#they make me so violently ill if you can’t tell

[honkceasar]

Thinking about Dakota and William again and their dynamic really just is:

Who will win?

Guy that truly believes he has done/will do something so heinous that it deems him “too far gone” or “beyond saving”

or

Guy that vowed to never EVER give up on/fail to save a friend again, no matter how impossible or how futile the effort may be.

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: so she tells him not to cry over the injustice of a life cut too short for at the end of all this, she’ll only be a dream.

pairing: ex-husband!toji fushiguro x terminally ill wife!reader | song inspo: soon you’ll get better, cancer

warnings: heavy angst, terminal illness (primary bone cancer, stroke and MS), mentions of divorce/past infidelity, allegories to cheating, major character death. please read at your own risk. | a/n: this was so heavy for me to write, i started writing at 2 in the morning, and it’s 6:34 now.

word count. 3k~

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

Toji should have noticed, he laments as he takes a sip of his cognac. He should have sensed that something was wrong sooner, maybe that way, he wouldn’t be begging to borrow some more time to make things right. Your fingers were trembling that day — the first time you ever ruined his morning coffee — your hands shaking uncontrollably as you washed the mug with a sorrowful look on your face, your eyes glossy with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

He shouldn’t have been so harsh, he realizes that now. Breakfast had been burnt to a crisp and ruined, sure, but nothing could compare to how he constantly ruins the one beautiful thing that has ever happened to him, who haphazardly spilled her smoothie on him when they first bumped into each other in Shinjuku just after he finally cashed in enough money with Shiu to get his laundry done.

Toji, whose senses have now been honed to pick up on the slightest of your sluggish movements and your pained and suppressed hisses, hears the bedsheets rustling and he instantly gets up before you could even force yourself out of bed. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He catches you before you could fall backwards onto the mattress, your skin appears cold and clammy, your thinning muscles stiff as a board — you must be having one of your episodes again. “What do you need?” he asks, his voice heartbreakingly gentle for the first time in months.

“Water.”

Your husband nods, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hurriedly making his way to the dining table which was now kept in your bedroom so you aren’t forced to move around too much. The sound of water splashing into the glass fills the air and you feel another stabbing pain coarse through your joints.

Toji gingerly brings the glass of water to your lips and you sighed, an exasperated yet amused smile on your face. “I can do it, babe. Don’t worry.” Why did that sound like you were trying to convince not just Toji but yourself? You bring your bony hands to grip the glass and it takes everything out of your husband not to break into a fit of sobs when he sees your hand violently shaking with effort just to keep the glass steady.

His larger hands close around your defeated one. “I-I…I can do it, I did it yesterday. Y-you saw me.”

“Shhh, I know, it’s okay.”

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the anguish of realizing the truth behind the doctor’s words. Everything you feared was finally becoming your and Toji’s bleak reality.

“It’ll be a painful decline.”

Funny how you’re the one fighting to extend your life but Toji feels like he’s already gone ahead and passed on. Just a few minutes earlier, you were overjoyed to see him again. You didn’t think he’d see your text thinking that his new girlfriend must have asked him to block your number, and you most certainly didn’t expect him to arrive when you asked for him via a brief phone call to drive you to the hospital for your monthly checkup since he took the car with him when you separated. He made up a bullshit excuse when Yuko asked where he was going in such a hurry and he makes it to your old shared apartment to see you sitting on the driveway looking thinner and sicklier than ever — your eyes were sunken, and your cheeks were hollow.

Yet in spite of that, you gave him the brightest of smiles, waving shyly to him as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “Happy morning!” you smiled, greeting him with your signature good morning tagline which he used to happily wake up to everyday. There wasn’t a scintilla of resentfulness in your demeanor, and you genuinely looked so happy to see him for the first time since he moved out.

“How long?” Toji asked the doctor, his heart twisted into knots when he hears you happily humming in the MRI room as you put your clothes back on, oblivious to the solemn mood in the other room. You already knew what was going on, but you’ll just continue pretending that everything’s alright and that this is nothing more but a case of fatigue so as not to inconvenience Toji.

“A year, maybe even less.”

“And…you’re saying it’s best if she simply…doesn’t get the treatment?”

The doctor sighs heavily. She’s seen many cases like this before, but none as utterly hopeless as yours. Even if you did start the treatment, the lesions in your spinal cord have already entered the most severe stage, you were already exhibiting signs of autonomic nervous system distress — the tremors, the uncontrollable stuttering of your words, the growing loss of balance — and as if that wasn’t enough, the doctor also discovers that you were suffering from primary osteosarcoma.

There was no way to cure you now that it’s too late.

“I suggest we just focus on keeping her comfortable. The only thing left for us to do now is to bring her home. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing. I can’t bring you anywhere.”

By some miracle, you and Toji went out one night around four months before the divorce proceedings. He went home that day, exhausted beyond all belief from another mission, but he was in a good mood. Yuko was out working late tonight, so, he decides to take you out to your and his favorite izakaya for some yakitori.

Some time during the night, after downing three full bottles of sake together, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” you told Toji, tipsily kissing him on the cheek as you hop off the bar stool in the direction of the women’s room.

You couldn’t tell if you were staggering from the copious amounts of alcohol you ingested, but your legs were beginning to feel heavy, and for some ominous reason, you were slowly losing all sensation in your left leg. You try to hold onto one of the izakaya’s shōji panel decor pieces to regain your balance, but it was a futile effort in the end. Your knees suddenly buckle, and a sickening crack tears through your tibia as you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?!”

Toji picks up on the commotion instantly and he sees the izakaya patrons crowding around the hallway leading to the restroom. He quickly makes his way over and a look of disgust appears on his features when he sees you crumpled on the ground and the mortifying sight of you having relieved yourself on the floor, tears of embarrassment staining your cheeks at the thought of your body suddenly malfunctioning like this.

Muttering out an ignorant apology for his seemingly drunk wife, he roughly picks you up, growing increasingly infuriated with you when one izakaya employee offers him a damp cloth to dry out your urine with. It was funny how quickly other people came to your aid — people whose names you don’t even know — while your own husband seems very reluctant to even touch you right now. He doesn’t speak to you on the way home even as you apologize while he’s loading you into the car, grimacing when the leather seat gets wet. “Toji, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—“

“—Save it.”

What he should have said was: “Are you okay?”, “It’s alright.” or better yet, “I still love you.”.

At present, Toji decides on a whim to take you to Yokohama’s famed bayside today. It’s only a two hour drive from your place in Tokyo and Toji figures you must miss going on road trips by now with you cooped up at home all the time. “Toji, are you sure this is a good idea?” you murmured nervously as the car pulls to a stop by the bayside promenade. What happens if you can’t control yourself again? There doesn’t look to be a lot of public restrooms nearby.

Toji plants a reassuring kiss to your nose. “Babe, you remember what the doctor said, spending some time outdoors can do wonders for your health. Besides, didn’t you always love the coast?” He brings your hand to his scarred lips, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin before stepping out of the car to retrieve your wheelchair from the trunk.

“I know but what if I have another accident?” you said worriedly, rolling down the car windows so he could hear you. “What if I embarrass you again?”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

You’ve lost all control of your lower extremities three months ago, rendering you unable to walk and feel when you need to relieve yourself. Toji struggles with the wheelchair for a bit and a flash of sadness fills your heart when you see him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry, he was devastated. He looks wistfully at the boardwalk, a distant gaze trained on the sea. He remembers when you used to walk down this very lane, his hand protectively around your waist as you happily take selfies. He could still hear your fond giggles the last time the two of you went here.

“Why don’t you ever smile when I take pictures of you?”

Toji shoos away a pigeon from stealing a bite of his ice cream sandwich. He feigns an unamused look when you try to take another picture of him on your phone.

“Come on, I’ve been trying to get a shot of you all day! You still have to take pictures of me so I can post it on my Instagram feed!”

Your ever moody husband pinches off a small piece of bread and feeds it to the nosy pigeon. “You and your precious feed,” he bemoans jokingly.

“Please? Just one picture!“ you playfully nudged him. Truthfully, you just wanted to see him smile for once, a genuine one and not one of those lopsided smirks he usually gives you when he’s teasing you. “Please?” you pout knowing he can never say no to that adorable face you make when you really want him to do something or worse, buy something for you.

Sighing, he turns to look at your phone’s camera lens and you blush when a smile slowly illuminates his usually stoic face. Your thumb hovers over the stop recording function, not realizing you’re taking a video, but you can’t seem to press it. “What’s taking so long?” he holds the smile like he’s some cartoon character and you snap out of it.

“Oh shoot, it’s a video!” you laughed, and you begin to run down the boardwalk, eagerly getting away from Toji who demands that you delete it immediately. Of course, you’re no match for his borderline inhuman speed attributed to his athletic physique and he catches you by the waist, playfully swinging you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes.

Now, your giggles have gone silent.

Toji realizes now he should have indulged you more over the course of your relationship and subsequent marriage. Had he known that you won’t even make it to your third wedding anniversary, he would have allowed you to take as many pictures and videos of him as you’d like, he’d swallow his pride and he’d give you the brightest of smiles so you could happily post him on your social media accounts with a heartwarming caption about him being your “smiley hubby”.

More than that though, he should have taken more photos of you, mostly stolen candid shots, of course. You can’t catch him being all soft on you now. He still has a reputation to live up to after all. But more than that, had he known that your illness was intent on stealing every scrap of you from him, he should have made more effort in preserving all these memories. He should have kept everything from those toll tickets on your late night drives together when the two of you just needed a quick escape from the world, to receipts from your trip to Tokyo Disney Sea on your first wedding anniversary, and even simple convenience store receipts.

Toji should have kept everything down to the smallest of memories knowing one day, that’s all he’ll have to remember you by.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and he effortlessly gathers you into his arms, being extra careful with your fragile form as he sits you down on the wheelchair. He opens the backseat and he pulls out two different colored blankets, one sea-foam green and the other, rose pink. “Take your pick,” he smiles at you and you chuckled softly, pointing to the rose pink one. He happily covers your legs with it to keep you warm, stroking your cheek when you whisper a bashful ‘thank you’.

Suddenly, the wind picks up and your hair-clip that’s holding your locks in a low bun comes loose, and your head turns in the direction of where it flew off to. Toji is quick to take out his phone and he snaps a quick burst shot of you, your hair blowing in the wind, under the coastal spring weather. You turn to look at him and your face falls when you see him burying his phone in his pocket. Since you fell ill, you’ve become insecure of your appearance, banning your husband from taking pictures and videos of you altogether. “Toji, I thought I said no pictures.”

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

The next day, you serendipitously find your photo on your Instagram handle with the caption: “Y/N — Yokohama, Spring, 2024” and when you swipe left, another picture, well to be more accurate, a screenshot of the video clip you accidentally took of him captioned: “Toji — Yokohama, Summer, 2022”.

“You don’t have to stick around for me. Please just go, I’m sure Yuko must be looking for you right now.”

Yuko, his new fiancé, had been blowing up his phone the entire day with texts demanding to know where he is and if he’s going to make it to their date that night. It’s 7 PM now, and Toji still hasn’t shown up to confirm their restaurant reservations. The damn witch will surely cuss him out when they see each other again, but for some reason, even if he tries, he simply cannot bring himself to give a flying fuck. Your immunologist and oncologist stepped out for a bit to allow you two a brief moment of privacy which had now stretched to an expanse of five hours since your results came in.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, not a single sound can be heard. Inside however, underneath this tough exterior he was projecting, Toji is throwing a fit, screaming at the sky like those broken men in those shitty Netflix romance tragedies he used to callously make fun of.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You knew, didn’t you?”

Toji’s bites his cheek trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it out loud. You hated him. You wanted nothing to do with him after he cheated on you with some girl he met at a bar in uptown Shibuya. That’s why you didn’t tell him, he didn’t deserve to know. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, crumpling the medical abstract in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Was it because you hated me? Is that it? You didn’t think I’d worry about you?”

You screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. You didn’t hate him, not even when you have every reason to. He abandoned you, left you to waste away and to die and yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to resent him for the simple reason that he is the literal love of your life, the reason behind your smiles, your happy mornings and passionate midnight hours. “At first, I thought I was fine, maybe just fatigued or something.”

“Don’t lie. You knew something was going on and that something in your body was seriously fucked up.”

“And we weren’t married anymore so, I didn’t think it was right to tell you…I wanted to though, but I didn’t want to intrude on you and Yuko,” you said meekly. Even in your greatest hour of need, you were still thinking of him, putting him first even when he doesn’t deserve it. “I-I…I don’t hate you enough to worry you, to make you feel that you could have done something to prevent this. Because I’m telling you right now, regardless if you were faithful or not, I was bound to get sick anyway. You couldn’t have done anything to change that.”

“But I could have been there. I should have noticed. I shouldn’t have downplayed everything.” He says this as if he wants to shake this noble, self-sacrificing bullshit attitude out of your system. “I’m your husband. I should have been there.”

