cheek as you watch Lurch stuff his trunk, Wednesday talking to her mother and father, while hesitantly hugging Pugsley. 

“You’ll have so much fun.” Morticia says, with a smile, kissing her cheek and staining it slightly with her black lipstick.

“Define fun as boring and a punishment, sure,” Wednesday stiffly responds, yet softens as she looks at you. She takes her mother’s hand off her shoulder and approaches you.

“If you cry, it'll be raining all day. And you don't want it to be all gloomy for you? I don't want my socks wet. A poem, along with two pages written in a small font. One to express my day, and one to express that stupid love so you can sleep peacefully at night with nightmares.” Wednesday says, stopping for a moment, “sweet nightmares,” she adds.

You nod, yet your tear stained cheeks aren’t really helping, she reaches up and wipes it off with her thumb. Then let you hug her, you immediately bury yourself into her and she sighs.

“I’ll be thinking of you, till every grain of sand can be counted.”

You watch her approach the car, then slip in. She has the window scroll down, and you look at her. As the car engine roars, you bite your lip. And slowly watch it wheel away. Slowly jogging till it’s out of sight.

-

It’s been two weeks. And sure enough, Wednesday has kept her promise. She’s sent you letters you’ve kept in your drawer, they’re never repetitive, but always show you love. You like it like that, knowing that it isn’t a chore for her to write letters for you. If anything, they’ve lengthened in size as she's sent more and more.

It makes you miss her a little more. You have to hug your life-sized stuffed animal at night that she sprayed her perfume on. She also left half a bottle on your counter, just in case it runs out. Though it takes longer to sleep, it makes you feel a little better knowing there was something that was like a piece of her beside you.

Thing has visited you, and you know that little guy has a huge memory. You lost the letter you were going to hand Thing, and though you were a little sad, he moved his fingers and you realized you could speak to him for hours and he would tell Wednesday every detail. She had even wrote to you,

~

I owe Thing a thank you, yet he can be provoking at times. He had communicated to me for an hour, thirty minutes, and thirty two seconds about your day. I always wonder what secrets lay in the Addams Family. Yet I’m not quite comprehending why Thing has a big memory space.

Nonetheless, I think about you everyday. My roommate, Enid, has been unpleasant with her interesting taste of fashion and colors. It’s distracting. In a negative way. You’re distracting in a way where I can’t take my eyes off your enticing figure Y/N. Weems had bothered me the whole day, smothered me with questions and made sure I was doing fine. No wonder why mother got along with her so much. Those two are like the same person just one with smothered ink. But, something that sparked my particular interest was that you can dorm with two other people. Thing had told me that there was an accident at your school. If you’d like, which I’d appreciate, could ask your mother about transferring, say it’s dangerous. You aren’t a late wolfer, but convince her possibly that Nevermore can increase your chances. Wish you were here, I hate Mr. Tuesday. That white bunny is always staring at me during my typing time. But I can tolerate him a bit more, knowing you gifted it to me. You love Mr. Tuesday, so I appreciate your gesture. It’s not often I get visions, but they’ve almost made me want to experience them more. I see you in them, baking. Writing to me. It makes me almost happy.

Enid keeps trying to get to know me, she’s a strange soul, but she’s a werewolf, like you. You two are nothing alike, yet I think you two would get along a bit too much. Except you don’t blast random glitter pop music during the night. During my WRITING TIME. Even thinking about it rots my brain. But I miss you cariño. Sleep tight, I’ve left at least 300 things to hide in your house and you’ll never expect where they are. But everyone is special, it’ll make you at least smile a little when I tell you each night. Today’s item is snuck inside your bed, I used Mother’s chainsaw to cut through the wood, it’s a tiny version of Mr. Tuesday. I asked Thing the other day to sneak it in that spot and he sanded the wood back in. It should be a sort of door. But I crocheted it during my free time, there are times where I can’t think during my writing time. That is an understatement, but I only think of you. But I’m hoping you can enjoy it for today.

Love you, sleep cozily,

Weds

-

You smile as you look under your bed, now noticing the small outline from Wednesday’s chainsaw and you open the little compartment to see another crocheted white bunny of Mr. Tuesday. You nuzzle it and place it on your desk. You love him. You even spent a few minutes grabbing white yarn and attaching it to your tote bag.

You think about what Wednesday said, someone had gotten hurt in your school from being stabbed by a senior that was drunk. Obviously he didn’t mean it. But you had seen how anxious your mom got when she found out the news.

It was 11:23PM, and your mom’s room light was illuminated from the hallway. You get out of bed, ruffle your hair, and approach her room. Your only thought is Wednesday.

-

Before you could even ask, you already noticed her holding a black card, the logo of Nevermore Academy apparent. It said in bolded letters, 1965 Jericho’s long lasting Nevermore Academy. One for outcasts.

“Mom?” You said, your voice slowly quiet, and she looked up at you, waving you over.

“Hi honey,” she replies, “I’ve been thinking about the accident at your school. And I know you don’t like that place that much. And as much as I feel like I should keep you there. Your safety is important to me.”

Your excitement grows, you want to have that wide smile off your face.

“So?...” You question, wondering if she was saying what you were thinking she meant.

“And you keep bringing Wednesday up. So me and Morticia talked, and I talked with your father. We’re going to send you to Nevermore, but only if you want to. As long as you write to us every end of the week and call us. We want our little wolf to meet ones like her. It’s not often you find ones like us here.”

You nod.

“Yes!”

You didn't even think it would be that easy.

-

As soon as you get the news you squeal and call Wednesday early in the morning. She responds almost quickly, her voice on the other line, “What brings you to call me this early Y/N?”

“I’m transferring to Nevermore!” You say, you were much more excited but your tired voice betrayed you.

There’s a pause, then a small, “What?”

“I’m coming!”

A laugh and you can almost feel your girlfriend smiling with a toothy grin with her ear pressed to the phone.

“I knew your parents would let you go somehow,” she says, voice more excited, yet anyone else would not notice but you.

You can hear some rustling, “I’m going to ask Weems if you can dorm with me. I can kick Enid out for all I care, yet she isn’t horrible. Just, I’d rather spend it with you if she doesn’t allow a three dorm. Maybe I shouldn’t bring up a three dorm at all.”

“Thing, go back home and ask Father if Lurch can drive Y/N to Nevermore. Actually, include that if he won’t ask, I’ll shave his head off. Also make sure that he sprays two times of her favorite perfume, have her favorite sour candy ready, her headphones, her books, and tell him to pack some melon milk for her too. And her cow stuffie. Make sure he’s playing the playlist she made that’s saved in the car.”

There is a pause, and she makes a small, ‘oh oh’

“Baby,” Wednesday doesn’t call you that much, but when she does you’re over the moon. It usually shows that she’s happy. Really happy, yet her voice is still soft and composed, “I installed a door behind your clothes in your closet, guess we’ll unwrap the 300 presents when we go home. But I got another Mr. Tuesday there, he has some sort of costume on.” 

She pauses, you hear a random girl jumping up and down in the background, squealing about something as your girlfriend groans and presses her ear back into her phone, sending Enid an annoyed glare, “Pack your stuff, I’ll be waiting. I might as well cut my ears off if Enid won’t stop blabbing her mouth off.” You can tell that Wednesday turns her head to face her new roommate, she says louder, since Enid couldn’t hear her talking to you, “Better yet, slice her mouth off.” Then Enid’s squeals die down.

You grin through the phone as you grab out another version of Mr. Tuesday with a mushroom hat, you hug him tight.

The doorbell rings and you hear your mom open it, putting Wednesday on speaker phone.

“I’m almost done packing.”

“Y/N, honey. Mrs. Addams requests to see you,” your mother’s voice echoes through the hallway and you glance at the door.

You don’t know how Wednesday can hear it but she does, “I’m taking into conclusion that she received my message. Oh yes, she replied with those stupid icons. Yet it is one of a thorny rose and a gravestone.”

“Coming!” You stuff your bags, “Be right back.”

-

You almost choke as Morticia brings you into her embrace, hugging her back with an easing gentleness.

“Hello little one,” her soft voice says, the one you find comfort in as much as you do Wednesday’s. She gently rubs your hair, “I informed Lurch for your arrival, he’s outside whenever you’ll be ready dear. I’m so glad you decided to willingly join Nevermore. It has been a place that holds many memories. It’s where I met Gomez and fell in love. Maybe Wednesday and you can find the secrets in it. Go on journeys with her. Dig some graves, set them on fire."

It weird you out, but you smile, nodding, “To spend it with Wednesday is all I need.”

“You’re a special soul, a pure heart I can handle. Now go,” she waves you away, “Don’t keep him waiting for long.”

You give her one last grin and look over your shoulder before turning the corner.

-

After hanging up on Wednesday when you finish packing all your bags, your mother and father hug you goodbye and give you your favorite cranberry juice. Sweet.

It’s cozy in the Addams car, comfortingly with no talk, just the music Wednesday requested (forced) Lurch to play that lingers in your playlist. You feel like a butler with all the requests Wednesday smothered him with.

An hour passes and you can see the way the clouds slightly come into view, then you see the environment change as a sign that reads, “Welcome to Jericho! A Town of History”

Then, you finally see the academy in view, and Lurch arrives right in front, before taking your bags and guiding you to Principal Weems.

“It is my honor to have you here at Nevermore. This school has history, and where you’ll certainly grow,” her smile is wide, a little too welcoming it gets a little scary.

You just give small mumbles and nods, “Well, Morticia called me this morning and I quickly looked through your demographics. It also isn’t a coincidence that you have straight A’s. A 4.3 GPA. Many extracurriculars, and of course, you’re a werewolf. I see.”

“It is no surprise also that you had gone to the same school as another student who just enrolled, Morticia’s daughter, Wednesday. She sure is.. Different. But nonetheless talented. She had asked me yesterday afternoon if it was possible to have a dorm of three, and I’m assuming that you have been planning to dorm with her for the rest of the semester?”

She reads your mind, you immediately nod your head up and down, “Yes.”

“Well, most of the 3 dorms have been occupied, but her and Enid seem to have a slow relationship. I’ll have her in my office today, but by the end of the night or tomorrow morning I’ll give you my answer.” Weems scribbles on a note, writes some address and a name, “You’ll be rooming with Yoko, sound okay?”

You nod.

“Alright, I’ll call Enid up, for your guide.”

“..Guide?”

She nods, “Of course, we have many classes you can do, and people you can meet. She knows this place well, and I know that she’ll open up your shell.”

-

As Wednesday watches Enid leave, a soft grin forms on her face as she unties Thing from the random crocheted pink jacket Enid made for him.

Her eyes scan Enid as the door closes, then she turns to him, “I’m expecting Y/N is here. I’ve crocheted a questionable amount of Mr. Tuesdays.” She informs, “I shouldn’t have admitted that,” Wednesday sighs, as she pulls out the drawer next to her to reveal at least 40 assorted sizes of the same bunny. There were some in outfits, wigs. Wednesday almost finds it as therapeutic as her writing time. She crochets them whenever Enid leaves their dorm.

Thing smacks his head, and the braided girl glares at him, “Don’t judge me, I can cut off your fingers any time,” she threatens, seeing the way Thing surrendered with two fingers up in the air.

Then he moves around his fingers and does random hand movements.

“You think I’d follow Enid and try to make conversation with Y/N so much that Enid will get suspicious? You’d really think I’d do that?” 

Thing agrees.

“Then, you know me too well, let’s go.”

-

“Enid, glad you’re- Wednesday? It seems like you’ve tagged along,” Weems adds as she almost seems surprised, looking at her. If anything, the look in her eye is cautious.

“Yes,” Wednesday responds, trying to avoid the way your eyes almost smile as you look at her, but if anyone else were to look at you, they wouldn’t notice. “I’ve decided to accompany Enid, this is much more exciting than some other events at Nevermore,” she adds again, not entirely rude.

You sit in the middle while Wednesday takes the only left seat available, scooches her chair closer. Her hand rubs over yours after meeting under the covers of Weem’s desk. She takes note of how a small smile creeps on your face when Weem talks because of that.

“This is actually so awesome,” the blonde cheers next to you, making you turn your head and turn it, confused.

“We’re both werewolves silly! We should dorm 3 together! Wait, are there even any 3 dorms left?” When the principal shakes her head no, Enid sighs, “Then Wednesday can pair with Yoko. Actually, she barely even talks to Yoko, let alone handle her better than she’ll be able to handle me.”

You blink, glance at Wednesday for a moment and she shakes her head frantically.

“What if I dorm with her?”

The question leaves everyone silent, well everyone is surprised but Wednesday.

“You’d want to room with Wednesday while Enid rooms with Yoko?”

There's a lingering silence as you look around, “Why not? I'd like to get to know her better,” you lie. The most you want to do is get to talk to your girlfriend again.

"Oh. You don't want to, you know, get to know Wednesday before actually having to dorm with her?"

"Nope."

"Well, then that’s settled for your dorm. I’ll have to file Enid for a dorm change. But I’d like to ask if that is okay for both Wednesday and Enid.”

“Yes,” your girlfriend immediately responds, then coughs a little to cover up her excitement that’s masked behind her calm demeanor. “I can take a break from someone that is the complete opposite of me.

“I’d be happy to dorm with Yoko, at least I can have my music playing at night and my glitter-”

“My ears are bleeding Enid, don’t mention that word you just said.”

“Glitter?” Enid questions.

“No.”

You giggle from your girlfriend’s demeanor, squeezing her hand under the desk.

-

“This is Ophiela Hall! You don’t need to find your people here, you can make plenty of friends in other groups, but you have a group of werewolves! And what makes it even better is that we haven’t wolfed out!” Enid jumps up and down and you watch her legs bounce up and down, up and down. She’s like a whole party.

People give you two small looks, both you and Wednesday can tell they’re almost surprised she tagged along with someone whos new. It makes you smile a little.

Your girlfriend notices them whispering about you. Not anything bad, you seem like the sweetest person out of them all, but they’re whispering about the two of you. Even Bianca gives you a cautious look, but you’re too distracted to know what their saying as Enid keeps talking to you and dragging you along. Wednesday follows like a puppy.

“Enid, hey.” A boy speaks up, and you turn around at the new voice, he’s wearing blue and a beanie. The same tie everyone is wearing.

“Oh hi Ajax, this is Y/N. She’s new and I’m showing her around.”

A glare is thrown at Ajax as your girlfriend exhales. You give a small wave, “Hi.”

“You a werewolf too?”

You nod, seeing the way his hat kind of turns sideways, poking some peeking out snakes back into it. That’s scary.

The bell rings and you look around, confused, Enid grabs the paper you stuck in your bag.

“Oh, hey! Your next class is with Wednesday and I, it’s just plant anatomy with Thornhill. Come on.”

-

Somehow Wednesday gets Xaiver to move away from her, so now you’re sitting next to her.

“What the hell is this class?”

“Thornhill just talks about plants. The only entertaining aspect of this is that I like seeing Bianca fail to beat me. Though that goes in almost everything.”

The auburn hair girl turns around, with a wide smile and fairly big glasses for the size of her head.

“It’s a pleasure to have a new student, I’m glad to have you in our third period class Y/N.”

You embarrassingly smile, everyone looking at you, some with smiles and some with just small glances. 

“Could you give us the formula on how to turn this plant into a…” Thornhill goes on and you look at the plant, it seems it’s a Ghost Orchid.

You answer almost immediately, and Wednesday nudges you with her foot to almost say a ‘yay.’

Bianca stares at you as Thronhill clasps her hands together, “Exactly, you know your plants well. I’m sure you’ll excel here. Today we’ll have a change of assignments. It’ll be a challenge for duos against other duos and whoever answers first, and correctly for that fact, will earn a point till all the questions run out. Sound easy enough? Alright, let me get my cards ready.”

A knowing smirk grows in between you two, “We’ll win in no time,” Wednesday states, you look at the duos. It’s you and her, Enid and Yoko, Bianca and Divina, and other people you have no clue about, including Xaiver.

The game starts and before Thornhill can even get to the end of the question, you and Wednesday slap the bell, giving out the answer.

“Quick hands,” Xavier mumbles.

“That’s correct! Great job girls.”

The game goes on, and you’re tied with Bianca’s team. The silence can be cut with a knife as the two duos anticipately wait for the question. As Thornhill begins to read out the question, it takes you two a while to know the answer. Bianca and Divina seem stuck.

It’s several moments before the learning in your past catches up to you, slamming the bell and saying out the answer.

“Correct once again! You two win, great job! You can grab a succulent or stick to two pieces of candy that’s probably expired at the end of class.”

You and Wednesday high-five and to say the least, everyone is surprised because the braided-hair girl never let’s anyone touch her.

-

Weeks have past, and you’ve never been happier. Giving ideas for Wednesday’s stories that even she never thought about, helping her crochet more Mr. Tuesdays, so much that she had thing steal a laundry basket from Weem’s office, and even braid her hair and put black ribbons. She’s grateful to have you at Nevermore, her stories have been expanding because of you.

Your always stuck to her side, fencing playfully with her, even willing to go out in the woods with her. But she hasn’t went out since your arrival, knowing that you wouldn’t want to leave her side, and she certainly doesn’t want you getting hurt.

Even you and her worked together designing a matching cat on your black and white pajamas.

It’s fun when you two get to talk about life when you two are in your dorms, even better when you two are on the balcony and watching the stars. Wednesday plays the cello while you sing. She loves that she has someone that she puts her closed-off personality aside for.

“I love it, you look so pretty with bows baby,” you say, tying the ribbon.

“You look pretty with bows or without cara mia.” 

“Shut ‘p,” you say, smacking her arm lightly as she wraps her arms around you and rubs your hair.

It’s not long till Weems announce that it’s time for lunch.

Wednesday gets up, signalling you to come with her, but when you don’t, she comes back to sit next to you.

“I’m just looking for my necklace, you can go ahead, it won’t take long, promise.”

She sighs, and nods for a moment, then points at Thing, “Help her.”

Thing waves his hands as she blows a soft air kiss and closes the door.

-

It’s sprinkling a little bit when Wednesday is outside.

“How does Wednesday act so non-hazardous with Y/N? It’s honestly impressive.”

“That’s not impressive, how the hell does she not smack her or give her glares? Do you not see the way her eyes actually look normal when she looks at her? Not even normal, they’re gentle! Plus she was the first to go run and get a bandaid when Y/N accidentally got a paper cut.”

It’s like they summoned the girl, who’s holding a plate of her lunch.

Enid smiles and Wednesday sits down, looking at everyone.

“Are you seriously speaking about me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We want to know why the hell you are actually sweet with Y/N.”

“You could’ve used any word besides sweet.”

“Baby-like?”

“Even worse.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Bianca adds, somehow now being in this conversation, “You killed the biggest spider that was crawling to her, for her.”

“She doesn’t like spiders. Who wouldn’t use not being afraid of spiders to protect someone who is?”

Bianca blinks, then wrinkles her nose, “If it was me you’d certainly let it bite me.”

“Well that’s different.”

Everyone at the table groans, “Exactly!”

“What did I tell you?”

“The only person you’d not let it bite is Y/N, we just want to know why.”

“I’m protecting her because she’s my girlfriend.”

Everyone turns their head to her, “What?”

Enid slams her fists to the table, “I fucking knew it. I knew it! Ajax, you owe me five dollars. I CALLED IT.”

“The Wednesday Addams actually has a girlfriend?”

“Why didn’t we catch on?”

“They’re kinda cute together- don’t even speak or she’ll actually cut your head off if you say cute.”

Everyone is arguing with each other, going crazy. But by the time they cool down and look at where Wednesday was sitting, her seat is empty.

Then everyone looks around and sees her draping her black jacket over your tiny figure, she pulls you closer to her chest as you hold onto her. (Let’s say she’s atleast 4 inches taller than 5’1 in this.) You tug her big jacket over your shoulders as you hug her. She holds onto you and guides you to the table, kissing your forehead and brushing your damp hair.

Even when she comes back, she bends down and takes the butterfly that’s resting on your hair and places it on your hand. “I heard somewhere that if a butterfly lands on you, it means that they see you as a beautiful flower.” 

“I never heard that before.”

“I know, I made that up.”

Everyone starts screaming again, making your girlfriend and your heads snap at them.

“Look at them!”

“Aw! So cute!”

“I want to say this is disgusting but they’ll be my roman empire soon enough.”

You turn back to her, seeing her eyes soften, almost happily, "You told them?”

“I didn’t know why they didn’t conclude to that in the beginning.”

Bianca groans, rolling her eyes as everyone is screaming, then Xavier chimes in. "Back to that spider scenario. I definitely think Wednesday would kill it for me."

You glare at him, clinging onto your girlfriend a little more like a koala. She rubs your back as you tighten your arms around her.

"Your sense of self-love is filled with stupidity. I'd kill the spiders that are harmless to you and leave the ones that are most venomous and ugly looking for people like you, have some respect."

Xavier goes quiet, making a defeated grunt.

Everyone does their little, 'awws' again. You turn to her, now that everyone knows about your status.

“At least we can kiss in the hallways?”

“Maybe save that for the dorms.”

“Can we kiss right now?”

Wednesday’s eyebrows lift up, and she sighs, turning you away from the group and giving you a light kiss, as your lips press together, she nudges a small Mr. Tuesday now with inverted colors, a black bunny. They're both holding hearts and have a star over their head.

"Now Mr. Tuesday has a Mr. Wednesday," she says softly, tucking her black jacket tighter around you as you continue hugging her.

"And Miss. Y/L/N has a Miss. Addams."

[impala-dreamer]

The Realization of Intimacy

A Supernatural Story 

~ Every now and then, a quick trip through town becomes more than he expected. ~

1,311 Words

Dean x Reader

NSFWiish, Fluff!, Tickling!

“Trying to Make Each Other Laugh During Sex” for @jacklesversebingo

JacklesBingo Masterlist ~ Full Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Dean cracked open her bedroom door and stuck his head through. 

Fresh from the shower, his hair was damp and spiked up like he’d run his fingers through it instead of using her comb. His shoulders were bare and she hoped that the rest was too. 

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, scanning her curves as she lay on her side across the middle of the bed. 

She crooked her right knee up and licked her lips. 

“Just waiting on you.” Her lashes were painted with thick charcoal and she batted them alluringly. 

Dean inhaled deeply and a slick smile tugged at his lips. 

They’d only known each other for a little while, but it felt like longer. There was never any awkwardness when he breezed through town, never any hesitation on either end when the moment felt right. She was pretty and sweet, sassy and funny. She could cook a burger like a pro and suck his dick like one too. 

He liked her and it seemed the feeling was more than mutual. They’d go to an occasional movie, or grab dinner at the pub in town, but mostly, they’d hole up in her tiny apartment and watch old movies until hands roamed beneath the cozy blanket and they fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was nice. It felt right.

Leaving each time was hard, but Dean didn’t want to worry about that. He wanted to worry himself between her legs and drown in her sweet taste.

She cleared her throat and Dean’s focus returned. 

“You gonna come fuck me or keep dripping in the hallway?” 

Lust clouded his gaze and he puckered his lips. “Shouldn’t you be the one that’s dripping?” 

White teeth bit down lightly, denting her lip and driving him a little bit crazy. “Why don’t you bring that tight ass over here and find out…”

Dean crossed the room in a flash of tanned skin and blurred freckles. With a growl, he leaped onto the bed and caged her in. Arms by her head, knees at her sides, Dean captured his prey and pressed his lips to the crook of her delicate neck, biting down with a light but dangerous pressure. 

Y/N gasped and wriggled beneath him, playfully attempting to get away while enticing him further. 

“Hold still or I’ll bite you again,” he warned, pushing up on his strong arms to look down at her. 

“Promise?” She blinked at him innocently and grinned. “You know I love it when you eat me alive.” 

His cock twitched and another growl rumbled in his throat. “But if I eat you all up, what’s left for me?” 

“Left?” She laughed. “You just ate me alive, what else could you want?” 

Dean dramatically pondered the question and then dropped his chin, rubbing his nose across her cheek before kissing her roughly. “Everything.” 

“Everything?” she echoed, dragging a hand down his chest. 

“All of it.” 

“You sure you can handle it? You seem like a lightweight.” 

Dean sat back, confused. “What are we talking about?” 

Y/N shook her head. “I have no idea. I think you were about to go down on me, though…” 

His mouth watered. “Oh, you think so?” 

She spread her legs. “I do.”

“I thought it was my turn?”

Y/N shook her head again. “No, if I remember correctly, last time you were here you said you’d give me a three-hour orgasm…” She grinned. “Clock’s tickin’ bud.” 

“Three hours!” Dean reached down and grabbed her hips. “I’ll suffocate!”

“Do it right,” she countered, running her nails down his arms, “and you’ll drown first.” 

Dean shivered and kicked her knees farther apart. He slotted himself between her thighs and dropped down to kiss her laugh away. 

As she swooned, her hands fell down his back and the movement struck something inside of him. Dean squirmed away, holding in a laugh. 

Y/N paused, cocking a brow. “You OK?” 

Quickly, he nodded and went in for another kiss. 

Curious, Y/N tucked her fingers beneath his left arm and wiggled them lightly. 

A sound that very much resembled a giggle escaped his lips. 

“Stop that!” 

Y/N laughed loudly. “Oh my god, Dean Winchester! You’re ticklish!” 

He cleared his throat and puffed out his manly chest. “I am not.” 

“No?” 

“Not even a little. I’m a man.” 

She chewed her lip and tickled him again, this time jabbing at his sides once the laugh returned. “Yes,” she agreed, “a man who is terribly ticklish.” 

Dean swatted at her hands but couldn’t halt her attack, eventually succumbing to the onslaught and falling onto his back. He languished in defeat, gasping for air while Y/N enjoyed the way his eyes watered and his cheeks burned bright pink.

Mercifully, she let him live, pulling away and straddling his hips. She lay her hands on his chest, feeling his racing heart and struggling lungs expand. 

“You OK?” 

Wide green eyes looked up at her. “I might be dead. Check back later.” 

A final laugh fell free and Y/N swallowed it down as she kissed his panting lips. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, “you’re just too adorable when you laugh like that.” 

Dean blushed and looked away, suddenly shy. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever laughed like that, to be honest.” 

Y/N pouted. “Never?” 

“Didn’t even know I was ticklish.”

A sad moment passed. 

“Dean, has no one ever tickled you before?” 

He sat up, leaning on his elbows, and shrugged. “I don’t exactly stick around for that type of…” 

“Intimacy?” 

“Yeah. That.” 

He sighed and she melted. 

“Well, I’m glad you feel comfortable with me,” she said honestly. “You deserve some laughter in your life.” 

Dean’s smile couldn’t hide and he reached for her cheek. He kissed her slowly, holding her face in his big hands and licking gently between her lips. She breathed into him and his thumb slid down her throat, massaging and exploring, noting that she gave him the same level of comfort as he pressed against her pulse. Her blood beat beneath the surface, striking the pad of his finger with a steady rhythm. 

She wasn’t afraid of him; wasn’t embarrassed or obsessed. There was no hidden motive or demonic trap being laid. She was simply there when he wanted her, always soft and welcoming, warm and sweet. 

Y/N broke free of his hold only to press herself fully against him. She licked at his collarbone, kissed his shoulder, and grazed his nipple with her teeth. She dragged her nails down his sides, avoiding the spots she’d found that made him laugh and focusing on those that made him moan. 

He wasn’t afraid of her; wasn’t worried she’d turn against him or be attacked by some vengeful being. There was no guilt to stay or pressure to leave. He was simply enamored with her and at peace in her arms. 

The realization was strange and magical and Dean wanted the feeling to last forever. 

“Come here,” he whispered, leading her back up his body to look her in the eyes. 

“What’s up?” Her lips were wet and swollen, her eyes hazed over with arousal. She blinked a few times and he closed his hand around the nape of her neck, holding her there. 

“I really like you,” he confessed, skirting the words they’d promised not to say.

Y/N sighed happily and ran her fingers through his hair. “I really like you, too.”

Emotion swelled in his gut and Dean fought hard against the tears. His inhale was shaky and his jaw clenched. 

Y/N saved him once more with a kiss. 

“Dean?” 

He breathed against her lips and closed his eyes, savoring every moment of her. “Yeah?” 

“About that three-hour orgasm…” 

His laugh flooded the room and her warmth spread through him. Emotions would have to wait.

He had some work to do.

[uranometrias]

my love mine all mine , aaron hotchner

this is incredibly self indulgent. i wrote this for myself, because my cat passed away today && i have no idea how to grieve correctly. but i've always been able to express myself the best through writing, so here i am trying to do so.

basically reader loses her kitten && hotch is there to comfort her while she grieves. reader is a doctor && gets her nails painted. mentions of sleeping in a scarf and braids (but this can apply to any race <3) hotch is pretty flirty. he also had a dog that died when he was younger (idk) ... i'm still getting used to writing him (but he's been rotting my brain) so hotch girlies please be sweet to me, i'm trying.

"Have you decided what you want me to grab on the way?" You feel giddy, eyes beaming vibrantly as you unlock your front door. Aaron was on the other line, he'd been looking forward to spending the evening with you for the past two weeks. Your jobs often sent you in separate directions, with him following cases cross country, and you spending nearly twenty hours a day working at Inova Fairfax Medical Campus. The commute was nearly an hour from Quantico, which made it difficult for your schedules to coincide the way you hoped.

Today though was an exception. He'd just gotten back from a case, a successful one, and you'd been lucky enough to finally get two days off. You couldn't contain your excitement when you'd finally managed to get Aaron on the phone, and with Jack staying at Jessica's for another night, it seemed everything was working out in your favor. You still had no idea what you were in the mood to eat, despite having ample time to figure it out. "I dunno." you mutter, and you drop your keys into the basket just to the left of the front door.

"Well honey, you've gotta give me something." Aaron chuckles, and his voices makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. "I'm sure you haven't anything at all today." and it doesn't take a rocket science to know he's absolutely correct. Your stomach grumbles audibly, and you cringe, the sound a dead giveaway of your poor eating habits. "Do you need a bit more time to think about it?" he asks, and you're nodding your head, despite the fact that he can't see you. Your focus is split, eyes darting around your place in search of Piper.

Piper was your five year old tabby, the most special companion that you'd cared for since she was a newborn. Usually she'd be making her way to your front door, nudging her head against your shins, meowing her head off as some form of reprimand for being gone too long. Her absence was unusual, but you'd noticed she'd been sleeping a touch longer in the recent months. You'd taken her to the vet and they'd written off any life threatening illnesses. Perhaps she was jus becoming a lazy cat they had said.

"What'd you eat yesterday?" you ask, and you shrug off your coat next, hanging it in the closet as you slip off your cork-leather clogs. You admire your pedicure, French-tips gleaming back at you as your feet hit the cherry laminate flooring. You imagined that he'd hardly been able to eat well while out on a case, Aaron (and his team) had a horrible habit of neglecting their own health and wellness for the sake of cracking the case. You'd call him out on it, but it'd feel to hypocritical with the way you gave most of your life to the hospital.

"Four cups of coffee." and he sounds sheepish as he replies, he'd been running himself ragged with this last particular case. He couldn't leave the precinct until he was convinced he'd made a dent in the investigation. He could imagine your disappointed pout, but he was doing his best, or at least trying his best. "But, Dave made sure that I got something this morning before we got on the jet." and it's not like he has to explain himself to you, you'd never berate him. He believed it was just a side effect of falling for you.

"Four cups?" you gasp, head already shaking. "You're going to turn into a cup of coffee if you keep up with habits like those." you scold. "You'll have to double your water intake, you could seriously dehydrate yourself that way." you say with a quiet huff. You round the corner of the foyer, heading for the kitchen. "Are you feeling alright?" your tone grows a bit softer, "Four cups means you were really absorbed in the case. Everything okay?" you tread lightly. You weren't quite sure how he felt about you asking about his job.