You flash him a heartbroken smile at his little slip-up, so, even now, he was still referring to himself as your husband, not your ex-husband. “To see me waste away? Babe, I don’t want you to see that.”

You begin to feel tears streaming down your face, the emotions you were experiencing now flowing like a free river after an entire dam is destroyed. Toji watches you unravel before his eyes and his bottom lip begins to tremble. What has he done? Dear god, what has he done to his poor, poor wife?

“I want you to remember me healthy, I want you to remember me as myself not this…sickly pitiful woman you’re unlucky to call your ex-wife…besides, after all this, I’ll only be a dream.” A mere passing second in his life. “And believe me, my life wasn’t so bad.”

He loses it at that.

“Just stop this, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re not scared shitless of dying, like you’re not gonna have regrets once all this is over! Stop pretending that things are gonna be alright one day because it won’t! Not when I’m now being forced to accept that you won’t get better, not when I’ve wasted so much time putting you through hell and back instead of taking care of you like a proper husband should, and certainly not when I’m suddenly supposed to learn to say goodbye and to live without you! Because fuck that, Y/N!”

You are left speechless at that.

Toji was never one to lose his cool, even during your worst arguments, he may slide a few snarky remarks here and there but Toji Fushiguro…never yells, and he doesn’t sob either.

You hesitantly stand up and walk over to him, crouching down in front of him as he covers his tear-stained eyes with his right hand while the other is crumpled around your medical abstract. Taking his left hand, you gently remove the medical abstract from his grip, and for the first time in so many months, you feel one another’s warm skin against each other. You press your forehead to his hand as you wept with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be a dream. I want you to be real.”

“Can’t you be bothered to clean up in here?!”

You wake up from your nap, you’ve been battling muscle and joint pain the entire day, the slightest of movement causing you to double over in agony and because of that, you weren’t able to clean the apartment today. You slowly get up from the couch, being extra cautious not to make any sudden movements. “Well?” Toji presses, his lips curled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, I was feeling a little tired,” you sighed heavily, picking up a broom to sweep the living room floor despite the excruciating pain you were in. Toji rolls his eyes, handing you a Manila envelope. “What’s this?” you asked softly, peering inside.

“Divorce papers,” he shrugs nonchalantly. Everything stops, even the very rise and fall of your chest halts into an uneasy stasis. “I already signed them. I just need your signature then, I’ll move out by tomorrow.”

You must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to all this. You’re asleep, in a deep REM sleep, utterly oblivious to the world. This wasn’t happening. But you could feel the rough surface of the brown envelope, and you could still feel the agonizing stabs of white hot pain throughout your body. Glancing at Toji, you see him texting someone with an eager look on his face that screams: “I’m free.”.

Instantly, it dawns on you.

“Will she make you happy?” you asked, putting down the broom to look around for a pen but Toji pulls one he stole from the law firm office out of his pocket.

“She will,” he answers simply.

And you are indeed grateful that he is completely upfront about finding another while the two of you are married. It would have hurt much more, you silently remind yourself, if he had just upped and left without another word leaving you to wonder what went wrong between the two of you. This was Toji’s final act of mercy in your marriage, and he’s not opposed to honesty and truthfulness either. Not once did he try to change his phone’s lock-screen passcode, nor did he try to conceal the identity of the woman who was texting him every night while you slept fitfully next to him. It was almost as if he wanted you to find out, like he wanted you to know so you could back off yourself.

But if there’s one thing Toji loves about you, it’s your unending faithfulness to your promises, to your marriage vows, and your willingness to endure anything he threw at you. You never checked his phone, you never brought up his affair, you never got angry with him. You just kept silent, simply content with giving and giving…and giving while he milked you dry by taking, and taking and taking, tearing you to pieces bit by bit without hearing a single complaint fall from your lips.

You were a devoted wife, through and through.

And it bored the hell out of him, on top of your recent mishaps, he was done. Done with everything, and done with you.

“Okay.”

Come morning, he takes everything he owns with him and promptly proposes to the girl he’s been seeing for the past year. Two weeks later, your divorce is received by the Tokyo Family Court and is summarily approved and finalized. From that moment on, you and Toji went on your separate ways never to look back, you were each other’s yesterdays, and the love that existed between the two of you was nullified in favor of acquaintanceship…or so you thought.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Toji calls into the house as he comes back from your neighborhood’s pharmacy. You look up from the book you were reading, smiling ever so slightly at your husband who seemed to have a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he kisses the top of your head when he reaches your wheelchair.

“You seem happy,” you remarked positively.

“Well, for one, they replenished their stocks today and I managed to get you your steroids and painkillers so you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight,” Toji smiles, taking out the items from the pharmacy’s paper bag. “And I got you this neat memory foam cushion for your wheelchair.” He fluffs it up as a form of demonstration before placing it behind your back.

When he sees you smile, a sense of relief washes over Toji. You reach towards him, and he pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you,” you said, pure sincerity dripping from your voice. “For everything you do.”

“Anything for you.” He suddenly moves back and reaches into the tote bag you lended him. “Oh, and wait, before I forget, I have another surprise.”

You laughed airily. “Another surprise? Now, you’re just spoiling me!”

He pulls out a piece of paper from the tote bag and he places it in your hands as your eyes quickly scan over the document. Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize what it is. Did Toji really—? You couldn’t believe it. “A marriage pre-registration,” you said in awe. You read it again just in case to make sure that this wasn’t a figment of your sick body’s imagination, that this was real, that Toji genuinely wants to make everything right again. Your fingers skim over your typewritten names. “It has our names…we’re really—“ You can’t even finish your sentence without bursting into happy tears. “Are we—?”

Toji nods, gazing into your eyes, and as emerald and (E/C) clash for what seems to be an eternity lost in one another, he plants a kiss to your temple, coming up to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We are. The Tokyo Family Court, as far as I know, will approve our remarriage once we file this. So, you have to get stronger, okay?” He’s begging you at this point, despite your rapidly deteriorating condition. “Strong enough to see me fix everything. Strong enough to be there on our second wedding, strong enough to say our vows again.”

Your hand comes up to stroke his cheek from behind, and he nuzzles into your neck at your tender touch.

“I will. I promise.”

But you never really get to say your vows. Not comprehensibly anyway.

“Babe, can you say that again?”

Toji crouches by your bedside as you look at him apologetically. You were causing him trouble and pain again which is the last thing that you want to give him especially when’s fought and worked so hard to care for you, to keep prolonging this borrowed time you’re on. “To-ji. Toji.” You gaze at him apprehensibly, not really believing you can do it without crumbling.

“Come on, babe, you can do it. Say my name, please…Toji. I’m Toji.”

“Toooji-“ you slurred sadly. At this point, your Multiple Sclerosis has reached its end stage and has taken…everything from you: your ability to walk, your ability to control your muscle spasms and other bodily functions…and now, coupled with an unexpected stroke, your ability to speak. And you and Toji know that time is almost up, with you having come to accept it, while your husband still held onto hope. Your fingers gently graze over his face as best as your spasms and tremors allow you, starting from his forehead to his eyes, his nose, his cheek and finally, his lips, as if you’re memorizing it one last time. “Lo-ove you-“

Toji sniffles, and your fingers instinctively catch his warm tears. “I love you,” he whispers brokenly. “I do. I love you.”

You feel yourself tearing up as you’re forced to watch your beloved cry. And the worst part? You can’t do a thing about it. “D-oon’t c-cry—‘m okaay. Promi-miise…e’everyything ‘ill be okaaay.”

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, trying to crack a joke even as hope dwindles. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking champ this entire time, you know? I’m so proud of you. So…so…proud that you’re still here.” He strokes your hair as you tread between the realms of the conscious and the unconscious. “Do you wanna go out today? The weather’s shit though. You’ll probably catch your death out there.” At the mention of the word ‘death’, Toji stops, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

You smile weakly at him. “Tiiredd—“

“You’re no fun,” Toji gently flicks your nose and you scrunch it up in displeasure. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding back an entire waterfall of tears. He knows it’s today. It has to be. You woke up today without your usual ‘happy morning’ greeting, and you refused to drink anything, much less eat anything. “You tired? Any pain?”

You shake your head. You’re as comfortable as you can be for the first time in months. Hospice nurses say humans are built to live the same way they are built to die, no person in this world has ever had the uncanny privilege of being able to look up ‘How to die?’ on a quick Google search and actually find a Wikihow on the morbid subject matter, nor is there anyone else who can teach another how it’s done. It’s just something humans know how to do without a manual, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of human existence is the fear of death, the fear of what comes after, the fear of a nothingness that could follow after living such a vibrant life. Your life was short, barely spanning thirty years, but you lived well: you fell in love, you got hurt, but you fell together again. Now it all has to come to an end, Toji will just have to take care of the rest.

And you weren’t scared.

Or at least you can’t look scared, if you were to be more accurate, you have to look strong and ready to accept the cards you’ve been dealt with for Toji’s sake. When he feels your hand start to slacken, Toji intakes a sharp, shaky breath of sheer panic. “Not yet, Y/N. Please. Not yet.”

He climbs into bed with you, bringing you closer to this desperate man you call yours. There was no getting better anymore, there was no miracle he could hang onto, no deity he could beg for death to spare you, no pill bottle he could pray to. He knew that from the start. But what he witnessed these past months, you’ve been the braver one between the two of you, you knew how to make the most of the rhythm this cruel world gave you and you graciously took him along to dance to the last song of the evening with you.

“There’s still hope. Just keep your eyes open. Just keep them open.” He presses his lips to your forehead, his delusion getting the better of him. “We’ll just keep trying…you can’t leave. You have to stay. You have to.”

“Thaank yoou—“ you softly told your Toji, your voice shrinking in decibels as you become a little drowsy, sinking into the warmth of the requiem of a life well spent.

Toji listens to you, his lips pursed, intent on making this final act of love — a love that is strong enough to say goodbye — a memorable one. And should the afterlife exist, he wishes to send you off with a smile, with the reassurance that he’ll be alright even if that was far from happening.

“Toji.”

“I want you to be real. And I don’t care if we’ll live on borrowed time. Another extra second with you…is enough to last me my entire lifetime.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Femboy Tenant x Landlord Reader (2)

Part 1

“This is your new life, my little landlord, now let me tell you about my rules!”

The sad thing about this situation is the betrayal for you

You’ve heard stories about squatters or terrible tenants that didn’t want to leave

But you were never aware you needed to worry about being abducted

And by this tenant no less

From your many other tenants who were bodybuilders, gang members, drug dealers

It was this one

The pretty femboy who was always late on rent

“What’s with that indignant look on your face? Mad you didn’t guess? That’s okay no one suspects just how much talent is behind my gorgeous face.”

You don’t know if you’d call a dedicated fanbase excuse me a cult a talent

Now in some foreign luxurious place, the only people surrounding you are Sora and the dedicated followers who have been commanded to keep you here

“Sora-sama is bestowing a gift upon you! Be grateful!”

“Sora-sama did say you would say these concerning things…but he was right your illness is severe.”

“No worries Sora-sama has taught us how to give your medication no worries! Now stand still!”

The medication you’re given ranges from alcohol, paralyzing serums, or aphrodisiacs depending on your behavior

Sora is very careful about where he’s affectionate with you 

He knows very well which of his loyal little followers will not mind, the ones that may even begin to worship you 

But he knows there are dangerous ones 

Jealous ones that are perfect for when he demands they commit certain crimes or ultimately sacrifices–when he gets to that point

It takes a while to go that deep

But a near attack from a jealous follower is enough to trigger it

Before this, he’d vaguely recall how he first cried to his followers about an especially creepy fan and hearing from police how little of their remains could identified 

Or how one of the fans got a little too forward making him actively cringe in front of his followers

That fan was never heard of or seen again

At the time his guilt was small but present

He didn’t kill those people…his fans did…besides they were the ones overstepping

It’s not that bad…right

But when you’re on the line that guilt dissipates

The tears he sheds when he caresses the bandage on your arm

Are ones of anger

He’s perfect, beautiful, kind, full of wisdom

So why was his love being tampered with 

The world should and would be at his feet

With you–safely–at his side

But he can’t do this without you being in danger

So he’ll let his tears show to the most loyal, the most violent, the most dutiful

“They hurt me by hurting my (Y/n)! Do you like this?”

“NO!” 

“Will you not protect me? Protect us?”

“Of course! “Will you kill for us?”

“YES!”

“Good. We’ll be waiting to see the results of your hunt. My beautiful little followers!”

“YES!”

It kind of takes him back when you do try to add some input

Not too long ago he remembers pleading with you about rent

Now it’s you pleading with him not to execute the unlucky group that tried to take your place

But just like you did with him he’s going to cruelly deny you 

Well maybe he can be persuaded if you let him participate in an activity you’ve forbidden of him

“I might be willing to let them off with a loss of one limb if you let me do that one thing!”

“....”

“Come on! Aren’t you a benevolent compassionate partner to their king? Won’t you convince me not to punish them with my wrath?”

“Okay but only one time!”

“Yay! Wait for me to get my lingerie!”