"As far as endings go, I'd say it was better than most." he replies thoughtfully, clearly unfazed by your desire to probe. That makes you smile a bit, the obviousness of his trust for you. "We minimized the amount of deaths, the unsub was taken into custody... the team worked really hard." he proceeds, and you find yourself grinning. "But, I will do a better job of taking care of myself. You'd be a good nurse, but I can imagine a few better scenarios for you to take care of me."

You smile despite the fact it makes your heart stutter step. You were still getting used to him growing more confident in this way, but you weren't complaining in the slightest. "I'd be a great nurse." you correct him delicately, "I'd enjoy taking care of you in any way though." and you bet he can hear your shyness through the phone. Your relationship with Aaron still felt fairly new, you'd been seeing one another for going on seven months, but you knew you loved him.

Even if you hadn't managed to say it just yet.

"Look at that, another thing we have in common." he exhales, and you want him to hurry up and get to you. You hadn't seen him in so long, and despite the fact you were willing to mount him on sight, you just wanted to enjoy being in the same place for once. "How are you? Did you have a good day?" and you like the way he's so attentive, how he seems to genuinely care about what you had to say.

"It was great." you insist, and you've poured yourself a glass of water, ice tinkling as you scanned the dining room for any sign of Piper. Still nothing, weird. "I went to the bookstore a bit earlier, got a few novels for my book shelf." you list. "I got my nails done, and I got a facial. It was so relaxing I wound up falling asleep on the table." and you chuckle a bit at the memory. "Piper and I went on a drive before lunch, she's so spoiled." you add, but you're still scouring the space.

"Drafted up my budget for the month, my new schedule came in," you exhale tiredly at the thought. "Picked up my scrubs from the dry cleaners, I did a grocery run, and went to see the flower exhibit near the Farmer's Market. I got this really incredible soft-pretzel croissant." you sigh dreamily at the memory. "And now I'm home, and waiting for you." you complete, and you lean forward, arms resting against the countertop. "It was a really nice day. I thought I wouldn't know what to do without work, but I'd nearly forgotten what it feels like to be off."

Aaron's silent, but not because he's disinterested in your ramblings. He finds them endearing, and oftentimes had to remind himself that you, much like Jack, needed verbal response in order to feel heard. "I missed you." and it's not quite what he was aiming to say, but it's what comes out. It's true, it had been a while since he'd seen you in person, and with the way your schedules overlapped, he'd hardly been able to get much conversation out of you apart from quick check-ins in between patients and breaks in BAU cases.

You let out a quiet puff of air, it's not quite a sigh nor an exhale. Your lips curve upwards, and you wonder if there's a record out there for most smiles achieved in a single phone call. "You've got no idea how happy that makes me." you reply, and you inhale deep. "I missed you too, hurry up and get over here." you press, and you replay the sound of his responding laugh over in your mind. You don't think you could be more lovesick, but it's a more than welcomed feeling. "As far as dinner, why don't I just cook something?" you offer with a shrug.

"Do you want to?" and Aaron's got this weird thing about him where he's still getting used to the fact that you want to do certain things for him. You go over it a lot, reminding him that you'd love nothing more than to spoil him as much as he spoils you. He's still a bit hesitant, but you don't mind fighting the good fight until he relented. His hands tighten just slightly on the steering wheel, and his leg jumps as he awaits your response. He knows, or better put, he has an idea of what you'll say. He still wants to hear it either way.

"We take care of each other, mon amour." You coo, and he feels that familiar rush of affection towards you. "It'll be fun." you add, and then you're sighing audibly. "I just really can't wait to see you. I don't want to wait any longer than I need to." you express, and Aaron understands. He'd been restless on the jet, Dave and Emily seemed to zero in on his jitters, he was thankful they had enough couth to keep it to themselves. All he received was a knowing smirk from Rossi as he made a beeline for the tarmac the second the jet landed.

"I'll be there soon." he promises, and you grow giddier. "I-" and he wants to cross the line, mutter three worded phrase that would change everything. He'd been learning to be more bold, to focus on the things he could control, and appreciate those things. "I love you." he doesn't have time to think about the repercussions, because it's out, and there's a strong sense of relief that washes over him. You are surprised, but elated. The excitement his words bring you is hard to diminish.

"I love you too." and it comes out as easy as breathing. Probably because you mean it with all of your heart. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Hotchner." you promise, and he's chuckling at your sudden formality, likely a side effect of your newfound nerves at the huge step you'd both taken in your relationship.

"See you soon." you don't bring the phone from your ear until you hear the faint click of the call ending. You exhale shakily, mind running at a mile a minute as your heart seems to double in size. Still, you find this moment is short lived- mind once again on the eerie silence in your apartment. You place your glass down on the counter, coaster be damned as you make your way past the dining room and towards the living room. Sometimes you'd find Piper curled up on the couch, quiet purrs escaping her as she slept contently.

"Piper!" you coo, surprised when you note that she's nowhere to be found. You know that she wasn't outside, you'd made sure before leaving back out that she was comfortable in the house. You follow the layout of your place, the archway that led from the living room back to the foyer is the route you take, heading towards your bedroom as you continuously call for the cat. "Piper, where are you, pretty girl?" you enter your room, hopeful that you'll find her there.

You spot her little paw peeking out of her hideaway and instantly relax. "Oh Piper, you scared me." you let out a shaky sort of giggle as you fully enter your bedroom, feet brushing over the comforting carpet. You kneel just in front of the hideaway, reaching out to pet her. It takes you a few moments to make peace with the fact that she's not rousing. You swallow thickly, a lump growing in your throat as you wiggle her paw. She doesn't move, just as limp as before.

"Piper?" you feel the way your throat constricts, eyes immediately wanting to brim with tears, as you grow frantic. "Oh, please no-" you exclaim, head shaking as you feel a shudder rack through you. You're gentle as you maneuver around the hideaway, hands looping around her small body as you move to pull her out. She's limp, not even the act of you lifting her up enough to make her move. Your glow feels like it's diminished almost instantly, a dark cloud setting in over your head. It seemed a bit silly, panicked over the loss of a cat.

But she was yours, like a daughter to you in the way you cared for her, and made her apart of your routine. She was special, and despite the reputation cats gained for being standoffish and unable to understand human love, you knew that to be wrong. Piper was sweet, a loving cat that curled up beside you every night and followed you like a second shadow. She'd play games of tag with you, chasing you around your apartment as you squealed and screamed for your life.

"Please, please, no-" you're shedding real tears now, they're slipping down your cheeks in a constant succession. "Piper, please wake up!" it's silly, probably. Rocking back and forth with a dead cat in your hand hoping that sheer adoration will be enough to turn back the hands of time. It's certainly not, and the reality crushes you. The first sob is choked, almost like you're holding yourself back, not letting your feelings take full affect. You hadn't prepared yourself at all.

You didn't know what to do.

You think that's when the first swell of sobs begins. They're more ugly wails than anything else, the loud sound echoing through the space in front of you as your arms lower, Piper's body leaning against you as you continued to let your tears flow freely. Your chest tightens, constricting every couple of seconds like you'd suddenly developed chronic heartburn. The pain is a violent assassin, the air around you feeling tight. You think you may be choking on all that you're feeling.

You hate the part of your brain that was constantly in 'Doctor Mode', the side that reminded you that despite your grief, handling a deceased animal like this was a surefire way to get sick. Her body wouldn't start to decompose for at least another day, but you had no real way of knowing just how long she'd actually been dead. You don't move though, until at least your sobs have waned, you know it's not the end of them, but it's a reprieve just for a moment.

You slowly climb to your feet, still clutching Piper as your eyes whip around your bedroom. Your eyes land on her carrier, and the image makes you want to cry all over again. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to take in a deep breath. It doesn't help. Still, your feet lead you over to the carrier, where you're gently placing Piper. Her vet was only eight minutes up the street, and maybe your ability to dispose of her so quickly was precisely why this was happening to you.

Guilt was loud, too loud. It almost knocked you to your knees as you imagined Piper's fear whilst you were gone. Was she sick? How long had she been? Why hadn't you noticed? Why did you leave her alone? Why weren't you there? You let her down. You had let her down.

You want to curl into a ball, hide under the blankets and cry until you passed out. But, she deserved better. She deserved to not be lugged around like she was some prop, she needed a proper place to rest. Once her carrier is zipped up, you're picking it up by the handles, using your other hand to swipe at the tears still trying to fall. You take the route you'd walked not ten minutes prior, slipping your shoes back on, and grabbing hold of your keys. Aaron still had another forty minutes or so in his drive, you hoped it went by quickly.

You don't think you ever needed him more than now.

────────────────────────

The sobs returned the second you'd walked past the threshold of your house. You sluggishly made your way back to your bedroom. It felt much lonelier now, the house feeling much too big for just you. You think that makes you cry even harder. You're covering your mouth with your hand, hoping that it would be enough to mask the sound of your bawling. You doubt that it does, but you can't do much else. You don't want to go to sleep, you don't want to do anything.

You begin berating your behavior once more in your head, replaying all the ways you'd been a shitty caretaker even though you know it's a bad idea. Your leg shakes under your comforter, the blanket squished underneath your body as you hid your face beneath the blazing heat of your huge blanket. You don't even realize how long you've spent in this space of self-loathing and bitter tears, until you hear the front door's lock shifting out of place. Aaron was here.

"Y/N, sweetheart?" and you want to run to him more than anything. You can't though, because you don't want him to think you're a failure. So you stay put, and you cry a bit more, sniffles growing more audible as you're forced to choke back angry sobs. It doesn't take long for him to make his way towards where you are, and you don't know what he'll say when he finds you looking a mess. You know your mascara has given you racoon eyes, and in your grief, you'd failed to tie a scarf around your head. Your braids would look messy soon.

"Y/N?" and his voice is so soft, soothing, everything you don't deserve now. Your hand clutches a fistful of your shirt, right where your heart rests. "Are you in here, honey?" and you sniffle, an answer all on its own. You barely hear his footsteps, but you feel it when the bed dips just slightly, and you feel it when he gently pulls at your blanket. When he's pulled it back, he's met with the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks. Your nose was runny and raw, and your lip was quivering. It didn't take a profiler to know that you'd been crying, and he frowns.

"Are you alright?" he questions, and his hand reaches out to brush against your cheek and neck, almost like he was checking your temperature. "You've been crying?" and he examines you subtly for any signs of assault or struggle. "Did something happen?" and he knows he keeps asking questions, but he's getting worried.

"P-" and a sob racks through you, your entire body curling in on itself. Your hand is pressing against your mouth again, and your shoulders shake as you began to cry once more. "Piper she-" and your head shakes, hand clenching and unclenching against your shirt. Aaron's eyes dance around your room, and his eyebrows push inwards. He was worried, but determined to be extremely delicate with you, namely by being patient as you got out what you needed to tell him. "Piper's dead." you finally say, shoulders sagging as you weep.

Aaron's examining your face, which gives you a front row seat of the way his face is eclipsed with compassion. "Oh, honey..." his lips pull downwards into a frown, and you know, of course you know it's awkward. What do you realistically say to a person that loses their cat? It's not like any amount of conversation would bring her back. "I'm so sorry...." and usually it sounds empty when anyone offers condolences, but like with most things, Aaron is an exception. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?" he pleads.

And you know that he knows that you're not okay. It's meant to be a stupid question, the obvious one. But you also know that he's giving you the chance to vent, to articulate everything you feel with no judgement. It makes you want to curl into him, and stay wrapped up in his arms until neither of you had any idea where one ended and the other began. "I just-" you have to take a moment to gather yourself, hiccupping blubbers escaping you. "I came home, and I-" your voice cracks harshly. "She was just gone. I don't-" you shake your head.

"I don't know what happened." you express, and Aaron's sympathetic, and he hates seeing you like this. Every time you cry it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. He supposed that came with loving you, an innate desire to protect you, and keep the bad things out. He'd only ever seen you in this state a handful of times, mostly when things went wrong at the hospital and you lost a patient. He had to get to you before you started blaming yourself for something that completely out of your control.

He didn't know much, but he did know your love for Piper, and how deep it ran. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that you'd never do something to put her in harm's way, you'd never do anything to hurt her. And he wants to pull you into his arms and tell you everything will be alright, he wants to be there to anchor you down. To ground you in the midst of all these swimming and overwhelming emotions trying to fight for the upper hand. He wanted to be there for you.

"Is there anything that you need from me?" he asks gently, grief was harsh, it came in ripples and waves. It was gut-punching, it could be loud and then silent. Sneaky and then outright. It was a process, and whether anyone else thought so, if you needed to grieve the life of your pet, you should. Who was he to ever get in the way? He's gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek, your tears splattering as you kept the duvet pulled up to your chin, as you stared him down. He figured you must have been deep in thought.

It takes a moment for you to reply, and he's fine with the silence. You're tears haven't stopped, but they've grown more quiet. Silent tears that pool and trickle down his wrist and onto the blanket. You soon take in a shaky puff of air as you sit up. Aaron's patient as ever, watching as you pull your legs from underneath the blanket, crawling until you were sitting on his lap. There's no sexual undertone to your movements, you don't want to fool around, you just want to be close.

Your head rests against him, eyes closing as his arms envelop you. "Can you just stay with me?" you ask, and he's already nodding his head. You both knew it was an impossible request. At any moment you could get paged, or he could get a call about a new case. The world didn't stop all because you were grieving, but for one second you both could pretend. He could stay right here with you, and you could love him, and not feel so overwhelmed by all your sadness.

"I'm not going anywhere." he mutters, and he's reaching for your hand. His easily dwarfs your own, but it's still just as comfortable, letting your palms press against his own. "I have never lost a cat before-" and he's treading lightly, wanting more than anything to help you and not harm you. "But I did lose a pet when I was younger." he expresses, and your interest is peaked, just slightly.

"What type of pet?" you ask faintly, and you're squeezing his hand in your own. He knows that it's comforting you so he says nothing about the tight pinch of his fingers pressing together.

"He was a golden retriever actually." Aaron replies, "Nothing was particularly wrong with him. He was fed well, taken care of, treated like one of the family..." he proceeds, and you involuntarily hold your breath as you listen. "But one day he just... he just went." Hotch proceeds, "And when you're a little kid that's not in the best environment, a staple like a pet dog is important. Losing him was like losing the only bit of sanity I could cling to. Does that make sense?"

Your head nods, and you squeeze his hand again to show him you care. "And surprisingly enough, I found myself crying over it. Mourning this dog, an animal that was part of the family, but of course, was not my family member." he continues, and his chin rests on the top of your head. "The point is, him being a dog didn't make it hurt any less when he left. It's okay to be upset about Piper, she was important to you, special even." he whispers. "And you did a great job giving her all the love you possibly could." his eyes close then.

"I need you to know that it wasn't your fault. And keeping yourself up with thoughts of 'what ifs'." it's his turn to squeeze your hand this time. "And those moments where you... didn't want to play, or wanted to be left alone are not what she remembered when she passed on." he insists, and he won't take any arguments on the matter. "You gave her five amazing years, and whether science backs it up or not, she knew how much you loved her." he insists. "You might not believe it today, but I hope that you do in time." and he kisses your forehead.

It's butterfly inducing, and makes you cling all the more to him. "You're not by yourself." he adds, and you're glad to know it. You peel back, eyes locking with his, and they're glassy. You hate seeing such a grief-stricken look on his face, at your sake no less. It makes you lean forward and kiss him, in the hopes you'd manage to kiss it away. He kisses back instantly, and you're still sad, you probably will be for a long while, but you don't feel as lonely as you did an hour ago.

"I love you." you mumble the second you've pulled back, and this time there's no phone. His eyes are swirling with so many thoughts and feelings of his own, but you need him to know you mean it, and likely always will. You couldn't imagine anyone else being here with you like this now, nobody else that would care enough to grieve with you. He gives you a half smile, and kisses you once more, a much deeper kiss that makes you lightheaded and dizzy. Of course he had that effect.

"I love you too." and you're happy that he hasn't left you hanging. Your fingers trace his collarbones and cheeks, moving to cup his face with your right hand. You kiss him again, this time just long enough to get the message across. When you pull back, your head is finding it's place back on his chest, and his arms move up and down, rubbing gentle circles against your back, as he cranes his neck to kiss your head. It makes your stomach flutter, but it makes you want to cry too.

He leaves three gentle pecks on the top of your head, moving to kiss your cheek, before he's looping his arms around your waist with a palpable amount of admiration. He plants a sweet kiss on your shoulder, and mimic this action by offering him a kiss of your own. "Thank you." you exhale, and you mean it so wholeheartedly.

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. We take care of each other, mon amour, remember?" and he recites your earlier words back to you. It makes you cling to him much tighter, tears returning to your lashline as Aaron pulls you even closer to him. "If you need to cry a little bit more, go right ahead. I'm right here." so you do.

Grief was a lot, it could be paralyzing, debilitating, and outright traumatic, but you knew even if it didn't feel that way now, in time you'd be okay. Part of you felt like you had Aaron to thank for that.

[babygorewhore]

You’re everything.

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Eddie Munson comes home and sees the bedroom destroyed. Your mental health has taken a toll and you feel worthless. But he’s always there to remind you how much he loves you and how he’s always willing to help you pick up the pieces.

Warnings! Hurt comfort. Mental illness. I wrote this with the reader having BPD and autism. This is based on my experience. I haven’t seen much on those two issues. Feelings of worthlessness. Mild self harm. Anger episode. Anxiety. I hope this comforts you because you’re worthy of love and Eddie would love you no matter what. Also the photo used is just for aesthetic. Not proofread.

Thank you to my friends, Dolly, Mae and Em for helping me with this. I love you girls.

Eddie pushed open the apartment door, with his hip, a few grocery bags lined down his arm because he refused to make two trips. “Hey, sweetheart, I’m back!” He shut the door with his foot, did a quick unfocused glance around the living room.

“Fuck, the store was packed! I think you would have stayed in the car, baby.” He set down the bags and started putting away the cold items. Eddie yawned afterwards, closing the refrigerator and stretched. His black, stolen back sweatshirt rising above his stomach.

It dawned on him that you haven’t responded at all. “Baby?” He called again. No answer. He frowned and approached the bedroom door and he gasped when he saw the scene.

The bed was torn apart. Blankets thrown off and the pillows dented. Eddie went to take a step before he looked on the ground. Stim toys were all over the floor. Stuffed animals and even clothes. A few shirts were ripped. He didn’t see you. “Princess, what’s going-“

A hole was in the wall next to the closet. A small one but it went deep in the plaster. Eddie moved quickly. Surveying the damage, he saw a bloody imprint. Knuckles. Eddie sighed. You were having an episode. He should have known. You didn’t answer his texts. You hated phone calls. This wasn’t the first time this happened. Eddie on a number of times had to sit by your side during dark hours.

But he loved you. You were beautiful. His everything. It wasn’t one sided. If anything, you gave too much to him. You were always supporting him. Even when he was unbearable. You stood by him. He would do whatever you needed. He needed you. He wanted you. Eddie knew immediately where you were then.

He gently opened the closet door and he saw you. You were wearing a large t shirt, it went past your thighs and loose plaid pajama pants.

Over ear headphones on, your phone face down on the floor and you were stimming. Rocking back and forth. You were panting, your face flushed and he could see your eyes squeezed shut. Eddie saw your right hand. Your knuckles were bloody and bruised.

He didn’t want to startle you so Eddie opened the door further, enough for you to hear it over music.

Eddie’s heart ached when you turned to look at him. Your eyes were blood shot. Your lips bleeding from what he knew, you bit them or picking at them. Your nails had blood underneath them from biting the nail. You were a wreck. But you were his special girl.

“Hey…” He said, swallowing. “Baby, I-what happened?”

You tried to stand but ended up sprawled on the ground. He went to help you but you jerked away, pulling yourself up.

“I’m so fucking mad right now.” You were almost yelling. But you sounded out of breath. “I-I took my meds but I’m still like this. My heart hurts, I just feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. Everything is too loud!” You weren’t crying but you were growing hysterical. You started pacing.

“Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal? Why do I get so upset over the smallest things?” Eddie was standing close but he didn’t reach yet. You were tugging at your shirt. He knew you were getting hot.

“I can’t deal with this. I can’t feel this way! Im so sick of feeling like I’m useless because I can’t even talk on the phone to my boyfriend because I hate how it makes me feel! You shouldn’t have to deal with me.”

“Sweetheart, will you just come here for a second?” Eddie tried to prompt.

“No!” You stopped moving and placed your hands on your chest. “Eddie. I don’t want you to see me like this. Again. Maybe you should leave. I don’t want to keep freaking you out.”

Eddie moved then. And he gently grasped your elbows and looked down. Eye contact was difficult for you and he never wanted to force it. But he tilted your chin, happy if you just looked at his forehead. “Princess. I’m not leaving you. I would never.” He leaned forward, rubbing his nose against yours. “I’m just happy you didn’t break your hand.” He pulled away, glad you weren’t moving away. “You’re burning up. Let’s get to the couch, it’s too warm in here.”

Eddie wrapped his arm around your waist, helping you walk around the mess and he sat you down on the couch. “I’ll be right back, babe.” You grabbed his hand. “I promise.” He smiled at you. You slowly let go.

He tried not to show his panic as he looked for the first aid kit. Eddie came back to the living room, kneeling in front of you. “Let me see that hand.” He asked, pulling it towards him. It was shaking. He was careful, dabbing it with saline and you winced. “I’m sorry, baby.” Eddie went through the motions, remembering how to wrap an injured hand from his own share of punching walls.

After the bandage was around your hand, he pressed a kiss on top. He maneuvered his way up and sat beside you. Eddie held your leg that was bouncing. “Babe…I know for a while things have been really hard for you. And seeing all that today, I see you’re in a lot of pain. And I just want to help you. I love you so much. You know that right?” You covered your face with your hands.

“Eddie, you shouldn’t. I feel like I don’t have enough good days. I’m so tired of always telling you how bad my day was, or that I want to have a meltdown about fucking textures or sounds. I just wish I could be normal for you.” Eddie shook his head, taking your hands down.

“Hey. Hey. I would never trade you for anything. I would never want anyone other than you. The only thing I wish I could change, is how you feel about yourself. Baby, you are so much more than what you struggle with. You’re kind, funny, like so funny I almost snort and I can’t even breathe. You understand me, you are so caring and you let me be annoying when I smoke too much weed. I could go on for days.” You lifted your head. And looked at him. And held eye contact.

“You’re more than bad days, baby. I love you so much. And I know you were listening to our song, right? The one I told you to play when things get bad?” You nodded. Smiling a little. Eddie feigned shock.

“Is that-is that a smile? That’s my girl.” It widened and he grinned, cupping your cheeks.

“Come on. Sing one line with me. And then, I’m gonna go pick up the bedroom. I’m going to make you something to eat and then we’re going to watch your favorite movies.”

“Do I have to sing?” You complained.

“Sorry, baby. Those are the rules.” Eddie winked, still holding tight to your face.

“And I don’t want the world to see me, cuz I don’t think that they’d understand.” Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. Gently because of the picked apart flesh.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and squeezed tightly. Eddie followed suit and hugged you around the waist.

“I love you so much, Eddie.”

Eddie breathed you in. It wouldn’t fix what you felt. But you wouldn’t have to battle anything alone.

Tagging. @xxhellfirebunnyxx @reidsbtch @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @monstxrteeth @battymunson @scene-and-dandylover @lithium80sblog @elaine-in-the-membrane

[rafesbunny]

daddy’s money- r.c 🎀

where r feels bad for always using rafes money so attempts to get a job herself

you instantly regretted this, from the moment you put the greasy apron on and tied your hair in a tight ponytail which was sure to leave a dent in your pretty hair when you take it out. but you felt so bad for always using rafes money. if you even glanced at a new bag in a shops window when passing by you could guarantee it would arriving at your house not even a week later. you had sent in your cv to many cafes and little boutiques in kildare, thinking it would be easy money to help support your lavish lifestyle. you have never worked before always using daddy’s money and daddy’s money and nothing could have prepared you for the hell that is the working world.

you got called in to do a trial shift for a little family owned cafe in the town, and you were giddy walking there. rafe would have driven you but you couldn’t tell him what you were doing, he would never have let you go if he knew what you were doing. you would never have heard the end of it, he would’ve asked are you not grateful for all the hard work he does? and how he does all this for you not to work and how you’re practically disrespecting him by doing this. and you are grateful for him but every night before bed when your brain is filled with a million thoughts, you are engulfed by the guilt of always asking for more money from rafe.

as you arrived the boss instantly shoved a dirty apron in your hands, demanding you tie your hair up and that for next shift your freshly done nails need to be gone, and how this wasn’t a fashion show but a business. tears threatened to spill from your eyes, no one had ever dared to speak to you like this, being the kildare princess after all, but you sucked it up reminding yourself on why you are here.

after a few hours, the trial shift was coming to an end and you couldn’t wait to get home, deciding half an hour into your shift that you would never work a single a second ever again, and that you don’t mind living off rafes money now. not hanging around for a second extra than needed, you ripped off the apron and stormed out of the door, speed walking back to tannyhill as tears clouded your vision. all you wanted to do was take off the uncomfortably tight jeans they had you wear and shower off the greasy smell that lingered on your clothes.

tripping over your own feet, you let yourself through the tannyhill doors. a heavy sob escaped your lips which grabbed rafes attention who was sitting at the kitchen island with topper and kelce. “everything all good, kid?” he asked turning his direction to you, eyebrows furrowed. “jus’ wanna be alone!” you screamed back, storming up the stairs to rafes room. you slam the door behind you and collapse onto the bed, tears and mascara staining rafes fresh bedsheets.

downstairs topper asked rafe “yo, your girl good?” “yeah might wanna go check on her dude” kelce inputed. rafe hated when other people got involved with your relationship, so with a sigh and running his hand down his face, rafe got up and made his way to upstairs to you. making his way into his room he saw you curled into a ball on his bed. “what’s happened bun?” but all he got back was a pillow thrown at him and an annoyed grumble. “hey, hey. none of that. tell me what’s wrong” he demanded sternly. he sat down on the bed next to you, leaning up against the head board with welcoming arms encouraging you to come to him. as you snuggled into his side, him wrapping a firm grip around your waist keeping you close, you admitted through sniffles “just feel so bad for always using your money. thought i’d… get a job to pay for my clothes and nails and stuff but they were so mean and made me wear these f - fugly jeans and - and told me i had take my nails off. i’m so sorry rafe!” you cried out the last bit, hiding your face into his chest.

rafe hates seeing his girl getting upset over something he could have so easily prevented, especially when it came to money. “hey kid look at me now” he grabbed your jaw forcing you to look at him through your doe eyes, “never want you to feel like you can’t come to me for money. i do all of this just for you, baby. wanna spoil you, you deserve it pretty girl. trust me, i want you to use my money - daddy’s money.” a slight smile crept onto your face, knowing as long as rafe was around that was all you needed.

[vinomino]

Soft gone wrong

Featuring: Togame.J x f!reader

Contents: NSFW MDNI, pwp, light biting, breathe play(?), unprotected sex, creampie

Based on this

For Hana! @mydream-synopsis

After spending the whole morning running errands and grocery shopping, you were exhausted. Only bothering to take off your shoes by kicking them off, you make a bee-line towards the couch and throw yourself down on it. “Tired?” Togame chuckles as he watches you. He locks the front door and joins you on the couch, scooching in and pulling you towards his sturdy frame. You let out a little hum and turn over to shove your face into his chest. Taking a deep breath in, breathing in his scent, it further quiets the noise in your head. Togame slips a hand under your sweater and runs it along the skin of your back. At first, it causes goosebumps to form, but you relax into it. 

It’s silent. The only thing that can be heard is the light humming of the fridge and the sound of Togame breathing against your ear. Your eyes flutter closed as you snuggle up to him ready to fall asleep. His warm hand furthers the heat in you. Everything about him is slow, but also calming. However, just when you start drifting away, you feel the support of your bra immediately dissipate and you spring up. He was rubbing shapes against your back and arrived at the clasp of your bra. With a simple deft movement, Togame unclapsed it. The corner of his mouth curls up. You squint your eyes, scrutinizing him with your gaze. 

“Seriously…” 

“Hmm? What’s wrong darlin’?” 

“You have some sort of fixation with my bra.” You lightly laugh and jab at his chest with your index finger. 

Togame wraps his hand around your wrist and brings it to his lips, a smirk etched on his face. “Just wanted to help you relax.” He says it annoyingly slowly. When you go to pull your hand away, he sinks his teeth into the supple flesh, lightly, only enough to leave dents along it. Saliva pools in your mouth and you quickly swallow it down, and his dark green eyes never leave yours. Snatching your arm away, you shuffle off the couch, slightly shivering at the loss of his heat. Togame turns his head, “Where’re you goin’?” 

“To sleep.” You yawn, heading into the bedroom. Shedding your clothes to change into something more comfortable, you don’t have to bother taking off your bra thanks to a certain someone. Togame stands in the doorway, stretching his arms above him to rest his hands against the top of the doorframe. Stretching his long limbs out. “You’re such a pervert.” You laugh at the way he unashamedly stares at you changing, raking his eyes over your every curve and dip. “What can I say? Wouldn’t ever want to miss such a pretty sight.” He grins, showing off his pearly whites.

You bend over to reach and pull the blanket back to slip into bed, but in a second he’s behind you, bending down as well, covering the entirety of your back with his chest. Togame loops an arm right below your breasts, pressing you up against him. You drag your nails over his arm, making him let out a low hiss. “I know a way that can help you sleep better.” He drawls in a low tone against your ear. You’re almost sure he has been thinking about this the whole day. 

“Jo, you’re insatiable, you know that?” 

“Always when it’s you, darlin’... Don’t worry, I’m gonna take real good care of you.” 

There was no point in changing into something more comfortable since he pulled them off you in seconds. Sex with Togame was slow but in the right way. A way that made you want more, a way that made your brain go all fuzzy, a way that made you relish every moment. Your lips don’t leave his until you have to part to be able to breathe again. He only waits for a couple of breaths before he’s surging his tongue back into your mouth. You can feel a mix of saliva dripping down your chin, it’s messy and he wants to make more of a mess. Your panties dangle on an ankle as he plunges into you, making you gasp out and throw your head back. “Shit..s’good, always s’good.” He murmurs as he bottomed out. Togame’s mouth is on you again. If he had a fixation on undoing your bra, he had an even bigger one on kissing you. Dragging your nails over the muscles of his back spurs him on even more, swallowing up every squeak and whine you make as he rolls his hips against yours. 

The lack of air accompanied by the tip of his cock tapping against your cervix made your brain all mushy. You have to push him back with your hands against his chest to fill your lungs up with oxygen. Gasping out his name, you blink away the tears that clouded your vision out. With your mouth finally free, moans tumble out, bouncing off the walls. Togame lets out a string of curses and straights up his back. He grabs both your arms as leverage to pull you back into him. You see a sly grin on his face before your eyes immediately roll back into your skull. The force of his thrusts makes your tits bounce. He speaks in a rough tone. “You drive me crazy.” Thrust. “You’re so beautiful.” Thrust. “S’tight– s’perfect.” Thrust. “Fuck baby– I can’t get enough.” Thrust. The soft and sweet words coming out of his mouth are a direct opposite of the way he’s ravaging you with his body. Skin slapping against skin drowns out your hearing. 

The pressure inside you continues to build up to the very tip of the peak. “Jo– M’cum–cumming!” You kick your legs, digging your heels into his lower back. Wanting more, wanting the final push. Togame takes it as his cue to fuck you even harder. He was close too, so close. The feel of your body against him, the sounds you’re making, the sensation of being inside you was driving him to his brink. But he wants– needs you to let go first, he lets go of one of your arms to thumbs at your clit. Rubbing against it side to side, deliberately and rhythmically. “Come for me.” A hoarse command. It sends you spiraling off the cliff, your body spasming as you cum around him. A drawn-out moan ripples out his own throat as he spills himself inside you. Pairing your walls with his cum. Making a mess inside your cunt, the mess he was aiming for. 