He flips often between being at your whim to controlling every aspect of your life

But he has you for an example

Back then you were the landlord who caught his heart and kept him in line

So isn’t it just perfect that he do the same

[abbyromanoff]

YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MINE

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,475

WARNINGS: angst, cheating, divorce, depression, fluff, mind manipulation, the hex being created, pregnancy, kinda dark, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Wanda hummed as the flavors hit her taste buds, her eyes directed at you as she smiled warmly.

“How do you like the dinner, sweetheart?” You grinned beneath the fork inside your mouth, instantly returning your lips back to a thin line when her eyes left you.

“Well, I hope you’d like it, I spent many hours prepping this.” She chuckled, giving your hand a squeeze from across the table. You still didn’t utter a word, she was growing concerned.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You shrugged, nervously playing with your food as you bit the inside of your cheek, a habit you started and failed to stop, much to Wanda’s liking.

“C’mon, you can talk to me, that’s what I’m here for.” You looked up, noticing her intense gaze that showed she knew exactly what you were going to say.

“You still haven’t signed the papers.” Her body tensed, her eyes shutting as she sighed. Her hand balled into a tight fist as she continued to eat. She could see you were lacking the ring on your finger, the sight making her want to crawl into a corner and cry her eyes out. There was no way out of this, she realized, so she had to make one.

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

“My fucking God, Wanda,” You slammed your hands down, standing as you paced urgently. She refused to look, instead finding her meal all the more interesting.

“You’re pathetic, you know that? You can’t sign some fucking papers, really? This marriage has been ruined the moment you slept with that tramp.” The realization made her throat tighten, tears nearly ready to spill from her loopy eyes.

“I told you it was a mistake, it meant nothing-”

“That doesn’t stop the fact that it happened, Wanda! Do you think it’s easy for me to have to live here daily? To see you and constantly be reminded of what you did? I worked so hard to even convince myself I was worthy of you, and you go and do this?” She cowered down, wiping her hands on the small cloth in her lap while you stared at her, nostrils flared and eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t fix what you did-”

“God, will you let me fucking speak?” She yelled, growing frustrated with the constant interruption. You didn’t refute, instead placing your hands on your hips as you waited for her voice to return.

“I told you, I was drunk and she looked so much like you. We were fighting, I was upset, you were too, so I went out and got wasted to the point I could barely walk. I saw her there and I…I let her take me home, but when I woke up I- I realized what I did and I knew I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.” You already heard the story before, the same one that haunted you in your dreams. You imagined someone else being able to hear the moans she promised were only for you, it made you violently ill.

“I made a promise to you, and I plan to keep it. I will never, and I mean never, touch a drink again. I won’t even look in another woman’s direction because I don’t need to when I have my wife right in front of me. My perfect, breathtaking, loving wife that I care for so much.” She wrapped her arms around your waist as she dropped to her knees, placing her forehead against your thigh.

“Please, baby, I don’t know how many times I have to apologize before you forgive me, but I’ll continue to tell you for the rest of my life.” She placed small kisses against the covered skin, feeling the warmth that you supplied, the same warmth that brought her comfort at night. Now it brought her shame and guilt, but she’d rather carry that burden for the rest of her life than lose you for even a moment.

“I don’t want to have to be reminded of what you did for the rest of my life, Wanda. I’m constantly having someone down my ear telling me how terrible you are, and how I should never forgive you. For fucks sake, even our friends have told me to leave you! How am I going to look them in the eye again knowing all they see is someone who’s too gullible to even leave their cheating wife?” You sobbed, and the look on your face only brought misery to the woman. You seemed so lost, so exhausted, and she was the cause.

“I know, I know, and none of this is fair to you, and I’m so sorry I caused this-”

“Stop saying sorry. Please, I can’t do this.” You begged, your voice cracking as you drew more emotions.

“But I mean it! I never want you to feel like I don’t want you because I want you more than anything. I need you, Y/N, I need you in my life.” It was true, she didn’t know how to properly function without you. You were the only one who kept her going, you were the one who held her when she felt like she couldn’t stand. When she was ready to give up, she had you holding her back. Without you, she’d be nothing.

“You say you need me, but you don’t consider what I need. And what I need is for you to let me go, and sign the papers.” You wanted to give in, to fall into her embrace and let her make it up to you. But you couldn’t, your mind would never let you forget the scene you walked in on. And maybe you’d still remember it vividly without her, but at least you wouldn’t have to be in the exact place it happened with the person who did it. At least you could move on and find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like this, intoxicated or not.

“No- no, I won’t do it.” Tear stains painted your shirt from where her head rested, you knew you’d have to throw this out sooner than later.

“Wanda, please, just do it.” You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to ignore her pleas.

“But-”

“I’m begging you, Wanda. If you truly loved me, you’d want me to be happy.” She rushed towards you when you tried to escape her tight hold.

“You’re happier with me-”

“I can’t be happy with you, not when I can’t stop thinking about what you did. It ruined me, Wands, and it continues to haunt me every breathing moment.” The nickname brought a crack to her rotting heart. Her body felt like it was decaying the more you pulled away and the more she tried to hold on.

“You’re going to sign the papers. And then I’ll be gone. This is best for the both of us, you’ll learn to live without me.” She felt as though she was going to be sick, why were you still denying her? She couldn’t let you go. No, she couldn’t.

You leaned down to her level, moving the hair that covered her face out of the way. You cupped her cheeks, smiling sadly as her sobs caused her hands to shake lightly. She reached out hopefully, copying your action and bringing herself closer.

“Can I- can I have one last kiss, at least?” You looked down, sighing as you shook your head before returning her gaze.

“If I kiss you, I don’t think either of us will be able to stop.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” You chuckled, and it felt like music to her ears. She smiled warmly, even though her chest tightened and her breath cut short.

“I love you, Wanda, I always will. Maybe we were just never meant to be, and that’s okay. But if I don’t let you go now, I’ll never be able to be happy.” But you could’ve been meant to be, she realized. You could’ve been the best, most loving couple. Your kids would’ve grown up in a healthy, safe household full of love. But that all came to an end when that night left her hopeless, she pleaded with God constantly to rid her actions but they were never heard.

“I love you too, Y/N, and I want you to be happy, I just wish I could’ve been the reason.”

“You were.” The past tense was what caused her body to crash into yours. She lost all control as your arms brought her a sense of comfort she lacked for so long.

“I’m sorry I failed you.”

In a few months, the divorce was being settled and you officially moved out. You had been staying with a friend for some time, and she was more than happy to help you out. She had been in a similar situation before, so it was clear what she had to do when she saw you standing on her front porch. Wanda thought she would be able to see you when you would gather your stuff from her place, but a multitude of your friends went instead, all of them giving glares to the older woman as she refused to look at the empty home. It seemed wrong without your stuff here, and all she had were pictures of the two of you that she couldn’t remove.

She felt hopeless as time progressed, and the lack of messages or calls from you only made time move slower. Every day felt like a decade as she failed to execute basic human needs. She often struggled to get out of bed or brush her teeth, and now it’s been two days since she last showered. She wondered how you were, she hoped you weren’t in such a horrid state like herself. But a part of her also hoped you were, just so she knew you still cared.

Eventually, it all became too much. She hadn’t slept in her bed in over a year, the constant reminder that another laid where you once were disgusted her. The couch had become her home, but even the couch seemed to shame her. Her favorite movies didn’t feel the same without you laughing with her. The sitcoms she loved so much now annoyed her; she had changed completely, and it was all her fault.

She couldn’t hold it back anymore, she broke. Her small, empty home in the town of Westview became full once again. She didn’t know what happened. One moment she was sobbing uncontrollably while huddling close to the stuffed animal she had won for you on your first date, then the plain walls filled with hope. Her heart slowly gained a beat, and her hands felt warm again. She stood in front of a door, her fist finding the wood and creating a small knock.

“It’s open!” She heard, and she stopped in her tracks. It was you, it was your angelic voice that was slowly fading from her mind. She gulped fearfully before twisting the knob, letting her legs take control as she stepped forward.

“Love, you’re home!” You greeted with a smile, turning to face her as Wanda’s eyes fell on the toddler being held in your arms. She had the same hair as Wanda, and while it wasn’t easy to spot from so far away, she could see her green, piercing eyes looking back at her. The child giggled and pointed her chubby finger her way, causing a smile to break out on her face.

“Everything alright, sweetie?” You asked when she didn’t move, her mouth agape and her hands nearly releasing the briefcase she held.

“Yes…everything is just perfect, my love.” She mustered out, rushing towards your figure and embracing you in a tight hold. The replica of her was left with a small kiss to her forehead before she took her into her arms, blowing raspberries on her exposed tummy. Alana giggled again, and it felt like Wanda’s ear would explode. She felt like she was dreaming, only this wasn’t the nightmare she fought with every night. No, this time you were here to cure her.

“Momma!” She heard from a distance, seeing a young boy running to greet her. He hugged her leg tightly, causing Wanda to stumble before she leaned down, ruffling his hair before she gave him a small side hug, the baby in her arms restricting her from embracing him as much as she wanted to.

“Hey, kiddo! How was your day?”

“It was amazing! Me, Mommy, and Alana made dinner!” She gasped, showing her appreciation towards the excited boy before he ran off to the kitchen as she requested. He was still too young to carry his little sister, so she continued to do so.

“And hello to you, my sweet baby.” Wanda placed a small kiss against your stomach, placing her hand against the bump and rubbing her thumb in small, soothing circles.

“Have they been giving you any trouble today?” She asked, resulting in a small sigh from your end.

“They’ve been kicking all day. I swear, if they’re not professional soccer players, I don’t know what else they’ll do.” Wanda laughed before leaving multiple pecks to your lips, grasping your hand in hers before leading you to the kitchen.

“Well, it’s only a few more months until they’ll be out of you, I know you can do it.” You stopped in your tracks, eyeing her and causing the taller woman to stall. Nobody wanted to see you angry, especially when you were pregnant.

“First of all, I don’t see you carrying two demons in your stomach, so I’d shut up if I were you. And, second of all, this is the third time I’m doing this, you are no longer allowed to go without a condom.” She placed her hand on her chest as if she was offended and you grinned, leaving a kiss on her cheek before walking through the kitchen door where your son laid out all the dishes for you four. You thanked him before he climbed onto his seat, still finding himself to be too short for the chairs you had. Wanda placed your daughter in the high chair before taking the seat next to her. You noticed her smiling large, her eyes being filled with more joy than usual.

“What’s got you all happy?” She admired the scene in front of her, Pietro Jr and Alana sitting peacefully, both of them sharing the genes she was blessed with. Her partner, smiling back at her while they carried her twins, she couldn’t have asked for anything more.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just thinking about how lucky I am to have all of you.” You blushed, tilting your head slightly as you bit your lip.

“Well, that’s never going to change, sweetheart.” ‘I’ll make sure of it’, she thought.

[nadvs]

push and pull (part two) (end)

pairing twin!rafe x female reader x twin!zach

summary life felt complicated enough when you started falling for zach. then you meet rafe. he’s the complete opposite of his twin brother, but he captures your attention just the same.

content warnings alcohol use, mental illness, mentions of parental abandonment

» intro post | part one

» masterlist

When Zach wakes up the next morning, he fully understands the term hangxiety.

His temples pound as he stares at his ceiling. At some point last night, he slipped from tipsy into drunk.

Thankfully, he didn’t get so wasted that he’s forgetting anything. But then again, that means every time he made an ass of himself is a memory etched into his brain.

He remembers welcoming his date. Having a decent time with her. Walking her downstairs. Her lips on his cheek when she kissed him goodbye. Feeling like something was missing, and then, that something wasn’t missing anymore when you came downstairs to let him in.

And he remembers looking over at you across the party. Wishing he was next to you. Feeling crappy for thinking about you while he was with another girl. Knowing he was idiot for thinking he could ignore his feelings for you and date someone else.

Talking to you in the elevator. Crap.

He buries his head into his pillow. Why did he blabber to you like that? His brother would kill him if he knew what he said. He probably already wants to kill him for loudly proclaiming how much he loves him in the hallway. Rafe’s not one for any sort of PDA.

Zach picks up his phone to text you: Trauma dumping to you was just a dream I had, right? Please tell me it didn’t actually happen.

You reply minutes later: you mean in the elevator? definitely a dream.

Despite his embarrassment, he smiles at his screen.

He replies: Sorry about that.

You send another text: it’s no problem. i’m guessing you have a pretty bad hangover.

He replies: Everything hurts.

You text back: make sure to hydrate and rest ok?

Zach smiles again. He can’t help but daydream about you coming over, taking care of him, cuddling him.

He’s worried about the consequences of things going wrong if he got into a relationship with you. But God, does he want you.

He replies: Ok :)

When he eventually leaves his bedroom, he sees Rafe lounging on the couch, still in his pajamas. Surprisingly, his brother actually tidied up.

It gives him hope that Rafe really is trying to improve himself. He’s had his fair share of meltdowns and Zach’s had a front row seat to all of them, watching his brother break down into tears, spiralling into his toxic, self-hating thoughts.