Still inside you, he lowers himself down on top of you. Propped up on his elbows to avoid crushing you. The sweat droplets on his skin mingle with your own. You twitch underneath him, still coming down from your high. Togame wasn’t far off from you, his own body quivering and breath coming out in ragged gasps. Resting his forehead against yours, emerald eyes looking deep into yours, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again. Tonguing each other with the same fervor at the start. 

[yusalterego]

Everything

pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader

genre: angst

word count: 1053

warnings: infedelity, heavy angst, slight violence

enjoy ;)

———

echo.

his voice echoes inside my mind.

the words jump from one side of my head to the other, relentlessly, creating a sequence that seems never ending.

i stare at him, expression cold, focus lost.

i think there's tears coming out of my eyes, but the emptiness inside my body is the only thing i can feel right now.

my throat is dry, my skin feels like it has just been stung by a million needles.

"i slept with her"

my eyelids close, and they open again.

"i slept with her"

my heart beats loudly against my ribcage, giving its own timing to the words still echoing, stuck in a never ending loop.

"i slept with her"

the sudden image of him over a faceless someone, someone that is not me, crosses my mind, snapping me out of my daze. i finally feel the wetness on my cheeks. my eyes are too blurry to see his face properly, my nails digging into my palms are making dents on the skin.

"please..say something" he whispers. his voice sounds broken, and for a moment i wonder how he has the audacity to sound like he's the one hurting, when i feel like my heart has been just brutally torn out of my chest, thrown to the ground and stomped on by the man i've given my life to.

my whole life.

i shake my head, eyes going to the ground, not even able to look at the outline of his blurry form. my hands come up to my eyelids, drying the tears with my palms as a small kid would do.

i look so small in his eyes right now.

smaller than i've ever looked.

i've shrinked into myself, limbs locking in a defensive way, as if i'm scared of him.

he feels like crying.

"please.." he tries again, one leg moving to make a step towards me, but i stumble back immediately, wanting to put as much distance as possible between us.

between me and him.

there's no us anymore.

"this is.." i dry more tears from my eyes, hand rubbing furiously. i let out an incredolous laugh, feeling like i might go manic any moment.

"we are done" i say, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

he mutters a small desperate no, voice broken from the sobs coming up his throat, as he tries to take a few steps forward again.

he reaches my smaller body, hands instinctively going to my face and rising it up, but i don't give him a second more to touch me, my palm raising on its own accord and coming in contact with his cheek.

he almost stumbles back, skin stinging from the impact, hands letting go of my face to go to his red cheek.

"don't touch me" i bite out, not feeling an ounce of remorse for what i've just done.

he appears distraught, eyes wide and glossy as he looks at me.

his frail butterly, the love of his life, the woman he wants to marry.

he sees the resolution in my eyes, and realizes there's no way to rewind this and make it better. there's no trying again.

i don't insult him, i don't scream. i don't fight with him.

he lost me. he lost the fight i was willing to put up for him. he lost the trust i had given him.

he lost his everything, only because he was searching for something different. for something more.

and he now realizes there's nothing more than what i am. nothing more than the way i smiled at him. nothing more than the way my eyes looked when the sun was setting. nothing more than the sounds i made as we made love to eachother.

there is nothing more than me.

he realizes this as he looks at me turning around, not saying anything to him, not even sparing him one last glance.

i turn around and walk slow steps to the door.

time seems to have stopped for him. he wants to run, get ahold of my arm and hold me close. tell me we can be everything one more time, tell me we can try, tell me he won't hurt me anymore ever again.

he doesn't. his legs are locked in place, mind going haywire as silence fills the room.

i don't slam the door when i make my way out, i don't sob out desperately. silence is the only thing that follows me, filling the space where i was once standing.

it seems like i never was there to begin with.

yunho feels his legs give out, knees hitting the ground with a painful impact, but he doesn't perceive it.

he only feels his lungs constricted inside his chest, sobs forcing their way out, throat burning from exertion.

he cries for hours there, on the pavement of our once shared living room.

when he finally manages to calm down, he picks up his phone, and scrambles to search for my contact, feeling panic and realization suddenly hitting him again.

"hi, you've reached y/n. thanks for calling. i can't answer your call at the moment, however if you leave your name, number and message, i'll get back to you as soon I can"

he feels his jaw clench, disappointment filling his heart. he stares at the phone before clicking on my contact again.

"hi, you've reached y/n. thanks for calling. i can't answer your call at the moment, however if you leave your name, number and message-" he cuts the line before it gets too painful.

he tries again anyways.

"hi, you've reached y/n. thanks for calling. i can't answer your call at the moment-"

and again.

"hi, you've reached y/n. thanks for calling-"

he throws the phone to the wall, an animalistic sound escaping his mouth as he uses all his strength.

a crack resounds in the air, a visible dent formed on the wall, phone lying dead on the ground.

he stares at it.

tears don't come this time.

they never do again.

it's all his fault.

his trembling hands would be no use to fix his broken heart. there's no glue strong enough to put it back into place the way it was.

no time machine to bring back the time in which he once had everything.

[herrinarte]

Returning To The Roots

A Tamlin x Lucien Fanfic

A hint of lavender wafted through the first subtle spring breeze Lucien had felt against his skin in years. He’d missed this, the clean air, the honey coloured sunshine, the smell of fresh life bursting from the ground in the form of flower buds and fresh fruit.

Velaris was the city of stars, and yet, the stars couldn’t detract from all that darkness. Never had it made him feel like this, like he was home.

Admittedly, home looked a lot more empty than he remembered. Lucien walked through the castle gardens without passing a single soul. Weeds had invaded and settled their roots everywhere, and all the other plants had gone wild in his absence, growing in angry tangles and clawing at the stone walls like caged animals.

Dread crept in as Lucien clutched his frantic heart. Tamlin had always maintained his garden meticulously, whether it meant hiring more help or getting down in the dirt on his knees wielding a spade. He’d never let it get like this. Never. Lucien couldn’t even begin to count how many days he had sat and watched Tamlin toil in the mud with a glass of something bubbly in his hands, mocking the high lord for doing servant’s work. At least he claimed it was for the sake of mockery. Truthfully, he enjoyed watching him. If he closed his eyes he could see Tamlin crouched, his soft mouth upturned ever so slightly as he pruned a rose bush. His nectar blonde hair falling from his forehead into the path of his eyes. His thorn pricked fingers would brush back the strands, a wave of want would flush away Lucien’s every other thought. The urge to kiss his work worn hands was unmatched. Back then he would force his drink back, hide his warming cheeks with an errant move of his hand. He’d never meant to feel this way about anyone other than his lost love Jesminda, and yet… the feeling lingered. Even now, as he raced up the stairs to Tamlin’s chambers, after everything he still wanted to hold those calloused fingers in his own. For his lips to brush away the bruises, for his teeth to pluck the thorns out.

“Tamlin!” He called out, the door denting the wall as he flung it open. “Tamlin, are you here?”

The room was like a jungle. Vines slithered up the walls and danced around the bedposts. All the furniture looked like a bear had used it as a chew toy, bitten down and clawed at. The curtains were torn, the windows cast a stream of sunlight onto a lump of blankets on the bed. No, not a lump of blankets. Tamlin.

Lucien approached him with caution. For a while he could have sworn he forgot to breathe, then the blankets shivered. Plucking up the courage, he pulled back the blankets. He could have wept at the sight.

Tamlin’s beautiful hair cascaded down his back and chest, it had become overgrown and knotted. His eyes were darkly lined, the bags so prominent it looked like he had been punched. His usually plush mouth was cracked and dry, his nails bitten down to the quick. Lucien would have thought him a dead male if it weren’t for the subtle rise of his chest.

“Tamlin?” Lucien chanced a touch, though could only bring himself to grasp at a ribbon of Tamlin’s hair, left unwashed for weeks, he would guess.

His eyes flickered open. Just the flutter of his eyelashes was enough to make Lucien’s pulse race.

Tamlin grumbled and rolled over, curling into a ball. “Another dream,” he mumbled to himself. “Why can’t empty sleep find me.”

Lucien could only chuckle at that. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sunk in so much he thought he might fall straight through, he’d make Tamlin buy a new one. “I’m glad you see my face in your dreams, but I assure you this is not one.”

“Liar,” Tamlin snarled weakly, the beast had left him, he sounded more like a puppy playing at being a wolf. “Lucien is happy and far, far away from here. As he should.”

“I don’t know what to say to convince you, but take my word.” Lucien grabbed Tamlin’s shoulders and made him roll over so they were face to face. Tamlin’s eyes widened in disbelief, making Lucien grin. He’d missed that face. “I’m as real as they get.”

His smile dropped when Tamlin’s hand found his cheek. His shaking fingers stroking the river lines of Lucien’s scared skin.

“You came back.” His every word was taught with disbelief. Lucien felt his heart ache. Was it really so unbelievable that he’d return? Surely, despite it all, Tamlin must have known that Lucien could never truly close the door on their friendship. Tamlin could act as beastly as he liked but Lucien would always leave a crack in the door.

“Of course I did.” Lucien coiled a strand of Tamlin’s hair around his finger and tugged. Tamlin didn’t even flinch. “Someone has to tame this mane of yours. A beast, indeed. You know you can cut it yourself without my help.”

“I didn’t see any reason to maintain my appearance. I’m sure you noticed how empty it is here.” He let the silence hang as if to prove his point. Nothing filled it but a distant bird song. It had always been peaceful here, but never silent like this. “Besides, even if I still had people to impress, I’d struggle to find the will power to even brush my hair. Laugh if you want, but I see no reason to do anything these days. Just moving to get food is a thing to be dreaded.”

Lucien did not laugh. There wasn’t anything funny about his friend’s sorry state. He noted Tamlin’s usually toned arms had become willowy, his skin even paler than snow. He’d be surprised if Tamlin had even eaten in days, let alone been outside his chambers. Guilt loomed over Lucien’s shoulders. How could he let his High Lord succumb to the monster that was depression?

“Sit up.” Lucien commanded, steeling himself for the challenge. It could take years to get Tamlin back to some kind of normalcy, but he’d do it. He’d do whatever it took to see Tamlin in the garden again.

Tamlin looked lazily at him. It took Lucien sternly crossing his arms for him to ruefully sit up, the sheets draped over his lap so he wasn’t completely exposed.

Lucien walked to Tamlin’s chest of drawers and rifled around for scissors and a comb. When he found them he returned to Tamlin’s bedside to attack the bush.

“So when did you last wash it?” Lucien asked, as he began gingerly trying to comb through a tangle that looked suspiciously like a bird’s nest. “Be honest.”

Tamlin’s head bobbed as Lucien tugged through his hair. No matter how gentle Lucien tried to be, it must hurt, and yet Tamlin didn’t once complain. “I…” he scrunched his face, before letting out a heavy hearted sigh. “I can’t remember. Maybe two weeks ago, maybe… it could be longer. The days all look so similar I can’t tell the difference anymore. Time is hard to grasp right now.”

Lucien grumbled at the knotted hair. “I’m going to have to cut it. Shoulder length, I think. Then we’ll wash it. I can braid it too if you like?” Tamlin used to like it when he did that, Lucien hoped he still did because he had always loved doing it.

When Tamlin didn’t reply, Lucien added cautiously, “Do you think you can wash it yourself?”

Tamlin shrugged, an uncertain look on his face. “I suppose. I’ll pour a bath in a bit.”

Lucien began chopping away at Tamlin’s hair. It was a shame for all of it to go to waste, if Tamlin had taken care of it he’d look quite majestic with such a long mane of golden hair. Lucien shook away the thought. Now wasn’t the time for fantasy. “I think I’ll sort that bath out. Not that I think you’re incompetent, but I have a feeling that if I leave things to you this hair of yours will still be smelling next week.”

He stepped back to admire his work. Tamlin rubbed his shoulder, the weight of his hair missing.

“How does it look?” Tamlin asked shyly.

“I thought you didn’t care how you looked?” Lucien said, busying himself with tidying up all the hair on the floor. The task helped to stop him from staring. Even like this, his gaze was still drawn to Tamlin. He wanted to smooth out the worried lines of his forehead, he wanted to take care of him, as silly as that sounded.

“I’ve got someone to impress now.” His voice was no more than a whisper. “That is, if you’re going to stay? I’d understand if you don’t want to, you have people to go back to in the Night Court.”

“No, I don’t.” Lucien didn’t explain further. He smiled, uncertainly, “I’ll got sort out that bath for you.”

. . .

The bathroom air was thick with steam when Tamlin finally wandered in like a ghost.

“Your bath awaits you my lord.” Lucien chuckled playfully as he bowed beside the tub.

Tamlin walked closer and waded his hand through the water, catching some tickled pink petals.

“A bit much, don’t you think?” The smallest of smiles crept onto his lips. The small action was enough to make Lucien’s skin prickle with goosebumps.

“A bit much?” Lucien scoffed. “You are a High Lord, a little flourish should be added to every mundane task.”

Tamlin raised a dubious brow but settled into the tub nonetheless. “I don’t feel like much of a High Lord.”

“You will when I’m done with you.” Lucien assured, his eager fingers plunging into Tamlin’s wet hair to massage in scented oils. “You will.”

Tamlin eased back into Lucien’s touch, his eyes falling sleepily shut. “Elain will surely miss you if you are to stay.”

Lucien had to stop himself from flinching at the name of his supposed mate. “She’ll be fine. We don’t speak much anyway. We just don’t— I think the Cauldron was wrong, if that’s possible.”

Tamlin thoughtful bit his lip. “Perhaps. Don’t ask me about romance and fate. There was a time that I thought Feyre might be my—“ his words came out thickly. “Obviously I was wrong.”

Lucien remembered the way Tamlin had looked at Feyre back then. How his bottle green eyes lit up every time she entered the room with a grim face. How he’d told Tamlin how pleased he was that she seemed like a promising contender to break the curse. How he’d lied. Lied because a small part of him wished Tamlin might have at least tried to break the curse with him, even if it was a useless endeavour. He knew he didn’t meet the criteria. But how could he have confessed this to his friend when he had never seemed so happy? He had no choice but to let the jealousy fester, to be as civil as he could muster, for Tamlin. “I thought so too. We were both wrong.”

Tamlin chuckled bitterly to himself as he watched the pink petals in the water stick the his bare chest. “I bet I looked like a proper fool, didn’t I? I still do.”

“You were a sorry sap in love. No one would ever mock you for that, not even me.” Lucien had finished washing Tamlin’s hair, while it was still wet he combed through any remaining stubborn tangles.

Tamlin was quiet for a moment. “What’s it like?” He said finally, “To have a mate, that is.”

Lucien hesitate, comb in hand. “Ah, well, um, I suppose it’s kind of nice, but not what I expected really.”

“How so?”

“I feel a pull, in a way, but when I actually am near her… I don’t know. It feels like a bond forged rather than a bond grown from carefully planted roots. I thought it would feel more natural.”

“Do you think it is because you still miss Jesminda?”

“No, it’s not about her. I’ll always love her but I know I’m ready to move on, I just can’t help but feel like Elain isn’t the one. I don’t think she wants me either. She’s made that quite clear.”

The water rippled as Tamlin turned to lean on the edge of the tub, he squinted at Lucien. “I won’t pretend to know Elain well, but she seems to have a good pair of eyes and a level head. How could she deny you? She must be in love already, I can’t believe anyone could be around you for all that time and feel nothing.”

Lucien cleared his throat to distract from his cheeks heating. “Yes, well, I suppose even I can’t be everyone’s type. Though that may be hard to believe.”

“It is.” Tamlin agreed. “She’ll come around though. She’s your mate. You are destined to love her, and you will, because you are kind and loyal, and then I will be alone, again, because I am destined to.” Lucien frowned and went to speak but Tamlin cut in first. “—and no, this isn’t me being negative. I’ve accepted my lot in life. I’m happy for you. The Cauldron knows you deserve a good life after everything you’ve been through. I look forward to seeing you succeed. Selfishly I’m glad I get to have you here with me though, for now at least.” Tamlin ran his hand over his jaw, a thin layer of prickly stubble was growing in. “I admit, I’ve missed your company greatly.”

“Even my jibes and mockery?” Lucien couldn’t deny his heart was finally beginning to feel settled. Slowly, Tamlin was brightening up, not in any obvious ways but his eyes looked more lively and his lips seemed less prone to frown.

“Especially that.” Tamlin rose from the bath and stepped out. He did an exaggerated stretch like a tired dog, before shaking like one, spraying water everywhere.

“Ew, ew, ew!” Lucien scrambled for a towel to wipe down his sodden face. “Bad dog, terrible dog. By the Cauldron, must you do that every time?”

Tamlin laughed, really laughed. He doubled over and wiped at his watering eyes. How could Feyre give up this? The thought flickered into Lucien’s mind without meaning to, making his throat feel course and dry.

“That,” Tamlin smirked. “I’ve very much missed that.”

Lucien handed him a towel, chuckling too. “I have not.” He lied and they both knew it. “Right, let me dry your hair and then I’ll braid it.”

Tamlin took the towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Fine. Just don’t put any ribbons in it.”

Lucien was definitely going to put ribbons in it.

~

Thank you for reading :)

I haven’t written fan fiction for years so apologies if I’m a bit rusty. Critique is welcome! I’ll probably be writing a continuation of this sometime soon because Tamlin deserves some love and who better to do it than Lucien? I know this ship isn’t for everyone but please be respectful in the comments.

All notes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. If you want to know when the next chapter is out I’m happy to tag you next time <3

[shisnhou]

kill gojo

pairing: gojo x gn! reader

cw: toxic exes, toxic relationship, unhealthy obsession with one another, hints at cheating, do tell me if a missed any!

wc: 1.08

you're at the brink of your sanity.

and it's all because of your ex boyfriend who is insane himself.

you two have been broken up for eight months— nearly nine. the break up was not your idea. if anything, it was one thing you didn't even think about. you were more than ready to kill for him, to be his ride or die, to be everything and anything he wanted you to be. you used to have an obssesion with having him in your hands and any kind of separation made your heart beat in worry.

when you two broke up, it felt like you were going to split the world in half. the insanity was getting inside your head, the break up felt like the end of the world. you still chased after him since he was everything you knew and you had, but he threw you away and simply looked at you with disgusted eyes before he slamed the doors before your very eyes.

but after a few weeks of words from getou and a load of night outs with shoko, you brought yourself back in no time. you healed and forgot, you forgave for some reason despite holding every single grudge against him and his girls, and now you are thriving in a better environment.

the break up scarred you badly and you want nothing but to be free from all that hurt and anger.

you truly thought you could leave and make him a mere fragment of your memory.

that's laughable, gojo says.

"what the fuck, gojo?" you screech, kicking the door of his expensive sports car, denting the metal with your shoes. but gojo could care less about the dent, he can get his car repaired tomorrow, buy a new one even. the only thing he's thinking about is why you're so pissed at him. "why would you fucking punch him like that?" 

gojo zones out for a second. he looks at the dent and forgets that you are trying to lecture him about punching your excuse of a date- which he thinks is pointless. why would you argue with him when all he did was do the right thing? 

the right thing? what is it? oh, it's not a big deal. he just punched your date in the face because the man placed his hand around your waist without asking which caught you off guard. not that it made you felt uncomfortable, you were just surprised, you actually liked it, but gojo thought thinks that it's a mortal sin for another man to touch you, so he sent the man a punch to the face.

"he touched you." he deadpans, holding an expression that will make you lose your mind.

"okay, so what if he did? what does that have to do with anything?" you roll your eyes digging your nails into your scalp and trying to scratch the unscratchable itch inside your brain that's caused by your ex that's standing before you.

he does this all the time and you wish that you could just catch a breath.

"you're fucking insane." you mutter underneath your breath.

gojo laughs at that. he looks at you with his blue eyes piercing deep into your own, causing a shiver down your spine. "i can't believe that you're the one saying that." he smirks, brows raising, finger moving to tip your chin. "you were chasing me around nine months ago, hunting down girls i went around with, even after we broke up."

you scoff, wrapping your hand around his wrist and bringing it down. "i did." you proudly say. "you know why? because i didn't understand why we even broke up in the first place. i did nothing. infact, i did everything you wanted me to do, so imagine what position i was in when you abruptly left with a fucking text talking about how i'm too much for you." 

he says nothing back, simply watching you point all the arrows at him. it's clear to him that you want nothing to do with him anymore, but god that's too hard for him to bear.

truth be told, gojo doesn't even know why he broke up in the first place. he though  you were too much for him, but now that he's the one chasing you around after months after the break up, he wonders if was clinically insane.

"well, that was in the past. i'm here now! i'm here, right in-front of you." he opens his arms wide, as if to engulf you in a hug. to his dismay, you simply glare at him, unimpressed by his act. 

gojo heaves a deep sigh, putting his hands back down. "look, i know i made a grave mistake by breaking up with you. that was uncalled for. we both didn't need that." the glimmer in his eyes make you want to believe him, but you mentally shake your head, refusing to fall for his act. "being far away from you was a pain and i admit having you chase me around sucked. yet when you stopped chasing after me, i felt like i lost a piece of me—"

at that sentence you moved away from him, taking a step back and showing him your disgusted expression. "i can't fucking believe you. you fucking disgust me." you seethe, glowering at him and shaking your head. "i thought that you maybe changed, and you did, but for the worse. god, gojo, i really thought we could make ammends, but you make me want to walk away and forget you forever."

at your words gojo's brows furrow. you say nothing else, simply turning your back and walking away. but before you're able to walk a mere step away, he grabs your wrist. you're forced to halt, preparing a rally of words to tell him. but your literacy slips away when your eyes meet his dangerous ones.

"walk away and forget forever? you can't do that." he darkly whispers, smiling as if his intentions were innocent. "you can't have anyone else. i might love seeing you smile, but if it's with someone else it's going to be a problem. any other man with you is going to be a problem. a very big problem." 

the hold on your wrist becomes loose, but in return, his hand cups your cheek and forces proximity between you both. "i'm a mature man, but you drive me insane. if any other man tries to have you they can't.. because if i can't have you, nobody can."

this is not made to fantasize toxic relationship in any way shape or form. if you or someone you know needs help getting away from a toxic relationship, please contact local authorities.

[magniloquent-raven]

the devil ain't a beast

Day 1 of @harringrove-flip-reverse-it: Found Family

(read on ao3)

**

Dear Steve,

If you’re reading this, I better be dead. I told you assholes not to open

It’s okay that you guys couldn't

Hey,

It’s weird writing this while you’re sitting right over there

Steve,

I just…wanted to say thank you. I never said it, after you stood up to Billy for me. For Lucas. I should have.

Thank you.

Not just for what you did that night, but everything after that. All the little things. The free movies and driving all of us around and letting me poach quarters out of your glove box (I know you noticed). I know I’m about to die so Maybe it’s stupid to be thinking about some change and a back entrance into the theatre when I’m under the circumstances, but it’s more about the fact that you didn’t have to do any of it.

I know Dustin strong-armed you into helping with the whole D’art situation, but after that you kept choosing to hang out with us, when I’m sure you could’ve found better things to do.

So. I hope you don’t mind that we all kind of see you as a big brother, because we do. I do. It was nice knowing what it’s like for people who aren’t scared to care about their siblings.

When Billy died I’m sorry for pulling away after Starcourt I couldn’t even handle losing the brother I sort of hated, so

Please keep looking after Lucas for me.

-Max

Billy never really learned to keep his nose out of other people’s business.

Maybe this will finally teach him.

The letter falls from his numb fingers, floating back into place on Steve’s desk, light as air and landing silently.

His grip on the page left it crumpled, wrinkled, sweaty fingerprints dented into the blank space below Max’s last words for Steve. Damning evidence that he’s been snooping around, not that Steve would normally care. What’s mine is yours, he said. And so far it seems he meant it.

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth now.

But he never wanted Max to be his sister, did he. He always said as much. To anyone who would listen, including Max herself. It’s not surprising that she decided to replace him with someone better. His stare goes glassy, scattered papers and trophies and the yellow lamp all blur. His eyes sting.

He has no right to be hurt over this. It shouldn’t hit him like a punch in the gut, but it has, and he aches all over, swaying, nauseated.

And there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. That’s the worst part. He can’t make it better, there’s no fixing this, no patching things up with Max, no going back in time and beating the shit out of himself before he can ruin everything.

No one wanted to tell him, at first. After he clawed his way out of a fissure in the ground, blood and dirt under his nails, and scared the shit out of all of Max’s little nerd friends. She was conspicuously missing, and no one would tell him why.

Being trapped in hell for eight and a half months wasn’t as bad as finding out he was two days too late to ever talk to his sister again. At least when he was being attacked by monsters he could fight back. There’s no fighting this. There’s no excising his grief no matter how many times he bloodies his knuckles.

The sound of the front door being flung open echoes up the stairs. “I’m home!” Steve calls just barely loud enough to be heard, muted by exhaustion.

Billy goes rigid, tension coiling up his spine. It’s usually a relief when Steve comes back, after the quiet, the boredom of being cooped up in an empty house all day. He’s a bright spot, a comforting presence…

It’s not hard to see why Max preferred him.

Billy lets out a slow breath, and swipes at the wetness on his cheeks.

Familiar anger bubbles up in the back of his throat. So familiar it’s almost comforting. He’d rather be angry than blubbering like a child, wallowing in misery.

He’s tired of being second best. Never the favourite, never good enough.

He can’t do anything about how fucking inadequate he was, he can’t ever change enough to make it right, so what’s the fucking point, what’s the point of any of this.

It’s pressure behind his eyes now, tears blurring with something else, that rage that threatens to blind him. He can feel it in his fingertips, and coiled like a snake between his ribcage.

He has to get out. He has to just. Go. Before he breaks another thing that can’t be fixed.

He doesn’t look at Steve, doesn’t listen to his confused stuttering, and he barely feels their shoulders collide as he pushes past him, out the door.

[zawadni]

Good 4 U

Katsuki Bakugo has everything Midoriya wants.

pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x GN!Reader (from Mido's pov)

cw: angst, angst/no comfort, unhealthy jealousy (izu), one-sided love (izu), swearing, very brief mention of thr*w up/b!le

wc: 1k

SOMETIMES IZUKU MIDORIYA BELIEVES HE NEVER OUTGREW HIS MIDDLE SCHOOL BULLIES. Everything they said ricocheted off of him like he never even heard them. Because at the time, he didn’t care. And as he got older and moved his way through his 1st, 2nd, and 3rd year at UA, he realized it really didn’t matter. 

They were either insecure with themselves or their quirks and they saw the quirkless kid as an easy target for their relentlessness. He grew up and forgave them despite never seeing them again. They were just kids and he can only hope they grew up as well and realized their faults. 

And he forgave Bakugo. Of all people, he forgave Bakugo. That's what he used to think. Because right now as he’s staring him down, he hates him. He despises Bakugo Katsuki with every bone in his body.

His feet are nailed to the linoleum floor and his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. He's playing out every vengeance-seeking fantasy his brain can conjure up whilst he asks why he couldn't have been born in his shoes instead.

He detests him because Bakugo Katsuki has everything Midoriya wants.

He was born with a flashy quirk that had everyone in his ear saying he'd practically be a god when he pursued heroism. He grew up with people around him all day that worshiped the ground he walked on because he was just cool. He gets everything. Including you.

It was a Friday and they'd just been let out of school. He was nearly jumping out of his shoes out of sheer excitement because today was the day. Mina miraculously found out about his massive crush on you (he's a shit liar), and decided to help him.

He recited what he was going to say, where he was going to say it, and when he was going to do it-- right down to the hour. Never did he ever actually believe this day would come; he knew he'd never be bold enough to go up to you and ask you out so he just left it alone.

And then Mina found out and she was his saving grace. There was no shot he would've had the confidence to go through with it had it not been for her help. He shifted his feet from one side to the other and he nervously shoved his hands into his pockets.

The wind was bitter against his face, and he tried to hide in the collar of his jacket to no avail. His hair started to fall to the side and the longer he stood outside of your room waiting for you to answer the door, the more the cold air seeped through his clothes like getting caught outside in the rain.

It took 16 minutes and 32 seconds for him to accept you weren't in your room before he made his way to the common room in hopes someone knew where you ended up. He remembers Mina finding him going down the hall and stopping him just before the door.

"Y/N wasn't in their room? Have you seen them recent-" "Don't do it. You can't tell them anymore."

She seemed near frantic and she'd been looking around the hallway since the start of the conversation. Mina was hardly ever serious unless she literally needed to be, it wasn't in her nature.

"What're you talking-" Midoriya jumped and nearly dented the wall with the side of his body when you showed up behind him to greet them. Ashido widened her eyes and tugged at the end of his sleeve before he turned to face you.

"Hey, Midoriya. I've been looking for you. Why the hell are you wearing a jacket?"

"Doesn't matter." He takes Mina's words into consideration before deciding on his next words. There was only one thing she could possibly be talking about so he had no choice but to heed her words. "What'd you need me for?"

"Me n' Bakugo are dating!"

His stomach was tied up in knots and he could feel his heart in the back of his throat. There almost couldn't have been news worse than that. And all he could think was why?

Why not him? Why does he get everything? Why was Midoriya stuck in some life where Bakugo gets everything he's ever wanted in life and doesn't? He has to force a smile onto his face and spout generated words about how he's so happy for you while he tries to quell the blood running a marathon through his veins.

Every time he's in the same room as both of you, he has to push down the feeling of bile rising up his throat well after he's turned away from you two.

You look at Bakugo like the sun, moon, and stars only exist because he strung them up, just for you. If heart eyes was an actual thing, you'd have them every time you so much as glanced at him.

Why Bakugo and not him? Why couldn't he be the one in his shoes? Why is he the one that's being made to suffer as he's listening to you excitedly tell the group that he had finally proposed to you?

Mina looked at him with pity in her eyes as he stands behind Bakugo and has to listen to them agonizingly say I do before officially being married. This is it, he thinks. He had some sense of false hope that maybe he still had a shot. That maybe one day you'd realize Bakugo isn't right for you, because Midoriya is.

He should've been the one to watch Aizawa walk you down the aisle and he should've been the one saying I do. It should be him.

Maybe not forgiving him was petty and unjust, but for once he can't find it within himself to care just the tiniest bit. His entire life, he was forced to watch Bakugo get everything he wanted practically handed to him on a shiny, silver platter.

And now he'd be subjected to the same thing as he can do nothing but watch you and Bakugo live the life that you should be living with him instead.

wanna be apart of the taglist?

bnha taglist: @https-true-egoist

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xlviii // Blood

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

The combination of numbness and rage doesn’t feel like two oceans clashing against each other. It feels like liquid fire hurdling down a dark pit - but contrary to reason, the fire never stops burning, and the pit is never filled. Renee doesn’t know what to do with it. His hands tingle. He can barely see.

The quick rise and fall of Lazarus’ chest is the only part of him that moves. Face still marred by despair, he blinks, dislodging tears. “Put the knife down. They’ll kill you if…”

 “You set me up,” Renee says. His voice is strained, barely forced even.

Shutting his eyes, Laz draws in a shaky breath. “I love you. Please put the knife down.”

It stuns him, but only for a moment – then it hurts. Renee paces backwards, pressing his hands to his temples, feels the hard handle dig into his forehead. “Don’t fucking say that,” he sneers. “Don’t fucking pretend when you just—”

“I’m not pretending,” Lazarus whispers. “You need help, Renee. I’m trying to help you.”

Renee lets out a hollow laugh, only to shake his head, swaying in place. The blade shakes in his tightening fist. “You just killed me.”

A suppressed sob makes his body jerk. “This isn’t the end, okay? It’s not the end. Please don’t do anyth… This doesn’t have to—”

Renee throws out his arms, . “You have no fucking clue what—”

Everything after that happens at a break-neck speed.

A dull boom resonates in the apartment, loud enough to send vibrations through the floor. Startled, Renee half-spins around to locate the source of the noise – quickly realizing that what he just heard was the sound of something colliding violently with the front door.

And while his head is still turned, Lazarus seizes the opportunity to tackle him.