Once he calms down, every time, Rafe talks about how he knows he’s not a good person, that he wants to be better. But then, he sticks to his bad habits. He never gets the help he needs, even though Zach encourages him to.

Nonetheless, Zach never saw the bad in Rafe that he’s so adamant is there. At his worst, he can be violent, drunkenly throwing punches at parties, but Zach knows it’s a result of his emotional scars.

“Shit,” Rafe chuckles when he sees Zach. “You’re alive.”

“Barely.” Zach sinks onto the other side of the couch, closing his eyes as he tilts his head back. “You cleaned up for once.”

“Did you just say for once? I’m always cleaning up, asshole,” he mutters, making Zach laugh.

“I hope the neighbors don’t hate us,” Zach says. “The party got kinda loud last night.”

“This guy’s thinking about the neighbors,” Rafe says with a scoff. “The girl you were with looked like she was into you. Bet she would’ve stayed the night.”

“Maybe,” Zach says with a shrug, thinking back to his date.

Then, Rafe says he thinks you might be into him, too, considering he caught you staring. And Zach’s pulse picks up.

He loves and hates hearing that. Because if you really do like him back, it’s exciting, but that makes it even more crushing that he can’t pursue anything.

“Maybe,” Zach echoes.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Rafe laughs, thinking about how good you looked last night. “I’d jump on that if I had the chance.”

“But you don’t have the chance,” Zach murmurs. “If you love me, you won’t jump on any of my friends.”

Zach sits up and looks at his brother.

“By the way, you never said you love me back last night. I’m still waiting.”

“Yeah,” Rafe snorts. “You can keep waiting.”

────୨ৎ────

On Monday morning, you finally get a response from a student you found online who’s selling a used textbook you need.

You’d rather not go by yourself, so you text the group chat: i need to go to a stranger’s house to buy a textbook tonight. is anyone down to tag along so i’m not alone?

To your relief, Zach texts the group a minute later: I got you :)

That evening, you’re knocking on his front door. Instead of Zach, though, Rafe answers.

“Hi,” you say. “Is Zach around? He’s supposed to come with me to pick a textbook up.”

“Haven’t heard him since he got home,” he says, turning to look up the stairs. “I’ll get him.”

A minute later, Rafe comes down, keys jingling in his hand.

“He’s sleeping,” he says. “I can take you. I was about to go for a drive anyway.”

“Cool,” you say. “Thanks.”

You watch him lean over to slip on his sneakers, his frame broad and tall. It’s surprising that Zach, who’s usually reliable, forgot about your plans. And that Rafe, who you’ve come to known as hot and cold, is willing to help you.

He locks the door behind him before you make your way down the hallway together.

“He must be tired after practice,” you say, well aware of the team’s training schedule.

“Yeah, when he’s asleep, he’s out.”

You smirk to yourself, imagining Zach adorably bundled up in his bed. You already know he’s going to apologize profusely once he realizes he accidentally bailed on you.

“It’s only ten minutes away,” you tell Rafe. “I just wanted someone with me since it’s some random guy I don’t know selling it.”

“Zach didn’t offer to just buy a new one for you?” he asks.

“No,” you laugh, entering the elevator. “Why would he?”

Rafe doesn’t get Zach sometimes. It’s insane that he’s not into you, that he sleeps through plans with you, that he doesn’t offer to buy you something that probably only costs a few hundred dollars.

“Want me to?” Rafe asks. You have to laugh.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I already set all this up. Do you always offer to buy girls school supplies?”

He bites his tongue. If Zach wasn’t so adamant about m not being allowed to try to hook up with you, he’d flirt and say yes, he buys all kinds of things for beautiful girls.

“Not always,” he settles for.

The elevator doors open. You enter the parking garage and follow Rafe to his car, settling into the cushioned passenger seat. He starts the engine, then offers the cable hooked up his radio to you.

“Already know you have good taste,” Rafe says. You smile, plugging your phone in.

You’re Zach’s friend, but he figures you can be his friend, too. Because he wants to get to know what he can about you, to flatter you and joke with you and talk to you, even though the night won’t be ending with you in his bed. He has fun with you. He’ll take what he can get.

He backs out of his parking spot, putting his hand against the back of your headrest as he looks through the rear window. You gaze up at his profile, taking in just how handsome he is, how nice his cologne smells.

Rafe doesn’t know the song you put on, but he likes it. He turns forward in his seat, driving out of the garage.

You chat about your days and even though it’s small-talk, it doesn’t feel like it. There’s an ease with Rafe that you can’t really compare to with anyone else.

Still, he’s kind of intimidating, but you naturally want to keep challenging this way he makes you feel, cracking the wall he has up.

When you reach the house at the end of a dark street, Rafe parks in the driveway, turns his key and takes it out of ignition.

“You can wait here,” you offer.

“Nah,” he mumbles. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

With Rafe standing behind you as you knock on the front door, the feeling of him protecting you is intoxicating, making your heart pound harder.

The door swings open and you greet the man you’ve been messaging. He’s holding the textbook you need and when you offer him four twenties, he looks through the bills and shakes his head.

“We said $100,” he says.

“No,” you reply. “$80. You said $80 was good.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I have the texts to prove it,” you laugh in disbelief.

“Really, man?” Rafe mutters. “Just give her the book.”

“$100,” he repeats.

“Forget it,” Rafe says. He steps forward, roughly taking your money out of his hand and pulling you by the waist. “I’ll just get you a new one.”

“No, wait,” the guy calls. “$80’s fine.”

“Get fucked,” Rafe mutters. You follow him to the car, still mentally catching up to what just happened. “Trying to scam you over twenty dollars. What a joke.”

You settle in the car, feeling Rafe’s warm, big hand curl your fingers open so he can give you your money back.

He’s fuming, beyond pissed off that someone would try to trick you like that. He’s glad you didn’t come by yourself to have to deal with this idiot alone. And he’s not sure how Zach would’ve handled it.

“How much is a new book?” he asks.

“Like, $250,” you tell him.

“I got it covered, alright?” he says. “Give me your phone.”

You comply, still a little jarred but appreciating how quickly he swept in to help you. You watch him enter digits, call himself to get your number, then hang up.

He returns your phone and takes his out, taps on your number, and quickly opens up a bank app.

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

“It’s fine.”

Within a minute, he sends you $250. It’s bizarre how he’s acting like that much money is nothing. Like he’s giving you change he owes you.

Rafe exhales slowly, starting his car again, coming down from the daze. This happens a lot. It’s like he blacks out when he gives in to his impulses.

But what can he do? He has a weak spot for you and he hates the idea of someone doing you wrong, of him not helping you when he’s totally capable of it.

He scratches his forehead. Zach’s words resonate in his head, telling him he needs to cool down and think before he does things. Sometimes his temper flares with no warning.

He’s sure he came off way too intense. He doesn’t know how to apologize for it. Before he can speak, you do.

“Can you come with me every time I have to buy something?” you say lightheartedly. It eases some of the tension in his chest.

“Was that too much?” he says, tone low.

You smile to yourself. You wouldn’t call it too much. He seems like he’s an intense, passionate person. Beneath the surface, Rafe feels more than he lets on.

“You didn’t let a guy con me, then you bought me a $250 book,” you reply with a laugh. “Trust me, you’re good. Thank you.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Zach as you back out of the driveway. Crap I’m so sorry. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Did you come over?

You reply: all good! i figured you were exhausted. rafe went with me.

“Guess who’s awake,” you say, the smile apparent in your tone. Rafe glances over at your profile as you text back.

He hates this about himself, the envy that pushes him to be sure that Zach is so much better than him. That every girl, if given the chance, would pick his brother over him.

“So, you were going to go for a drive?” you say, tucking your phone away. Because of his kind gestures tonight, you’re pretty sure that he likes hanging out with you. “Want company?”

Rafe taps his hand against the steering wheel. Even if this is just platonic, he doesn’t want you to leave his car.

“If I can pick the music,” he says.

“You said I had good taste.”

“Mine’s better.”

You laugh, and because he held your waist just a few minutes ago, you don’t feel apprehensive to touch him. You nudge his shoulder. He smirks.

An hour goes by like a minute. When Rafe and you part, your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing with him.

You talked together nonstop, touching on the most random subjects, finding similarities and differences. You have a deep crush on him. There’s no denying it.

When Rafe watches you step out of his car, he realizes that this isn’t just attraction like he’s used to. He feels like he knows you. And he likes you. It’s exciting and scary.

When Rafe makes it home, Zach is in the kitchen, the whole loft smelling like delicious food.

“You actually remembered how to get home?” Zach teases over the sound of ingredients sizzling in a pan.

“Lost track of time,” Rafe says. He settles on a barstool as Zach stands at the range, trying not to burn dinner.

Zach is glad his back is to his brother, because when Rafe tells him that he was with you that entire time, driving around and talking, his eyebrows furrow in anger and jealousy before he can subdue it.

“But before you lose your shit,” Rafe adds, “it was all friendly, okay?”

“Right,” Zach mumbles. He stares down at the pan, trying to breathe through his prickly frustration. He’s unbelievably mad at himself for falling asleep after practice.

You can do whatever you want, he knows that, but he feels that even though it’s just as a friend, you’re his, not Rafe’s. And his brother getting to spend time with you feels painfully unfair.

────୨ৎ────

The bright stadium lights pool over the deep green soccer field. It’s a cool evening, perfect for a match.

Cold seeps in through your jeans as you sit on the metal bench on the sideline. You have your phone at the ready to film the team as they rush the field for a home game.

You’ve grown to love your job. You found great friends, the TikTok account is earning more traction, and you’ve started to genuinely enjoy coming out to games and cheering on your school’s team.

It’s been almost a week since your night with Rafe. You haven’t seen him or Zach since. You welcome the distance. Liking them both is ridiculously confusing.

Minutes pass. The crowd is getting louder. The team still isn’t out on the field. Your dad runs a tight ship, so it’s weird that they’re late.

You head into the stadium tunnel towards the locker room, curiosity nagging you. A group of players are standing outside the door and you approach Chance.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Something’s up with Zach,” Chance tells you. Alarm rushes through you and you step into the locker room without a second thought.

Zach’s sitting on the bench by his locker, hunched over, surrounded by your dad, the team’s medic, and a few other players.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

Zach looks up at you. His eyes are sunken, his lips parted. And then, he loses consciousness.

When his eyelids flutter open, the brightness of the room is so painful that he has to squint.

“He’s up,” he hears. It’s you. He hasn’t heard your voice in a while. He misses it.

He slowly comes to, realizing he’s in a hospital bed. You’re sitting to his left. The team medic is standing at the end of the bed with a doctor. He’s hooked up to an IV.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“You’re dehydrated,” the medic explains, leaning over to hand a plastic cup of water to Zach. “You’re at Trinity Hospital. You’re okay. Drink.”

Zach weakly picks it up, downing the cool water, his throat feeling raw. He rolls his head to look at you again. He knows it’s wrong, but he’s relieved that you look so concerned for him. That you’re here.

The doctor introduces herself, then explains that Zach was unconscious for so long that she’d prefer to keep him overnight to monitor him.

The news makes everything in him twist with worry and frustration. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want Rafe to spiral.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m alright, though?”

“I’m not worried,” the doctor replies. “I just want to be sure you’re in good shape before I send you home.”

Within a few minutes, the doctor leaves the room. Then, the medic encourages Zach to drink more fluids, calls the coach to update him, and asks if you want to head back together now that you’re sure Zach’s okay.

You politely decline. You’re too worried to leave him alone so fast. And shortly after, it’s just you two in the room, listening to the beeps of Zach’s pulse.

“Dehydrated?” you say playfully, but still worried. “What the hell, Cameron?”

“I know,” he says with a smile. He regrets going hard at the gym today. He’s sure that’s what did it. “Rookie move.”

“I specifically told you to hydrate like, two days ago.”

Zach’s laugh is boyish. He reaches for your hand and squeezes. You remind yourself it’s likely nothing more than a friendly gesture.

“That was hangover advice,” he says. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand.

“It was life advice, actually.” You inhale slowly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He lets go of your hand, remembering you can hear his pulse right now and not wanting to risk you witnessing it beat faster.

“It was way more than two days ago, by the way,” he says. He threads his fingers through his hair, suddenly self-conscious of how bad he must look right now. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at your lap. You’ve been declining all the invitations to hang out in the group chat because the past few days have been so confusing.

Seeing Zach with another girl was painful, and then, you realized just how unimportant you felt to him when he slept through your plans, even though it was by mistake. You need time and space to stop liking him before you can hang out again.

“School’s been kicking my ass,” you lie.

“Do you need help?” he asks. He’d do anything to have you around again.

“Leave it to you to be in a hospital bed asking if you can help,” you mumble. Zach laughs. You try and fail not to fawn over his perfect smile.

“Did I faint in front of everybody?” he says, fixing his hair again.

“Not everybody,” you half-laugh. “But, seriously, everyone was really worried. We all care about you a lot.”

His heart warms. He may be in the hospital, but right now, he’s grateful for having people who care about him. It’s all he ever wanted.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Zach says softly. “And for staying.”

You nod. You were so worried that you told your dad you were going with the paramedics when they arrived, not even considering that you had work to do, that Zach was already taken care of.

“Of course,” you reply. “You said you don’t like being alone, remember? In that dream you had?”

Zach huffs a laugh and looks away, embarrassed as he thinks about that night in the elevator, but still appreciative.

“Did anyone call my brother?” he asks.

“I texted him that I’m with you at the hospital. He hasn’t replied yet.”

Zach nods and thanks you. He tries not to fixate on the fact that you have Rafe’s number. He looks at the clock hanging on the wall to see it’s late in the evening. He figures Rafe’s out with friends or with a girl, not paying attention to his phone.

He wishes he could just talk to him. With every second that passes, he worries more and more about Rafe’s reaction to him being here.

“I should’ve grabbed your phone from the locker room so you could talk to him directly,” you say regretfully. “But I told Chance to get your things for you after the game. Is there anyone else I should contact?”

Admittedly, you’re bracing yourself for him to mention the girl from the other night. Or any girl, really. But he only shakes his head no.

A nurse comes in to remind you that visiting hours are up soon. Zach sits up, visibly on edge, asking her when he can have visitors tomorrow. She tells him 9 a.m.

Knowing he won’t be able to see his brother in person tonight makes him anxious.

After the nurse leaves, Zach frantically asks if he can send a voice-note to Rafe on your phone. You open the conversation and hand your phone to Zach, noticing the nervous way he’s chewing on his lip.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker. “It’s nothing. I passed out from dehydration and I’m at Trinity and they’re keeping me overnight just to be sure I’m good, but the doctor’s not worried.”

His eyes flit to you and he swallows hard.

“This is nothing like the last time, okay? I know your mind’s gonna go there and this is not even close,” he continues. “You can come see me at nine tomorrow. And you better bring me food.”

Zach ends the recording, sends it, and gives you back your phone.

“Thanks,” he breathes. You nod, your eyebrows knitting in confusion and worry.

“Sure,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

Zach scratches the back of his neck.

“When he answers, please tell him that you saw for yourself that I’m okay,” he says. “He might be a little freaked out.”

You agree, not wanting to pry, and start to collect your things. There’s no television in the room and you feel bad that Zach’ll be left alone with nothing to entertain him. You want to help.

You tell him you’ll be right back, then rush downstairs at a vending machine you saw when you came in. After, you drop by the gift shop. It’s closed, the flowers and balloons locked up, but you’re still able to pick up a book sitting on a rack.

You leave behind more than enough cash for the book on the counter and go back to Zach’s room.

“Snacks,” you say breathlessly when you enter, dropping the bags of chips and candy and the paperback on the bed, “and a book. Hopefully, this’ll keep you entertained. And don’t tell my dad about the junk food. You know how he is about an athlete’s diet.”

Zach smiles at you, his eyes soft. With everything you’ve done tonight, you could simply be showing what a good friend you are, but what if you feel something for him, too?

The mention of his coach is reminder enough of why he doesn’t pursue this. It could get messy. But maybe he should be more like his brother. Taking risks. Allowing himself to do what he wants to do.

“I should go,” you sigh, looking at the clock. “Feel better, okay? We don’t stand a chance of winning without you.”

He laughs, his eyes lingering on you.

“Thanks,” Zach says. You turn to leave. He stops you with a gentle, “Hey.”

You stop, turning back to look at him. Zach takes you in, how good he feels when you’re around, how there’s still a little bit of worry written into your cute features.

He won’t tell you that he wants to you to be his girlfriend. Not like this, when he’s hooked up to monitors, stuck in a bed. He’ll do it when he’s out of here. He’ll do it when he can hold your face in his hands and tell you how much you mean to him.

“Seriously, thank you,” he tells you. “You’re amazing.” You smile at him again. If only he knew how much his words mean to you.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

You’re pacing through the parking lot when your phone buzzes. It’s Rafe calling you. You answer quickly. He says your name, his voice strained.

“I’m here. Is it too late to see him?”

“Yeah, visiting hours are over. I’m just leaving now,” you say, looking around the dark lot in case you can spot him. “But, honestly, he’s okay.”

“Does he…” Rafe pauses. “I think I see you.”

You approach each other under the starry sky, meeting by a line of parked cars.

His eyes are glossy. He’s been crying. No wonder Zach was so worried. He must have known the effect this would have on his brother. There’s more to this than you realize.

“Hi,” you say softly, ending the call. “It’s okay. He’s acting totally like himself.”

“He doesn’t have his phone?”

“No,” you say. “But I made sure someone’ll pick his stuff up for him.”

“What happened?”

“Before the game tonight, he was in the locker room and he looked really tired,” you explain. “He passed out, but he was already sitting and someone caught him, so he didn’t hit his head or anything. They have him on an IV and drinking lots of fluids.”

“Okay,” he mutters. “Fuck. I was at a bar and I wasn’t checking my phone… I got into a cab as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” you console him. “He’s good. He was more worried about you than himself.”

Rafe sighs, hands on his hips as he looks down and paces back and forth, hair hanging over his head. You can hear him panting.

“He was worried about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” Rafe asks the question the same tense way he did the night of the party. He’s so closed off, clearly upset at the thought of you knowing anything he doesn’t want you to know.

“I heard the voice-note he sent you,” you admit, “and he said you might be freaked out, but he didn’t tell me anything else. I didn’t ask. It’s not my business.”

Rafe chews on his lip the same nervous way Zach does. For once, you see a similarity between them.

His breathing gets even shallower. He rests his hands on the rear window of the van parked next to him. His body curls forward. His skin is flushed.

You step a little closer, searching his face in the light of the lamps lining the parking lot. He’s distraught.

“Rafe,” you say quietly.

His stare is on the ground, his chest heaving now. Something bad has been triggered in him.

“Hey,” you say.

“You can go home now,” he mutters breathlessly.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” you say. You take a risk, placing a hand on his back, feeling it rise and fall quickly.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” you say evenly. “I get that this is scary, but I promise you, everything’s okay. Zach is okay.”

Rafe’s chest is tight. His veins are made of ice. He feels like punching something. He hates this familiar loss of control, this shock of the world crumbling around him with no warning.

Yet while he thought that he’d hate someone touching him like this, that he’d hate being so vulnerable, he actually feels a little better.

You continue to rub his back, sweetly and tenderly. The touches he shares with girls are never like this. They’re always superficial, fuelled by lust. But this feels like real, sincere care.

“You took a cab here?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“Did you talk to the driver?”

“What?”

“Did you?” you say. “What kind of car was it?”

It’s all in an effort to distract him, and while Rafe stammers his way through his answers about the driver and the car and the bar he was at, you notice his breathing start to even out.

Minutes later, his heart isn’t racing as fast. His chest isn’t as tight. He can think clearer.

He’s embarrassed, but relieved you were here to talk him down before he ran into the hospital and demanded to see his brother. He now realizes how bad that could’ve gone.

“I don’t…” he stammers. He doesn’t know how to say that this doesn’t happen all that often, that this is a piece of him he typically buries deep from everyone.

“What?”

“You probably think I’m crazy.” Saying the word out loud hurts more than he expected. It’s what he’s felt all his life, that something isn’t wired right in his brain.

“No. I get it,” you say. You shake your head. “I mean, I don’t know what happened, but… I’m guessing he was in the hospital for something before, right?”

Rafe meets your eyes, straightening.

“I get why you’re freaked out,” you say. “I would be, too. Memories can mess with us.”

The way you just calmed him down, the sympathy in your tone, the alcohol swimming in his system are what push him to actually be honest with someone for once in a long time.

“We almost lost him,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Your face falls in sorrow, eyes searching his face. He looks down at the ground, too uncomfortable to meet your gaze again.

“I almost lost him,” Rafe mumbles, his voice thin. Because, really, he knows he would’ve felt the loss the hardest. His brother is the most important person in his life. Always has been.

And to lose him, someone so irreplaceable, someone he was with from the moment he was a living thing, would kill him. Zach’s right, even though he’s joking, that Rafe doesn’t tell him he loves him enough.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” Rafe says.

It was mere months after their mother abandoned them, saying she couldn’t stay with their father anymore, that she did everything she could do as a mom, that she was done.

It left a hole in Rafe that he feels every day. If Zach feels it, he does an incredible job hiding it.

He still doesn’t know what the final straw was. Why fourteen years of her sons’ lives was enough for her. How could a parent decide that they had enough of their kids forever?

She wasn’t the best mom, unpredictable and erratic, but he loved her. There had to be something wrong with her mind for her to act like that. To leave. Something that Rafe is sure skipped Zach and was passed on to him.

“That’s so young,” you say sadly.

“He was really sick for a while.” Rafe’s heart twists thinking about it.

How a freak case of pneumonia had Zach bedridden, his lungs fighting to keep breathing. How mad Rafe was at his brother, as if he did it on purpose. How sure he was that in some twisted way, his mother’s sudden abandonment triggered it.

He still regrets how he acted when Zach was discharged. He couldn’t talk to him for days. He was too angry for scaring him into thinking he was going to lose his best friend, his anchor.

“How long?” you ask.

“Weeks,” Rafe tells you. “And you know Zach. He kept telling everyone he was fine. Even as a kid, he didn’t want people to worry about him.”

“He is like that, isn’t he?” you say with a soft chuckle. Since you met Zach, you quickly learned he dismisses any notion of needing any sort of help. “But I promise, this isn’t one of those cases. I saw for myself. He’s good. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Rafe nods quickly, finally looking at you.

“You’ll see him tomorrow,” you say with a small smile, sad but touched that he opened up to you like this. “Until then, just try to relax.”

Rafe loves the feeling of your hand on him. He can’t remember the last time he loved someone’s touch. If he ever even did.

He’s keeping his promise to Zach. He won’t hook up with you. Because he wants more than that. He wants to know you and for you to know him. He wants you to stay the night, every night. He wants you to be his.

And he needs to be sure you don’t feel anything for his brother.

“Are you and him…” He swallows hard. “Is there anything there?”

Your forehead crinkles in confusion. Zach had told you that his brother was his best friend. You’re sure he would’ve told him if he felt something for you.

If he has to ask, Zach must not talk about you much at all. You’re nothing but a friend to him. Although you do have feelings for him, you were right to be apprehensive from the start. He doesn’t like you like that.

“No,” you finally say.

Rafe nods. At least there’s no unrequited feelings on either side. He must have been reading into things, imagining you looking at his brother a certain way.

“You wanna grab some food?” Rafe asks impulsively.

You agree. Right now, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.

Rafe’s been on a handful of dates before, but sitting across from you at a quiet late-night diner, sobering up, getting to know you more and more makes him feel like he’s living in a dream.

He’s never felt this way about a girl before. Scared in a good way. Slowly, he opens up little by little, peeling back layers of the wall he’s been hiding behind for years.

He shares what happened with his mom. How Zach was the strong one, while Rafe acted out and made his life hell. You take in every word, seeing just how much guilt and shame and pain he carries around.

You open up, too, sharing things you don’t tell many people. He’s a good listener, and the eyes you thought didn’t have much hope behind them at first aren’t cold at all by the end of the night.

It’s one in the morning when you part ways. Rafe shares a cab with you, making sure you get dropped off first, watching you step through the front door.

Everything in him wants to invite you to his place, but things are going to be different with you. He won’t rush into numbing himself with sex like he always does, because he refuses to be numb or absent or checked out with you in any way.

────୨ৎ────

“What kind of grown man forgets to drink water?”

Zach looks up from his orange juice to see Rafe walking into his hospital room.

He chuckles, asking Rafe not to give him shit for this because you already did. The mention of your name makes Rafe’s heart feel lighter in this tense moment.

Because of how good it felt to be so open with you last night, expressing just how important Zach is to him, remembering everything they’d gone through together, Rafe doesn’t shy away from leaning over to hug his brother, who stiffens in his bed.

“Uh, good morning to you, too?” Zach laughs. “Is this a hug? What the hell? Who are you?”

“I love you, too,” Rafe mumbles, pulling back and holding up a paper bag of breakfast for him. “And I got you your food, princess.”

“You try eating hospital food,” Zach replies, taking the bag, feeling ravenous.

Rafe settles on the chair, remembering his brother at fourteen, picking apart at the food they served him with a look of disgust, yet telling the nurses ‘it’s good, thank you’ when they asked if he was enjoying his meal.

Rafe urged his dad to bring his brother home-cooked food almost every day of his hospital stay. It was one of the little ways he showed up for Zach, taking care of him instead of the other way around for once.

“What’d the doctor say?” Rafe asks. “Do you feel better?”

“She hasn’t come to see me yet, but I feel totally fine.” Zach digs into his breakfast. “How are you?”

Rafe looks down at his lap, sighing before he speaks.