Renee barely knows what’s happening before his legs catch, and he topples over, colliding shoulder-first with the coffee table, winded as Lazarus lands on top of him. The knife slips out of his grasp, sliding across the floor toward the kitchenette. Renee chokes out a gasp, following the knife with his eyes. Grits his teeth at the immediate, overwhelming surge of adrenaline, the tint of red spanning his vision. Clawing to right himself, he grabs Lazarus and twists his body, making the both of them tumble over the edge of the table, crashing to the floor. But instead of pausing to catch his breath, Lazarus continues their momentum. He pulls Renee to his back and rolls along to pin him with his own weight, struggling to catch his arms.

Boom.

Renee lets out a coarse shout, jerking wildly against Lazarus’ grip. As soon as one arm is yanked free, his elbow hits the TV stand hard enough to dent a cabinet door, and a potted plant wobbles, shattering just above his head, sending dirt and shards of terracotta flying.

“Stop!” Laz orders, voice shaking. “Please, listen—"

Renee snarls. “You fucking—”

With no way to really buck himself free, no way to level a solid push, Renee’s rage slide into desperation. His fist connects with Lazarus’ mouth – he recognizes the feeling of thin flesh over teeth – and despite having no room to put much force behind it, Lazarus’ head snaps sideways.

Boom.

Laz gasps, but doesn’t let go. Renee punches him again, this time connecting with the side of his head, clipping the top of his ear. The fingers curled in his clothes loosen for a fraction of a second, and Renee writhes free in that moment, shoving Lazarus back. He twists around again, eyes locking on the white reflection of the blade, a mere five, six feet away. It’s erratic, there’s no thought behind it. His body just moves.

By the time he has staggered to his feet, Laz grabs hold of his leg, hugging it tight, and Renee falls forward, bracing with both hands. Shards from the broken pot dig into his knees, but the only pain he can feel comes from his arm, and even that is considerably muted. Growling, he pulls himself a foot forward, but a hard yank to his ankle draws him back again, nails scraping the floor. Without looking, Renee kicks out behind him, and despite the crude, almost frenzied quality of his movements, his foot connects with something.

Boom.

“Please just stop," Lazarus cries out, tearing at his clothes to climb over him, either to pin him to his stomach or to rush for the knife. A mess of limbs scrambling for leverage, frantic grunts of effort. Renee finally manages to haul himself to one knee when his progress is halted by hands dragging him down by his sweatshirt, drawing the collar taught around his throat. Heat flaring, he swings an elbow out behind him, continues the movement as it connects, turns around -

The next boom is accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. Deep voices shout, now only muffled by the second door.

The TV stand shudders under Lazarus’ weight. He doesn’t get to recover from the rough landing. With more strength than he should be able to muster, and less pain than a broken arm should elicit, Renee grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him up, flinging him toward the coffee table.

A glimpse of arms poised to cushion the fall is all Renee sees before his attention snaps back toward the knife. As he dives for it, he hears a breathless “No!” behind his back, a moment before his fingers wrap around the handle. Breathing hard, Renee pulls himself up by the counter, staggering as his gaze briefly flickers to the barricaded door. He hears them scuffling around, barking orders. He hears sound of something heavy being dragged across wood.

And he hears Lazarus, back up and closing the distance. Turns just in time to brace for the impact as the man crashes into him a second time.

Renee doesn’t fall – instead his hip slams into the corner of the kitchenette’s counter, one arm flailing for balance behind him, inadvertently sweeping at spice jars and bottles of condiment, some of which shatter on impact with the floor, while others merely roll. Lip bleeding, Lazarus struggles to pull him close enough to pin his arms down when Renee punches him again. There’s momentum behind it this time, enough space for a proper swing, ; Lazarus cries out and stumbles a few dazed steps backwards, nearly trips when the back of one leg collides with the couch.

A deafening crack makes the door to the living room rattle in its frame, but Renee’s wide eyes zero in on the closest threat. Heat burning in his gut, teeth bared in an inhuman gnarl, he pushes off the counter and jumps at him, sending him backwards onto the couch, legs sprawled over the armrest, hands instinctually raised to protect his face. In a split second, Renee raises the knife over his shoulder and drives it into Lazarus’ chest.

The force alone fractures ribs a little left of center, not only audible, but felt through the handle. The soft tissue underneath offers no resistance against the sharp point. The entire blade is buried, only stopped once the hilt hits the fabric of Lazarus’ shirt.

Boom.

An elastic cord snaps inside Renee, an immediate, disorienting clarity. Time slows as his hand recoils, hovering in the air. He’s panting heavily, but suddenly feels as though he can’t breathe at all.

Lazarus’ eyes are wide in shock, or something like open-mouth confusion.

“No,” Renee says.

Laz draws in a sharp breath, and it hurts him. His face contracts in pain, back arching, and he coils his fists in Renee’s shirt, head rolling back, shoulders seizing up. The knife moves with every breath that catches in his throat.

“No, nonono—I didn’t—Laz, I didn’t mean to—”

Boom. Another crack, too small to be a full breach, but something in the door gives. They’re shouting in the entryway, but Renee can barely distinguish the words. Blood already blooms from the wound. Lazarus shudders.

Renee has the impulse to yank the knife out - it shouldn’t be there, it looks wrong - but whatever sliver of reason still remains in him stops him in his tracks. One hand cradling the back of Laz’ neck, Renee’s other hand trembles over the handle, terrified to even touch it. The breath whines in his throat. “I didn’t mean to do that, Laz – please, I didn’t, I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t mean to do that—”

Lazarus croaks. “… Renee.”

Splinters from a broken frame spill across the floor, particles of dust . As the door caves in, it tumbles over the chair still blocking entrance, but their shouts are crystal clear now, and when Renee’s gaze snaps to look, he sees the flash of a barrel briefly poking through. Some of them are shouting his name. His full name.

Laz grabs his arm, his shirt, and it’s not clear whether he wants to pull him closer, or if he’s curling up from pain. When he tries to speak again, his body jerks in a hard cough.

Renee whimpers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

He feels another wave of ice course through his body when the first black silhouette in his periphery manages to kick the door to the side, taking up a stance just beyond the threshold, rapidly followed by others still taking cover behind the broken frame. Renee doesn’t have to look to know where their firearms are pointed. A choir of them, as if they’re trying to out-shout each other.

“Hands up. Get away from him. Hands up!”

No convulsion of Laz’ body makes him let go – instead, as his would-be saviors barge in, he pulls Renee closer, tear-stricken face contorted in a grimace from the effort. Close enough that Renee can feel the heat of his breath on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Letting out a hoarse groan, Renee grits his teeth and pries himself free.

Hands grasp for his sleeves, then reach out in his wake. Renee feels like throwing up as he stumbles to his feet, knocking his shins into the coffee table, frantically looking between Lazarus and the cops still screaming commands that barely register. “Help him,” he breathes.

“Don’t move!” and “Get your fucking hands up!”

Head spinning, Renee takes an uncertain step backwards toward the window, the door to the balcony. Something more frantic to his voice. “You have to help him.”

The first uniform follows his retreat with a step of his own, letting others spill into the small living room. “Put your hands up, Vaughan. Do not back up, stay where you are—”

Eyes shut tight, face still contorted in pain, Lazarus reaches an unsteady hand out into the room, as if trying to get between them. “Don’t sh-shoot,” he gasps, and it sounds strange. Wet.

His teeth are stained red. He’s coughing it up.

Renee folds over himself, nearly drops to his knees. “Fucking do something!” he screams.

But it’s abundantly clear, even by the blurry image painted when he spares them a glace, heaving frantically through gritted teeth: between four, five pairs of eyes, all of their focus is squarely on him.

Another split-second decision, one he barely manages to put thought behind. As Renee turns on his heel, their voices erupt behind him. In a flash, he sees them move a fraction of a second after he does. He wholly expects a bullet in the back as he yanks open the balcony door, but as far as he can trust his senses, it doesn’t come; not even as he climbs the plastic furniture, shoes nearly slipping on the slick surfaces.

There’s no moment of hesitation, no pause. Kicking off from the banister, Renee leaps off the fourth-story balcony.

💵

He misses against daylight, too exhausted to focus properly, although his vision swarms with movement all the same. It’s residue from last night, he guesses. Behind the white paint on the ceiling, veins pulse faintly along the rhythm of his heartbeat.

His head hurts. Everything does, really, but his head is the worst. One side of his face is still swollen enough to prevent his eye from opening properly, and he can feel a stitch in his cheek tugging at skin. Parched tongue moving in his mouth, he turns his head to the side.

Davin is leaned against the wall next to the door, hands in his pockets. Looking at him.

How long he’s been standing there, Conrad couldn’t say. He lets out a small sound and painstakingly rolls over to face the wall, groaning as he curls his legs up. It’s long since become impossible to lie down in a way that doesn’t agitate some injury or another, but at least like this, he can pretend to be alone in the room. He’s just tired. He’d like to go back to sleep.

Minutes pass. Four, maybe five. Long enough that he actually does start to forget about the silent eye of his captor. Tentatively drifting, he jolts a little when Davin finally speaks.

His tone is thoughtful, a little distant. “This didn’t go the way I thought it would,” he mutters.

Conrad tucks his chin into the duvet.

“I would’ve liked to keep up that balancing act you and I had in the beginning. Diplomacy is easier. Most of the time, anyway. I don’t know, I’m not sentimental… It is just sort of fascinating to me, how quickly the novelty wore off for everybody. You gave up. Renee got cold feet, that’s been frustrating. I poked a few too many nerves.” A pause. “Pardon the metaphor.”

If Conrad had enough energy to spare, he would’ve grimaced, but even the thought makes him feel heavy. “… go away.”

Davin snorts. “You’re listening.” He sounds vaguely surprised.

Conrad squints over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

For a moment, Davin is quiet. Something oddly reserved in his demeanor makes Conrad wary, but as always, the man’s expression doesn’t betray much. It’s neutral, apart from slightly pursed lips, as if he’s contemplating. The usual detached gaze. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Conrad frowns. He tries to watch for any clue about intentions, tries to post-hoc piece together anything he might’ve missed in the past five minutes, but his head is foggy.

Eventually, Davin pushes off the wall and lets out a sigh.

“Eh… Are you hungry?”

💵

Renee’s ability to process what he sees is so fragmented, when he catches a glimpse of the larch he’s hurdling towards, he doesn’t even try to brace before he hits it feet first a half-second later.

Hundreds of stripped, thin branches whip at his body as he sinks through the crown. The larger ones catch at clothes and limbs further down: instinctually, he tries to grab at them, but they fly past too quickly. His back hits something hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and it changes the trajectory of his fall. Renee isn’t sure how the rest goes. He’s not fully conscious for the landing.

He can’t see anything. It’s that same state he experienced the night before: he knows his eyes are open, but it’s all black. His face is pressed to the dirt, mouth open, body hungrily sucking air into his lungs.

If something major broke in the fall, he can’t feel it. His whole body is buzzing once his vision finally begins to clear. What feels like a century of blinking passes before he can finally distinguish up from down.

The first attempt to push off is a little too quick for his battered body to keep up with. At a blinding flash of agony in his knee, he loses his balance, tumbling to the grass, gasping for breath. His second attempt is considerably slower. His balance is off. The whole world is spinning.

Somewhere behind him, maybe thirty, forty yards, the telltale rustle of a uniform, and a woman’s winded shout: “Stop! Get on the ground!”

It hurts like a bitch, even through rush after rush of adrenaline. He can still run, but it’s farslower than it needs to be. Sprinting across the lawn, darting over dirt paths, Renee hears the cop closing in.

Between his first and second footfall on the sidewalk proper, rounding the corner of the building, she slams into him, arms coiled around his waist. She’s not particularly heavy, but Renee is running on fumes: they both skid across the asphalt, both thrashing.

The cop is first to recover, landing rather favorably with her torso on his legs. As she claws her way forward, Renee tries to blindly kick, but she’s quick to right herself every time he manages to throw off her balance. By the time he has twisted himself onto his back, she’s already straddling his waist, struggling for a grip on his arms.

“Over here,” she screams to the side.

“Fuckin’—”

“Stop resisting, stop—”

Surprisingly strong for her size, a distant part of Renee is almost insulted when she manages to pin his right wrist to the opposite shoulder, leaning her whole weight on that hold. He lets out a shout of frustration.

“Stop resisting – you’re gonna get tased – st—”

With his free hand, Renee has reached for the left side of her belt. There’s a mechanism in the holster that prevents the uninitiated from drawing the gun, but it’s no more complex than the child safety lock of a bottle’s lid - all he has to do is press it down and twist. Vision blocked by his own arm, Renee can’t see it, but he hears a faint, dull click.

She must’ve felt it, because her eyes widen, and then her entire focus immediately shifts.

The gun is halfway out the holster by the time she wraps both hands around his, forcing it to the side – a move that inadvertently clears the gun completely. She presses his arm into the tarmac, but Renee manages to push the rest of his body up with his other arm, now freed. Thrown off, she frantically grasps for the gun as he pulls up both legs and kicks her hard in the chest, sending her sprawling backwards. He shifts his grip while she gathers her bearings, switches off the safety, an enraged snarl tearing at his throat. Hand shaking violently, he aims for her head and pulls the trigger.

The close proximity of the shot makes his ears ring. The woman screams, kicking away from him. A flash of red spills from her neck before both her hands dart up to grasp it; it immediately starts leaking through her fingers.

Wincing at the pain blooming from the recoil, Renee hauls himself to his feet, staggering backwards. A lingering trace of anger makes him point the gun at her again, but he can’t fire, he physically can’t. She’s on her knees on the asphalt, trying simultaneously to shimmy away from him and put pressure on the gushing wound in her throat.

It's another close encounter with reality. Locking his jaw, Renee’s grip tightens on the gun, but his index finger leaves the trigger.

He turns on his heel and sets off toward his car.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[bhaalbaaby]

Title: True Love Waits In Haunted Attics (1941 words) Pairing: astarion/gn!tav Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, cazador A/N: request for some hurt/comfort :") from @satanicspinosaurus; astarion gets left behind from the group and must deal with thoughts of abandonment and angst

Read on AO3!

Astarion should have known this day would happen as the door shuts, but this time...

How could have been so stupid?

He hears the others on the other side of the wall, their voices fainter and fainter, the change in their pockets jingling against each other as they continue walking away from the crypt. He thought Tav would be different. Memories or made-up conversations he dreamt about whisper in his ears.

False promises.

"I'll protect you, Astarion. You never have to worry." He would roll his eyes, his heart at ease for once as he waved away Tav's valid statements. At least valid at the time.

"I appreciate your concern, though I wish you didn't have to protect me, love."

He didn't mean that.

Not really.

He bangs on the wall, hoping someone would hear, someone to notice. Is he that forgettable? He tries to find a button, but can't find one anywhere in this hideaway room. The smell of old gold and dried blood is almost suffocating. How many people also were to this fate? Dying because they were abandoned by those they cared for most?

As a vampire, he could survive in here. He hears the squeaks of mice in the old walls and scuttling on the floor, but he has his freedom now. He couldn't survive being locked away again. The years of torment beckon except instead of hearing Godey or worse Cazador, he hears nothing now. 

Tav is gone. They really left him. How could they?

He bangs on the wall again, screaming until his throat is raw and dry. How long has it been? It couldn't be more than an hour now. An hour without coming back. An hour without coming for him. His breathing is hard as he paces, trying to keep his legs from giving, knees buckling at the realization of his new fate. He swallows hard, sitting against the wall. His hands tremble violently as he sees the blood of their enemies on his hands. Soon they will be replaced with his blood. He would have to scrawl, scratch, dig, whatever it takes to get out of here.

He takes a deep breath. He is free. He is not under anyone's control. He can get out of here. He defeated a Nether Brain. So why would he let one trap get to him?

He takes out his dagger and begins scraping at the wood, barely making a knick in it. He clenches his jaw. Though Tav is gone, they did teach him resourcefulness and finding ways out in situations like this. He shouldn't curse them all the way.

But they did leave him.