“I freaked out,” Rafe admits. Zach stills. “She told me you said I would and you were right. But, man… she knew exactly what to do.”

“It happened when you were with her?” Zach knows what Rafe’s breakdowns look like. He has full-blown panic attacks. He’s nearly inconsolable. He wonders how jarring that must have been for you.

“Out in the parking lot,” he says. “It was just too much. All that shit came rushing back.”

Rafe shrugs, defeated. Sometimes, he’s able to give into the fact that he can do nothing but surrender to the chaos in his mind. He felt safe doing it in front of you last night. He felt safe every second he was with you.

“Are you okay now?” Zach asks. He notices the hint of a smile in Rafe’s face. A brightness he hasn’t seen in him in a long time.

“Yeah,” Rafe says. “I gotta ask you something, though.”

“What?”

“Does ‘off limits’ mean I can’t date her?”

“Date her?” Zach repeats, in disbelief. “You want to date her? Like, commit to her? You don’t commit to anyone.”

Rafe breathes a chuckle, pursing his lips.

“Well, now, I want to.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe looks like he got rid of a ten-ton weight that was sitting on his shoulders. He’s relaxed. He’s content. Zach can’t remember the last time he saw him like this.

Zach became hyperaware of other people’s emotions at a young age. When their parents would argue, he saw what it did to Rafe, who would shut down and lash out. Zach would distract his brother in every way he could.

Then their mom left and it became ten times harder to keep Rafe steady. But Zach did it and he never stopped trying. Because helping others, putting their feelings first, really does make Zach happy.

But right now, he feels really far from happy.

He looks down at his food. He had it all planned out. He’d get in his best clothes, find a nice place to take you, give you a whole speech about how he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for days and how happy you make him and how happy he could make you.

“She feels the same way? Did something happen between you?” Zach asks. His chest is a hole. A pit.

“Nothing happened,” Rafe says, scratching the back of his neck.

It was nearly impossible for Rafe not to give into the impulse to hold your hand in the booth you sat at together last night and tell you how pretty you are and how much fun he has with you.

But he really does want to be a better person. He wants to think before he acts. And that means checking in with Zach that he’s okay with this, considering how tense he is about Rafe getting involved with his friends.

“But I think she might like me, too,” Rafe says. “And I made sure she’s not into you. I guess I was just reading into stuff before.”

That’s the moment Zach’s heart breaks. He licks his lips, his stare low. So, you would’ve just rejected him.

“You really like her?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“Why?”

“Don’t make me be corny,” he groans.

Zach’s head is pounding. He wants to be mad at Rafe. But he had so many opportunities to tell him that he likes you, and he was too chicken to admit it. And now, his brother is falling for you. And he looks so happy doing it.

“You’re gonna have to be corny,” Zach says. “I need to be sure you’re not just messing around.”

Rafe sighs. It’s always Zach doing this, gushing over a girl, freaking out over if she hasn’t texted him back, getting all nervous before a date. Rafe used to tease him about it. He gets it now, though.

“You suck,” Rafe scoffs, tensing up. It’s hard for him to talk like this, but he forces the words out. “I don’t know. I like who I am when I’m around her. And it’s… when she’s in the room, everything’s better, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zach says. He knows. He feels the exact same way.

“Is that corny enough for you?” Rafe says with a scoff. “Are you cool with this or no?”

Zach chews his food slowly only to buy time before he has to speak again. He’s trying to act unbothered and it’s working, considering how in the clouds Rafe seems.

He has no idea that Zach is falling for you. Because he’s too busy doing it, too.

He meets his brother’s eyes. He takes a deep breath. And, because Rafe’s happiness has always been more important to him than his own, he gives him his blessing.

“Go for it,” Zach says. “And don’t hurt her.”

He’s never felt so bitter. He hates that he hopes you’ll have a change of heart. He hates that he feels like he’d treat you better. He hates all of this. But he stays silent.

────୨ৎ────

You’re having a late breakfast when Zach replies to your text asking to keep you updated.

Doctor cleared me. I’m home and I got my stuff from Chance. Thanks for everything.

His message is cold compared to how he usually texts. But maybe he’s just tired from the hospital stay.

You gaze out your window, thinking about everything that happened last night. Rafe isn’t as different from Zach as you first thought. Behind his hard exterior, he’s sensitive and gentle and so badly wants to be loved.

He confessed to feeling like something was missing in him since he can remember. The look in his eyes when you told him that to you, he seems perfectly whole, is one you won’t forget.

Being with him for hours was a wonderful haze. You didn’t want to part. He made you feel heard. It’s a joy that you’ve been lacking for a long time.

Minutes later, Rafe texts you asking if he can take you out to dinner tonight. You smile at your screen. You love how you don’t have to wonder about if he wants you.

The restaurant he drives you to is lavish and elegant. Rafe is unbelievably handsome across the table over the candlelight, his dark button-up making his eyes look all the more blue. Your stomach is full of butterflies, yet a sense of calm fills you when you’re with him.

You pick up where you left off, conversation flowing without any effort. He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky. You’re sure you look at him the same way.

When Rafe pulls the car up to your place, in an effort to keep you from leaving right away, he presses his palm against the back of your hand.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, tone low, adorably nervous.

“Of course. Did you?”

Rafe chuckles at the question. Good doesn’t begin to cover it.

“You’re…” he begins.

“I’m what?” you laugh.

He squeezes your hand gently, turning it so he can lace his fingers with yours. The contact is warm, his ring hard but smooth against your skin. Your heart pounds in your ears as he stares at you.

“Beautiful,” he says. “In every way.”

His tone is sincere and firm. He says it like it’s a fact.

“And I want to keep doing this,” he says. “Seeing you. If you want to keep seeing me, too.”

“I do,” you say. When he leans forward, his kiss is soft but hungry, making your mind spin.

Zach fakes a headache when Rafe gets home. All he needs to hear is that the date went well. He doesn’t want the details.

────୨ৎ────

You’re wrapped in Rafe’s arms, your back flush against his chest, as music and chatter float through the air around you.

You’re settled on his couch, talking with your friends as the party rages. Rafe’s still getting used to what it means to be a boyfriend, tense and quiet around your friends, but he’d get used to anything if it meant making you happy.

You’ve only been dating a few weeks, but he’s sure if this isn’t love, he’s damn close to it. Aside from his brother, you’re his best friend.

You smile when you feel Rafe’s lips press against the side of your neck. He’s ridiculously affectionate, touching you whenever he can, spoiling you, whispering sweet things to you all the time. He’s completely unguarded.

Zach’s in the kitchen, as far away from you as he physically can be. After the hospital, he hasn’t been himself at all. You can tell he’s trying to be, though, forcing smiles around you.

It makes no sense. He called you amazing that night. But, then, he pulled away. It’s like he’s mad at you for dating his brother, but he refuses to admit it.

You’ve asked him multiple times if things are good between you. He reassured you over and over that they are.

Maybe someone else would believe him, but after you pined for him for so long, you can read when he’s trying to hide that he’s upset. At parties, at casual get-togethers, even at work when you’re making content for the team, he’s absent-minded and disinterested.

And whatever’s wrong, he prefers to hold inside.

Nonetheless, while your feelings for Zach have faded, you genuinely hope he’s happy and that you can be friends with him again one day.

The next morning, you wake up in Rafe’s bed. His arm is around your waist, his breath warm against your back. He’s still snoozing when you slip out of bed to get water.

Zach’s sitting at the kitchen island, staring down at his coffee. It’s almost funny how just over three months ago, you were here for the first time, yearning for Zach to give you a hint that he liked you. Now, you’re falling for Rafe.

“Morning,” you say kindly.

Zach looks up from his coffee. His smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey.”

You open the fridge, the awful feeling he’s been giving you lately sitting heavy on your heart. He makes you feel unwelcome, which is something you never expected from him.

“Just getting some water,” you say, searching through the shelves. “He’s definitely gonna wake up with a headache.”

Zach tenses. You’re doing for Rafe what he daydreamed you doing for him. Sharing a bed with him, nursing his hangover, touching him and smiling at him and giving him what Zach would die for.

You look so pretty in the morning, your bedhead adorable, your pajamas complimenting your figure. Why won’t his heart just catch up with his mind? He keeps telling himself to get over you.

He notices that you have Rafe’s ring on your finger. He used to imagine you wearing his things. He’d love to see you in his team hoodie. But he never will.

In another world, you’re in this kitchen as his girlfriend, talking about last night’s party, sharing kisses and laughs. But not in this world.

“I never asked you,” you say, your back to him, “how was that book I got you?”

You hope it serves as a reminder for how much you did for him and how much you care about him. It hurts, the way he’s been keeping you at a distance.

Late at night, as your mind drifts away from you when you try to fall asleep, you’ve considered the possibility of Zach being upset because he’s jealous of Rafe and wants to be with you.

But Rafe told you he checked with Zach to make sure your relationship was okay with him and he even said he didn’t feel anything for you. Maybe Zach thinks you’re not good enough for his brother and he’s too nice to actually say it out loud.

“Good,” Zach says.

You grab two water bottles and close the fridge door. One word is all he’s willing to say to you.

You can’t do it again. You can’t ask him for the hundredth time if you did something wrong, just for him to say you didn’t and he’s sorry that he made you feel like you did.

You leave him alone in the kitchen, padding up the stairs. Zach looks down at his coffee again. His eyes are starting to burn with tears.

He wants to remind his brother that they agreed they wouldn’t let people overstay. And you being here for even one night feels like overstaying. He can’t have you and every time he’s reminded of that, it hurts.

He can’t stop thinking about that night in the elevator and wishing that instead of drunkenly rambling about his brother, he rambled about his feelings for you. At least then, everything would have been out in the open long before you really got to know Rafe.

The girl he met through the video messaged him last night, asking if he was up to hang out again. She’s cute and nice. But she’s not you. And it’d be wrong to pursue someone just to numb the pain of not having you.

That’s all he wants. You. And because he was such a coward, he’ll never have you. Maybe at some point, he had a chance. Maybe you would have grown feelings for him if he was honest with you.

But you seem happy. So does Rafe, who actually wants hold you and kiss you in public. He was never like that with any other girl.

Zach realizes that while he was always so sure he coped with everything that life hurled at them better than Rafe, he wasn’t paying attention to how destructive he is to himself. His martyrdom was never a virtue.

He’s too late. He self-sabotaged. He has nobody to blame for his aching loneliness but himself. That’s the most heartbreaking part of this whole thing.

Rafe’s hair is tousled, his smile lazy when you come back to bed.

“Thought you left me,” he murmurs tiredly into your hair, pulling you tight against his warm body. You smile, your cheek pressed against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent.

Rafe’s sure you can feel his pulse on your cheek. He feels like you own every beat of his heart.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” you tell him.

The tension from what happened downstairs leaves your system. You swallow down the tears that threatened to fall when you left the kitchen.

You plant a kiss on Rafe’s chest. You know where you’re wanted. And you’re happiest staying there.

(the end)

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[imtryingbuck]

Fifteen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky comes from a well respected family, he falls in love with a girl who prefers the simple things in life. Follow their journey through the years.

Word count: 4,736

Warnings: fluff, angst, heavy use of pet names. Bucky and y/n argue and that’s a warning in itself. Brock rumlow, Bucky being a bad friend. Swearing. Bullying.

A/N: No description of reader other than she has curly hair.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

Like every morning she waited outside for Bucky, Steve and Sam to arrive so they could all walk to school together. Y/n was so excited when she found out that she was going to be going to school with her two friends, though she was a year below them.

Sam was the boys’ friend first and when he was introduced to Y/n he instantly became her friend, throwing his arm around her he winked at her causing the girl to blush. Bucky wasn’t happy.

Sighing she checked her watch, the same one Bucky had brought her for her birthday last year, they was late.

She didn’t want to be in trouble for being late so she decided to head off on her own, as she pulled her bag further up her shoulder she kept her head down whilst walking the streets.

“Y/n! Y/n slow down!” Sam’s booming voice came from behind her.

“I can’t I’m going to be late!” She shouted back to him.

“H-hold on, Jesus woman you’re making me run today aren’t you?”

Feeling his arms wrap themselves around her waist she comes to a halt. “Where’s Ducky?”

“Ah he, never mind. Steve hurry up!”

“Sam where is he? Is he ill? Oh god he is isn’t he?”

“No Sugar he’s not, he’s just not walking with us this morning”

“Hey Y/n/n” Steve panted as he pulls his friend into a hug.

“Hi Stevie where’s Ducky?”

“With Dot”

“Dude!” Sam scolded.

“Wh-who’s Dot?”

“His girlfriend” Steve admits rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry”

“H-he has a girlfriend? Oh”

She couldn’t understand why her heart hurt at hearing that.

“If it makes you feel any better, me and Sam don’t like her”

“I want to go to school now”

Throughout her lessons she couldn’t find it in herself to concentrate, he had a girlfriend and didn’t tell her - why didn’t he tell her? Was she pretty? Did she know who she was? Was they going to be friends still?

“-Y/n!”

“Huh? Sorry Sir”

“Class is over…go”

“Right sorry Sir, see you tomorrow”

Shoving all her things into her school bag she heads down to wait outside the cafeteria for the boys to show. Like that morning she checks her watch and sighing, they’re late.

Her stomach growled and giving up waiting for them to show she heads into the cafeteria when she comes to a stop.

They were already there, sat at the table that was unofficially reserved for the four of them.

Her eyes watered at seeing a brunette sat in her place, next to her Ducky. She watched as he threw his arm around her and pulled her into him just like he always did to her. She watched as Sam and Steve laugh about something the girl said.

“Ow, I’m sorry” she stutters out after she’s pushed over.

“Move out of the way freak” Brock. The schools bully. Or as Y/n called him behind his back ‘Brock the rock’ no it wasn’t a compliment at his muscles but an insult, Brock rhymed with rock and rocks where dumb just like Brock.

“I-I’m sorry” she stutters as she tries to move out of the way.

“Aw you going to cry you little freak?” He says loudly catching everyone’s attention.

“N-no-“

“I think she is Brock” laughed Jack, another bully who followed Brock wherever he went.

“The little freak is going to cry!” Brock boomed causing her to flinch.

He takes it one step further by pushing her in to Jack who then shoves her away violently back to Brock, back and forth she was pushed between the two.

Y/n’s frantic eyes met Bucky’s who had been watching the whole thing along with everyone else. She nearly burst out crying when all he did was look down.

“Looks like your little boyfriend isn’t coming to the rescue this time freak” Brock whispers as he clutches her shirt tightly in his grip just before pushing her roughly onto the ground.

She waits until Brock and his lackeys leave before standing up, looking up towards the table she’s normally sat at with her friends her heart breaks when she sees the back of Bucky’s head and Steve and Sam looking down at their food.

Running out of the cafeteria she runs to the bathroom where she locks herself away until the loud shrill of the bell goes off.

Throughout the day she was glad she didn’t see any of the boys or Brock and Jack as she moved from one class to the next. Stuck in her own mind she couldn’t understand why neither one of her friends stuck up for her like they’ve done before whenever Brock was acting tough now that Tony had left school.

Were they my friends now? Why didn’t Bucky tell me he had a girlfriend? Why didn’t Steve and Sam stick up for me?

They were some of the many questions that swirled around her head as her last teacher Mr Levinson droned on.

When the bell rang throughout the school she took her time in packing her things, waiting for everyone to leave.

“Y/n?”

“Yes sir?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes sir, why?”

“Well you’re normally the first one out of the class” he chuckles.

“Oh. No everything’s okay sir” she smiled up at him as she brought the strap of her bag up her arm.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow remember you’ve got me for two periods”

“I know sir, I’ll see you tomorrow” waving bye to her favourite teacher she walks out of the class, slowly walking to the entrance. Like Mr Levinson said she was normally the first one out of class, and normally she was running through the halls to wait outside for the boys to arrive so they could head to the sweet shop on the corner of Main Street but today she was in no rush, no rush in seeing the spot she always waited at to being empty.

As she stepped out of the doors she felt stupid for hoping that they would have waited for her, they hadn’t.

As she walked past the sweet shop she heard Sam’s loud laughter filter through the gap in the door, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she saw Sam, Steve and Bucky all laughing in the store, she swore her heart broke when she saw Bucky grab ahold of the brunettes hand from lunch and pulling her to place his lips to hers. Y/n brought her fingers to her lips softly touching them wondering how the girl in the store felt kissing Bucky.

Shaking her head and wiping her tears she walks off before any of them sees her.

“Hello angel-angel what’s wrong?” Howard asks when she walks in and straight pass him without saying hello or telling him how her day went, or better yet without her handing him her packet full to the brim of sweets so he could pick one - or if she was letting him feel cheeky two - out.

“Nothing dad I’m going to do my homework”

“Angel come here, or don’t I’ll just follow you” he mutters following her upstairs and into her room.

“Dad, please I just want to do my homework and go to sleep”

“Not until you tell me what’s happened? You’re not normally back yet, is Lloyds closed?”

“No. I-I just really need to get this homework done”

“Where’s the boys?”

“I-dad please”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on? You seem to forget angel I know you and I know something is wrong, so spill”

“Duc-Bucky has a girlfriend…”

“Oh…oh. I’m sorry angel”

“It’s okay, I just don’t have any friends anymore” she shrugs, looking at the photograph she had hanging up on her wall. Her, Bucky, Sam and Steve standing in front of the stall at the fair ground, Bucky’s arm wrapped around her waist as her hand was on his chest. All four of them smiling widely at the camera as Maria takes the photo.

“Of course you’ll still have friends angel, the boys will still be your friends”

“No they won’t. Steve and Sam were friends with Bucky before they were my friends”

“Bucky’s still you friend darling just because he has a girlfriend doesn’t mean shit-don’t tell your mother I just swore in front of you”

“I won’t” she giggles.

“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”

She hadn’t found the courage to tell her parents about the bullying or how bad it was, knowing how they would react she didn’t want to make it any worse than it already was.

“No dad everything’s okay I promise”

“Okay…well tomorrow is Friday and you know what that means don’t you? That’ll prove that the boys are still your friends”

Shortly after Howard leaves so she could start her homework. Not that she does it.

Friday, tomorrow is Friday. Every weekend her, Steve and Sam heads to Bucky’s house for a sleepover. Was she still invited? Was Bucky’s girlfriend going to be there?

Her head pounded and her eyes stung so she climbed into bed falling asleep as her stomach growled in hunger it only then occurred to her that she hadn’t ate anything since breakfast, it didn’t stop her from falling into a restless sleep.

The next morning she moved along with the motions. Getting dressed, brushing her hair and teeth, eating breakfast, she puts her shoes on pressing a kiss to her parents their cheeks she says her goodbyes.

She hesitates outside whether she should wait for the boys to show or not she finally forces her legs to move, she wasn’t going to be waiting on them. Not anymore.

“Oi freak!” Brock shouted as he walks across the road to where she was, she carried on walking keeping her head down.

“Freak don’t ignore him” Jack says.

She felt hands on her back before she was shoved down on to the ground scraping her hands and her knees. “W-what do you want?”

“Your lunch”

“No”

“What?” Don’t ask her Brock she’s just as shocked as you at her sticking up for herself.

“I said no, are you deaf?” Shut up shut up shut up her brain screams at her.

“Funny, don’t worry freak you’re going to regret this” Brock says before picking her bag up and throwing it over a fence.

Watching the pair walk off she stands up and looks down at her knees, great they’re bleeding. Opening the gate she walks over to the door and knocks, waiting patiently she waits for the owner to open up.

“Hello?”

“Hi Sir, my bag got thrown over your fence could I please get it?”

“Sure…”

“It’s over that fence” she points at the wooden fence that leads to the backyard she assumes.

“Oh, yeah sure hold on I’ll get the key” he walks back inside and returns quickly with the key “are you okay?”

“Yes Sir, are you?”

“I’m fine but I’m talking about your knees and hands, they’re bleeding”.

“Bullies Sir”

“Oh, nasty little parasites aren’t they?”

“Yes Sir” she giggles “thank you Sir” she says as he hands over her bag back to her.

“You’re welcome and hey listen don’t let them get to you okay? It will get better soon I can promise you that”

“H-how do you know?”

“I was bullied when I was at school but here I am owning a business that continues to grow even long after I’ve retired” he smiles softly.

“Wow, I-I don’t know why they pick on me I’ve never done anything wrong to them”

“Because they see the potential in you and they are scared because they haven’t gotten any so they spend their time and energy trying to bring you down”

“Oh, well I wish they would stop”

“They will you just have to wait them out”

“Thank you Sir, I best get going I’m…crap I’m late”

“Go go, and call me Stan”

“Y/n, bye Mr Stan”

“Well it’s actually Mr Lee but go your late” the older man chuckles.

“I’m going I’m going” she laughs waving at him.

Practically running to school she runs to her class “I’m sorry Miss” 

“It’s okay Y/n just make sure it doesn’t happen again”

“It won’t Miss I promise”

Ms Ford was an older teacher who taught maths whether it’s because of her age or because of how long she had been teaching for she simply didn’t care if you was late or not, as long as you didn’t cause any trouble then it was fine.

When the bell rang signalling for it to be lunch she slowly moved towards the bathroom so she could eat, on her way there she saw two of Brock’s friends walking towards her before she had a chance to do anything they grabbed her arms and dragged her backwards, leading her into the cafeteria.

No one blinks an eye or tries to help her out.

She’s shoved onto her knees in front of Brock, she shifts and in the corner of her eye she sees Bucky, Steve and Sam all staring.

“This little freak had the balls to talk back to me this morning and well I can’t let that happen” he told everyone. “Stand the freak up”

She’s roughly pulled up by her arms “did you all know that her dad killed her mom? Or that this little freak was in an orphanage?” He laughs.

“Shut up Brock” she says, mentally slapping herself for talking back.

“Ooh the freak speaks once again. Hey Bucky doesn’t this dog belong to you?” She’s spun around so she has no choice but to look at him, who once again just stares down.

“No? Not going to say anything? Wow some friend you are” Brock chuckles. “Hey guys want to see what she’s hiding under her shirt? My mom was a nurse who had to touch this freak”

Y/n’s eyes widen and she starts to struggle against the hold that the two boys had on her arms. “No no no Brock I’m sorry I’m sorry you don’t have to do this! I’m sorry”

Ignoring her pleads he just smirks at her “hold her steady boys”

“Brock stop!” Steve says shakily from the table.

“Shut up or your next. Stop struggling freak”

“Please s-stop! Please-D-Ducky help! No no no no no please no” she screams out as Brock rips her shirt off leaving her scarred back exposed to nearly the whole school.

“Disgusting isn’t it?” Brock laughs.

The murmurs and laughters are drowned out by the roaring of blood filling her ears, the moment she’s dropped to the ground she wraps her hands over her chest and runs out of the cafeteria and out of the school. Her vision was blurred as she ran faster than she’s ever ran before.

“Y/n-oh my lord, come here darling” an older voice says that she recognised from earlier.

“M-m-Mr Stan”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I’m going to put my coat around you okay?” As soon as the material was around her she collapsed into his arms.

“Darling le-let’s get you into the car and I’ll take you home okay?”

Everything moves in a blur, she doesn’t even realise that Mr Stan pulls up to her house or that he’s knocking on the door talking to her father or that her father comes rushing out of the house.

“Angel, angel come here”

“D-Dada” she cries clinging to him.

Howard lifts her out of the car and takes her into the house calling out for Maria who comes out of the kitchen. He takes her upstairs to her room where he lays her gently on the bed his heart breaking at the way she still clings on to him.

Leaving Maria to help Y/n get dressed and clean her injuries up he heads down the stairs to where Stan was still waiting.

“Come with me Stan” leading the older man into his office “what happened?”

“I met her this morning when she knocked on my door a bully had thrown her bag over my fence, we spoke a little before she left for school”

“A bully? Y/n’s being bullied?”

“So she says Sir”

“Howard, you know this Stan. Anyway carry on”

“Well I was driving home when she ran out into the road clutching…covering her chest. Her top half was naked. I got out and put my coat around her and brought her home”

“D-Did she say anything?”

“No, she just cried”

“Thank you for bringing her home Stan, here here’s some money” Howard pulls out a huge wad of money from the draw of his desk.

“Howard, I don’t want your money son. She’s a sweet girl who doesn’t deserve half of the shit she’s gone through”

“Yo-you know?”

“Well…yes. She was in the newspapers. Just make sure she’s okay for me, I’ll see myself out goodbye Howard”

“Y/n, angel please talk to us” Howard pleads as he sits next to Maria on Y/ns bed.

“I-it doesn’t matter”

“Of course it does sweetie, we need to deal with this” Maria speaks softly.

“I’m a freak! My back is disgusting. I-I should of died when my real dad tried to kill me”

Taken back by her confession Maria clutches her chest with shaky hands, Howard stutters trying to find the right words.

“A-Angel you don’t mean that”

“I do. I’m tired of being bullied, I’ve tried dad to make friends I have I swear but nobody wants to be friends with a freak. I don’t get why they call me names or steal my lunch or push me into things. I hate going to school. I hate Sam. I hate Steve. An-and I hate James. I hate my life, I wish I was dead” a shuddering breath leaves her lips as her whole body trembles.

She didn’t mean to tell them about the bullying or about how she hated her friends because even though they didn’t talk to her or stick up for her she didn’t hate them, they were her only friends.

She definitely didn’t mean to tell them how she wished she was dead.

“Y/n Stark you take that back!” Maria scolds.

“No! And let’s be honest mom the only reason you two adopted me was out of pity and because George probably asked you too just so James could keep me around” her voice raised and shook, mentally scolding herself for saying that because now she had to sit there and watch as the tears gathered in her mommas eyes.

“Is-is that what you really think?”