He grunts with each strike, every one with all his strength as he barely makes a dent in the door. "Open you son of a bitch!" He yells, his steady strikes turning into flails. He hits the door one last time before sinking onto the dirty floor. 

He should have known this would happen. He put too much faith in one person, one beautiful, stupid, cruel, kind, patient, unforgiving person. Maybe they were looking for an out since he is no longer the sexy seductive vampire he used to be. Now he has feelings and space to be whatever he wants.

He rubs his eyes, his vision blurring with tears. He is too much for them to handle of course. They need someone with less baggage than 200 years of slavery. He should die here. It's what he deserves. He rests his head on his knees as he lets his sob wrack through his body, his nails digging into his knees.

A cruel ending from the one he claimed to love. Locked away again for crimes he didn't know.

He sees Tav's warm face as they tell him everything will be okay, they will never part, and the world will be theirs as they go on more adventures. Anything Astarion wants to do. Why would they lie to him? If they didn't want him, why did they tell him pretty words? He was so blinded by the safety and trust he put in them.

He should have left before it felt real. He should have kept up his facade so they wouldn't get bored of him. His thoughts race and flood with more reasons why they won't come back, why they left him. It is his fault for thinking everything would be different. 

An old voice sneaks its way into his mind, the disappointed tsk as an apparition of his Old Master shakes his head. "Poor, little boy. You thought you were better than me. Now you are lower than you have ever been. You are nothing." The voice hisses, his red eyes burning into Astarion's undead soul.

Astarion scrambles to his feet, his chest heaving as he pushes his damp hair from his forehead. "No... I am not nothing." He yells back, holding his dagger out.

The hallucination laughs, disappearing into nothingness when he strikes. "You have no friends. You have no family. You have no lover. You will be forgotten. No one will mourn you." Cazador jeers in his ear as Astarion turns around, gripping his dagger hard, eyes rapidly searching.

"You're wrong!"

"Am I? Look at you grovel in this dungeon. No one is coming back. The world will finally be rid of the incessant prattle of Astarion Ancunin."

"Stop it! You're not real!" Astarion shouts, starting his search for a button or level. He needs to get out of here now. Cazador's laugh echoes and increases in volume as Astarion tugs on rock, and pushes more of the old books off the shelves and empty barrels, clattering about.

He feels like he's spinning, or the room is spinning, as he tries until he slips on a loose paper. He lands on his back with a hard crack, the immediate white fills his vision. He doesn't cry out, or if he does, he cannot hear it. This is how he will die.

Forgotten and alone. 

Tav runs to the door, Wyll and Gale behind them as they pull the lever. "Gods above... Please work." They whisper to themselves, their heart pounding as the lever doesn't budge. "Gale, Wyll. A spell. Something, please." They plead, before slamming on the wall.

"Astarion, Astarion. My love! We're back! The wall won't open." They press their ear on the wall, trying to hear him, but only silence greets them. "Astarion, my sweet..." Their hands turn to fists as they hit the wall harder.

Gale whispers a knock spell on the wall as Wyll tries for the lever again. The wall gives, opening up slowly revealing Astarion on the stone floor. Tav's heart instantly drops as they rush in. "Keep the door open!" They shout at their companions as they rush in.

Their mind is in overdrive as they cradle his face in their lap. "Astarion... Wake up. Please." They scan around looking for traps, the place in shambles as his chest barely rises and falls. "My little star... Please."

"Um, Tav, the wall won't stay open forever."

Tav glances back at Gale, grief-stricken, but they stand, dragging Astarion by his shoulders out of the room just in time as the walls close again. They crumple to the ground as they hold the unconscious vampire in their arms, trying to calm their heart. He is still alive. The tomb is so quiet around them as Tav brushes their thumb on his cheek.

"Astarion, please wake up. Please..." They whimper, resting their head against his, their face wet with sweat and tears. They still don't know how he got separated and didn't go far. The longest twenty minutes of their life and they know it felt even longer for him. What was he doing in there? They reach into their pouch, pulling out a healing potion, gently dribbling the nectar in his mouth, praying it would work. 

He coughs hard, sitting up fast, almost knocking into Tav's head as he springs up. "No! You can't take-" He stops yelling, looking around bewildered. Cazador's mocking voice is silenced, for now. Tav replaces him, their hands out as if ready to catch him if Astarion falls. There they are, his concerned friends and lover.

"I'm so sorry, Astarion. The door closed so quickly. I thought you were following behind. We didn't go so far," Tav says quickly, apprehension stilling their body from tackling him in a hug. Astarion takes deep breaths, his hands going to his ragged throat and disheveled clothes. He carefully touches the back of his head, wincing at the pain.

"Looks like he's bleeding. We should find a healer," Wyll interjects gently. Astarion glances at Tav, blinking slowly. Perhaps the Blade of Avernus is right. Tav and Wyll come to either side of him, hoisting him carefully.

He leans on Tav still in awe. "You came back."

Tav's brows furrow as they nod. "Of course I did. I would never abandon you, my love."

The words are so familiar, words he used against himself. Gale starts ahead of them. "Come on. We should get him back to camp so he can rest." 

Alone again.

Astarion slowly sits up in his tent, feeling slightly better, if not dizzy. The others are outside, talking amongst themselves. He sighs, looking around. He put them back a day with this rest, but Tav won't complain. Deep down, he knows this. If Gale or Wyll got stuck, they'd do the same.

He crawls out of the tent seeing Tav's back as they look at the fire, tense from today. If his head were cooperating, he would slink over and gently massage their back. Instead, he takes a deep breath, a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him. He stumbles, the dirt under his shoes giving away his position as Tav and Gale turn away from the flames.

Tav springs into action, quickly by his side and helping Astarion sit. He grimaces as he sits on the bedroll.

Gale grins as he stands, "I hope your head is feeling better, Astarion. I shall retire for the evening. See you both in the morning." He bows slightly as he goes to his tent.

Astarion sighs, staring up at the night sky, grateful he could see another day. Tav's hand rests behind him, their head just about to rest on his shoulder, but they hesitate.

"Thank you... For saving me." Astarion says, breaking the silence. They sit up, letting Astarion take his time. "I had a very hard time in there. Brought back rather unpleasant memories." He slowly glances at Tav, not wanting to trigger any bouts of nausea. "When I thought it was over, you came back. You always come back."

"Of course, I come back. I love you, Astarion." They take his hand into theirs, pressing their lips against the back of it, his skin so cold.

He looks down, his dark lashes seemingly touching his cheekbones as he considers this. He's still getting used to hugs, never sure where his arms should go exactly, but in this moment, it's what he needs, what he wants.

His arms wrap around Tav's shoulders as he pulls them in, burying his face in their neck. Tav responds in turn, their hands resting on his back, gently rubbing in a circle as they let him hug them for as long as he needs. They close their eyes as they bring him closer, their shirt getting damp with his tears.

But they will not let go, never. They press a quick kiss on his forehead as an eternal promise that they will never leave, staying his for as long as they can.

taglist: @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @razrogue @thedancingbun @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator

[rat-typewriter]

HATING WEDDINGS - DABI X READER

SUMMARY: just hours before you’re due to marry a man you don’t love, Dabi comes to change your mind.

Warnings: Swearing ig?? if that’s a warning lol

Proofread?: Not for even one second 😌

You sat, staring at your reflection - the stylist nervously tried to meet your eyes in the mirror. It was the third hairstyle she had tried in two hours. 

“It’s nice.” You said, attempting to mask the disappointment in your voice - but judging by the way your soon-to-be mother-in-law rolled her eyes and huffed, you were still a bad liar. 

Over the year that you had known the woman, the only thing you seemed to have in common was a mutual dislike for one another. You were not the sort of bride she wanted for her son - but this wasn’t about love or fairy-tales or happy endings. It was strictly business. 

Quirk marriages were much more common than most people would’ve liked to believe; they paid well too. You’d been found by the guy’s father - an owner of a wealthy construction company - who knew your quirk would be an invaluable asset to their business. It wasn’t the life you had imagined for yourself, but at least money would never be an issue for you again.

Your mother-in-law had pulled the hairstylist into the doorway - as if standing a few feet away suddenly made you incapable of hearing their hushed voices. Your legs seemed to be buzzing with adrenaline that only seemed to be getting worse as the ceremony drew closer and your head was starting to feel slightly too light for the rest of your body - as if it was fading into a puff of smoke. 

Just as you began to half-heartedly wonder if you might be about to vomit: your phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number flashed up on your screen.

Last chance.

Quickly, you swiped the message away - averting your gaze, instead focusing on the colours of nail polish picked out for you. You had no idea that there could be so many shades of white: eggshell, cream, ivory, pearl, snow, chiffon, porcelain-

Now or never.

You stared at the text, your legs becoming more restless than ever. Now or never had become an almost-inside joke between the two of you - a secret reference to the first time you met that you both dropped into as many conversations as you could. Now or never summed up everything about the two of you.

—

You stumbled through the snowy alleyway, still reeling from excitement - and smoke inhalation. Your whole life you’d wanted to do that. To burn something. Not to light people’s cigarettes or warm their cold hands or melt their icy car doors. To burn something. 

Despite your blackened clothes and singed hair, the cold was starting to numb your fingers. The night air was freezing; turning your breath to fog in the dark. Your flimsy canvas shoes had long been soaked-through by the wintry slush that covered the streets - you hoped it wasn’t far. 

You hoped this place was even real. 

You reached a metal door - dented and dimly lit by a flickery yellow bulb - and knocked. Do you knock at a villain’s hideout? You wondered to yourself, beginning to feel nervous. Everything you knew about this place had come from whispers on shady streets or out the back of bars. 

Pulling you from your thoughts, the door swung open - the metal groaning as its hinges scraped together.

You couldn’t quite see the person who had opened the door, as they stood a few feet back - hidden by the darkness - but his voice was low and raspy when he spoke.

“Coming in?” 

You stood, staring into the black - your legs suddenly made of lead, but your chest alive with electricity. 

Another moment passed, the quiet filled by your soft breath turning to fog. A van rumbled past on the road and you caught yourself glancing back, watching as it rolled by. 

“Now or never.” He said and you turned back to face him. 

“Better be now then.” You said hoarsely - your throat burning as you spoke. 

The stranger stepped back and a yellowy strip of light crossed his face, illuminating his features. His skin was littered with scars you recognised as burns - something you had become familiar with, over the years of being unable to control your fire quirk - but beneath them he was young, no older than you.

His eyes crinkled slightly and he grinned - which suddenly sent sparks of fear and excitement through your chest again.

“Come on in then, sparky.” 

—

It was the fifth time that your phone buzzed - two minutes before the ceremony was to begin - that you gave in. 

You suddenly jumped out of your seat, the bridesmaid (who you barely even knew) and had been fixing your hair stumbled back.

“I- Uh,” you stammered as the other bridesmaids turned to stare at you. “I’m going to the toilet.” 

And you took off. 

You stumbled out of the door and down the hallway in shoes that were horrendously uncomfortable. You took a left, then a right, then a left again - until you found an open window. 

Without thinking, you forced the window as wide as it would go and shimmied through - tumbling out and into a bush.

As you attempted to pull yourself out and untangle your clothes - which had caught in the branches - you heard a familiar laugh. 

“Wow. Bit desperate to leave are we?” 

You whipped around, finding yourself face-to-face with Dabi. 

“Didn’t think you missed me that much,”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out and your brain was suddenly empty. Butterflies erupted in your stomach - the boy who you hadn’t seen in over a year was still able to make you nervous.

He grinned - oh how you’d missed that - and laughed again. “You look gorgeous, Doll.”

“Thanks,” you breathed - a little lightheaded. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He stepped forwards - rolling his eyes; offering a hand to pull you out of the bush. “Oh, how you flatter me,”

Accepting the hand, you let him heave you out of the bush - pulling you far closer than necessary. You stood practically against his chest, having to crane your neck slightly to look him in the eyes. 

You swallowed and felt your face grow hot. 

God he knew just how to make you feel sixteen all over again.

"I've missed you." You breathed.

He smiled - with only a hint of his usual smugness. "I've missed you too, Sweetheart,"

His hand found its way to your waist and he bent down, quickly kissing you. It wasn't long or passionate or hot. Just a regular, discrete peck on the lips.

But God did it make you fall in love all over again.

The sound of voices suddenly echoed around the corner and Dabi glanced around. He took a step back and turned to you with that slightly-terrifying, but oh-so-exhilarating grin.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He extended his hand to you, faking a courteous bow and in return you grinned and curtseyed. Giggling slightly, you put your hand in his and he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles - winking up at you.

"Dabi Todoroki I never knew you were such a gentleman!" 

"If you ever tell anyone, I'll have to kill you" 

For a moment, his tone is so serious that you almost believe him - but then he smiles and tugs on your hand.

"C'mon, I hate weddings." 

"Me too." You giggled.

With your hand in his, you both took off running.

[the-immortal-redshirt]

The Graveyard Shift

Chapter 4: The Partnership

After a failed execution for a murder he did not commit, Clara Oswald and Missy must team up to prove the Doctor's innocence before the authorities discover their mistake. (Whouffaldi, takes place somewhere in the middle of season 9)(Rated T for Graphic Violence, Major Character Death, Suggestive Scenes)

Read it on AO3

Read it on ff.net

Chapter 4: The Partnership

Missy twirled her dress in a curtsey. A toothy grin with lipstick that was far too red to look sophisticated crept across her face. “Aw, you remembered,” she crooned. “How sweet. Anyway, darling, where is that Doctor of yours?”

Clara tightened her fists. Her nails dented little half-moons into her palms. She did not have the energy to deal with this. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry for days. Normally, she would worry about what kind of trap or evil scheme Missy was up to, but right now she was just too tired to care. “What do you want, Missy?” she sighed. 

“Well,” the Time Lady began in a sickly-sweet Scottish accent. “The Doctor and I have this bond, you know. I sensed something. You cannae possibly understand, but I do care about him.”

“Care about him?” Clara scoffed. “You're always trying to kill him.”

Missy shrugged, partially lifting the lacy purple parasol she carried with her. “It's my flirting.”

“How did you even get here?” Clara crossed her arms and frowned, not seeing a second Tardis anywhere. 

Missy hiked up her violet sleeve to reveal a burnt out vortex manipulator. “One-way trip, I'm afraid. Not all of us have Tardises. Speaking of which,” she leaned on the doors, “lemme in.”

“No, Missy, don't you understand!?” Clara cried, finally at her breaking point. “He's gone! The Doctor is gone, the Tardis is broken, and I don't know what to do!”

“Broken?” She raised her eyebrows, dragging her manicured nails over the blue paint. “Yeah I figured. Why else would he come to this wretched planet?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

Her eyes widened. “Hold on,” she gasped, staring Clara straight in the eyes with blown pupils. She laid a hand on Clara's arm, squeezing tightly. “What do you mean he's gone?” she laughed nervously. Genuine disbelief and worry laced her voice. Probably the only thing genuine about her, Clara thought. 

Clara swatted the gangly hand off with disdain. “He's dead, Missy,” she whispered. She choked back a sob, meeting the Time Lady’s dark eyes. “They executed him.”

Something sinister flashed in Missy’s eyes. Her half-smile dropped off her face. This was more serious than she had thought. “Executed?”

A pang stabbed through her double hearts, robbing the air from her lungs. Not possible. He should have regenerated. She gripped Clara by the shoulders and shook her, searching for answers. “Did he regenerate?” she growled, but in her heart she already knew the answer. She could feel it. Their childhood bond had shattered and there's only one way that happens. 

Clara shook her head despondently. “Whatever they gave him prevented it. It's like they knew how to kill a Time Lord.”

Rage flickered across Missy’s features. She growled and stared into the distance at the city’s glow beyond the trees. “I'll torch this planet. I'll–”

“Missy, you don't even have a weapon,” Clara interrupted. She raised her arms in defeat. “He's already gone, what's the point?” She almost surprised herself with those depressing words. All the fight had gone out of her. The Doctor’s attitude had been contagious. Everything felt utterly hopeless.

Missy snapped her face back towards the human with a crazed look in her eye. “I'll find out what happened, and when I do, there will be hell to pay.”