“It wasn’t pity that we felt when we adopted you Y/n, it was because I genuinely believed that you had a very special place in our family and I still believe that even after all these years. George never asked us to take you in.” Howard speaks.

“I-I-oh momma I’m so sorry! Dada I swear I didn’t mean it” she cries her eyes bouncing from one parent to the next.

“Angel, it’s okay. Oh sweetheart come here” Howard opens his arms waiting for his daughter to climb into them, rubbing his hand up and down her back not flinching or feeling disgusted when he feels the scars under her shirt.

“I’m sorry” she repeats over and over.

“Sweetheart we love you and just because you’re not biologically ours doesn’t make a difference, you are our daughter through and through” Maria says softly wiping the tears that fall onto her cheeks.

“I-I don’t want to go to school anymore momma please don’t make me go back”

“We’ll talk about it later okay? Get some sleep and we’ll talk about everything” Maria promises watching as she nods and climbs back into bed. 

A few hours later after Maria had managed to calm down Howard who was quite literally on a war path there was a knock on the door, Maria walked over to the door opening it she saw Sam and Steve standing there with sheepish looks on their faces.

“What are you two doing here?”

“W-we want to see Y/n, is-is she okay?”

“She is now. Where is James?”

“With Dot…”

“Charming. I don’t think Y/n will want to see you tonight, please leave”

“Miss Maria we’re really sorry, please tell Y/n that.”

“I will do. Goodbye boys”

Watching as the boys walk away with their tails in between their legs she shakes her head, she hates turning them away but when it comes to her daughter she’ll do everything to protect her, even if it’s from her friends.

The next day Y/n woke with a pounding headache, the memories of what she had said to her parents made her stomach hurt. She hated herself for making her mom cry, seeing the hurt flash in her parents eyes made her want to burst out crying.

She never wanted her parents to find out that she was being bullied afraid it made her look weak, made her look like she needed them to save her again. She wanted to be strong just like Tony, be the social butterfly just like her brother instead of being social outcast that she was. 

Y/n had tried to fit in she really did, she tried to be someone that she wasn’t. She found it hard to be around the other girls who were interested in make up, the latest fashion and boys, none of them things she cared about.

Okay maybe she was interested in boys she noticed them obviously, especially one in particular. Bucky.

But sadly that didn’t matter anymore, not now that he had a girlfriend.

Y/n preferred the simpler things that life had to offer, she never cared for all pretty dresses her mom would get her or all of the expensive things her dad would give her. She preferred getting mud all over her, climbing trees, talking to the animals she encountered. Her hair was always messy and nine out of ten times her hair would have leaves tangled in it. Her clothes would have grass stains on them from where she would either roll around in the grass or from where she would kneel down getting closer to the insects she came upon.

She never truly understood why the other kids called her a freak, maybe she was but that didn’t matter right? She had a heart and feelings and she was just the same as everyone else.

“Angel, James is here to see you” Howard knocks on her bedroom door pulling her out of her trance.

Might as well as get this over and done with.

“Let him in dad”

“I’m just downstairs if you need me angel”

“Okay���

She sits up so she’s leaning against the headboard, twisting her ring that her dad had gotten her when she had gotten an A on a test. She watches as the door handle goes down a little bit and the door comes open revealing her Ducky.

“Hi Bun-Y/n” he says shyly as he shuffles in to the room, his eyes roaming everywhere other than on her.

“Hi”

“H-how are you feeling?”

“You’re joking right?” She scoffs.

“I-I’m sorry about yesterday, I should of done something to stop Brock”

“But you didn’t and I was humiliated in front of the whole entire school.”

“I know. Y-you didn’t come to mine last night and when I found out that Sam and Steve was turned away by your mom I kind of gotten worried”

“You expected me to show up after none of you said anything to stop Brock? After you didn’t wait for me at lunch or how you and the boys went to Lloyds without me?”

Rubbing the back of his neck he shifted on the spot “well yeah, we’re friends Bu-Y/n”

“You can’t even say the name you gave me when you was seven. Why is that?”

“Dot doesn’t like it”

“Dot being your girlfriend?”

“Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had one?”

“Be-because I didn’t want you to get jealous”

“You thought I would get jealous?”

“Well yeah, you are aren’t you?”

“Give me a second, just wait there” she says as she stands up on shaky legs, moving around him she heads downstairs to the living room where her parents sat “momma, dada can I please swear? I won’t do it again I promise”

“Of course princess” Howard grins before Maria could say anything.

She runs back upstairs and walks around Bucky who still stands there. “Are you fucking out of your mind? You honestly thought I was jealous? I would have been happy for you!”

“Did you just ask your parents if you could swear?” Bucky grins finding it amusing.

“Don’t grin at me Ducky, I swear to God I will hit you!”

“You can’t call me that anymore Y/n, Dot hates it especially after you called it me yesterday”

“Fuck Dot! I’ve been your friend since I was six years old Ducky! You want me to be different with you now that you have a girlfriend?”

“Bunny-shit Y/n. Please just stop calling me it okay it’s embarrassing, we’re to old now to keep calling each other them silly nicknames”

“I-we-what? Duc-“

“Y/n.”

“Fine. James are you really going to be choosing her someone you’ve been dating for all of five minutes over me? Someone you’ve know for years?”

“Yes.”

“W-what?”

“I’m choosing her over you.”

“A-are we no longer friends?”

“Will you grow up and stop acting like a freak?” He says instantly slamming his mouth shut, regret seeping into his veins when he sees her the pain flash across her eyes.

“What did you just call me?”

“I-I didn’t mean it-“

“What did you just call me James”

“Bun-“

“I’m not going to fucking ask again James!”

“A freak” he gulps.

“Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my house and out of my fucking life!”

“Bun-“

“You’re not allowed to call me that anymore, remember? Your bitch of a girlfriend won’t like it oh and we’re not fucking friends anymore! Now leave!”

“Don’t call Dot a-“

“She’s a bitch. A big fat stinking bitch! And guess what James, so are you.”

“Brock’s right, you are a freak. A freak with no friends. And guess what Y/n, I never wanted to be your friend I just felt sorry for you. Your father beat you and killed your mother so of course I felt sorry for you, did you really think I wanted to be friends with you? News flash I didn’t!” He shouts, once he calmed down from his outburst he struggles to breathe “Y/n I’m-I’m sor-“

“I hate you. If you don’t leave right now I’ll get my dad up here, I’m not joking James. Get out I hate you so much I can’t believe I actually thought I loved you. Now fuck off.”

“I-I’m sorry”

“Shove your sorry up your arse and fuck right off bye bye”

She turns her back on him and waiting until she heard him leave, she had always thought that he became her friend because he felt sorry for her but she didn’t want to believe it, now she knew the truth she didn’t know what to do with herself.

Hearing the front door shut she burst out crying, she fell to her knees clutching her chest. She felt her heart had been ripped out of her chest and stomped on a million times.

“Oh my sweet baby, it’s okay I’ve got you” Maria hold her daughter as she breaks down.

“M-Momma it hurts”

“I know it does sweetheart. Let it all out baby”

“I-I don’t want to be here anymore momma”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to go to a private school like you and dada said befo-before I went to school with them”

Maria looks over at Howard who stands at the doorway with his jaw clenched so tightly that Maria thought he was going to shatter his teeth.

“Are you sure angel?”

“Yes I’m sure dada, please I won’t ask for anything else ever again!”

“I’ll set it up angel”

Bucky had no idea that when he woke up that morning that he was going to lose his best friend but he only had himself to blame.

He had lost the most important person in his life all because he fucked up.

He had said the most vilest things to her which was not in any way true.

He had lost his Bunny.

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[shiny-kaibernyte]

Arven Headcannons (Romantic)

No warnings: Just pure fluff

There are a few general headcannons in here and a couple of how i think him and Nemona's friendship would be. But its 90% fluff. I actually wrote WAYYYY more than what's in this post but i didn't think people would want to read an entire Essay. So here are a selection!

This man cannot bake for anything. Give him a grill and bread, he will give you a 5 star meal. Give him a whisk and a cake tray, he will burn the house down. So don’t expect a homemade cake on your birthday. Or at least don’t expect one from him.

He was Smitten with you the moment you agreed to help him on his Titan Quest. Reluctantly or joyfully, hearing you agreeing made him fall head over heels for you and he didn’t even know it. Maybe that's why he tried extra hard on those Sandwiches. 

Arven and Nemona used to fight over the best friend position, You’d usually have to stand in the middle of them to prevent their Pokémon battles from spilling into personal ones. Arven would later claim the Boyfriend card once Area Zero was dealt with, Nemona was very pleased to cement the best friend spot.

You are the only other person who's allowed to take Mabosstiff out on walks. You're his person, so you get the puppy. Nemona and Penny both tried, it resulted in Arven throwing a tomato at Nemona and Penny slowly backing out of the room. He did mourn the tomato though… he wanted that tomato.

Arven isn’t necessarily Protective, but he is observant. He will defend your honour and voice with every ounce of his being. But he also isn’t a violent person, that's what Pokémon battles are for. 

That being said, if something did happen to you, especially if you fell ill. He would go to hell and back to find some way of helping you. He already proved that much, just don’t bail on him if he needs you most.

Love Language: Gift Giving + Quality time.

If he can, he will SPOIL you. He never had someone love him the way you do. Show him the kindness and compassion that makes his heart sore. If he could give you the world. He’d hand you the Galaxy on a silver plate. But until he can find a Cosmo. A plushie will have to be done for now.

He is not a morning person at all. The only reason you will ever find him up before midday is for one of two reasons: A teacher told him off for being late and he’s only got 1 more warning before another suspension OR Mabosstiff dragged him out of bed by the ankle and forced him to go outside. There is no other reason.

Terrible at video games, absolutely horrendous. Dude can’t even play Minecraft without throwing the controller. Penny tried to teach him how to play Stardew Valley, he got angry at Pierre for the backpack price and hasn’t picked up the game again. Though he’s happy to watch you play and will hold down a button if you get tired. Never ask him to play though… unless you need to laugh, then ask. 

One time you tried to put a bow on Mabosstiff ‘s head. With no recollection how or why, it somehow ended up in Arven’s hair. You have now learnt Arven can rock a manbun and a sparkling pastel pink bow. 

When you first stayed the night, dude slept like a board. He did not move a single cell in his body. It wasn’t until you were resting your head on his chest that he actually moved. He has since loosened up, but it took a while for him to trust himself enough to even touch you when you slept. 

He cannot Flirt. You cannot tell me otherwise.

He bought you both onesies to wear on movie nights. Yes he has to have a Saturday movie night with you or he gets grumpy. 

Sometimes Arven will bring you lunch or make you breakfast so he knows you have eaten at least something during the day. Plus he also uses it as an excuse to see you smile but he will never say that to your face. Only Mabosstiff.

Dude is terrified of Cetitan. Ever since the "mountain incident" Cetitan is his greatest enemy. Arven tries to act tough and unafraid to impress you but, Grusha has and will continue to use this fear to his Advantage any time Nemona drags Arven to the Mountains. You totally didn’t make a deal with Grusha and Nemona, that isn’t something you did… Wink wink.

You don’t borrow his clothes, he donates them. There have been numerous occasions you have opened a drawer or wardrobe to find one of his numbers, jackets, vests, anything! Just something new of his somewhere for you to have. He will even buy different sizes if you prefer baggy shirts or snug shirts.

He remembers everything and yet nothing at the same time. You ask him what day it is, he’ll look at you like you just asked him to explain calculus to a class of year 1’s. Ask him your favourite movie!? Arven will go into excruciating detail about everything to the point you’d think he directed it. Nemona and Giacomo once held a quiz night on Arven just to test how much he did remember. Dude remembered nothing about anyone else, except birthdays… he’s good at that. But you dude could write your autobiography. 

Dude has zero fear of heights, once Miridon learnt how to fly, anytime Arven would join you, he’d always sit behind you so he could hold your waist. It’s been a little thing of his ever since Area Zero, he can’t not do it. Even if he’s the better driver; Dude will sit behind you as an excuse to just hold you.

Almost No PDA he is a private person. He does lean on you though or will stand behind you almost like a bodyguard. If he does touch you in public it's usually a reassuring hand on the shoulder, on the small of your back to guide you somewhere or your arm locked into his. He isn’t a hand holder, he usually is carrying something or needs his hands free so he does subtle stuff instead.

[geoviki]

Mo Guan Shan’s Big Feelings

Mo Guan Shan, resident tsundere of 19 Days, pretends to be tough and hard-hearted.  But he’s easily and frequently reduced to tears, as we soon realize.  In fact, he cries so often in the story that this post is pretty massive.

MGS cries as a child, of course.  He’s in a clinic in his mom’s arms when She Li first becomes obsessed with him (ch 294).

MGS has a bad dream about the day his dad told little Guan Shan he couldn’t come to the school’s robot fair (ch 392).

MGS cries in other dreams too.  Soon after meeting He Tian, he has a sensual dream of being comforted in He Tian’s arms after being bullied.  Look closely – there are little tears falling as He Tian assures him he’s the “most invincible badass.” (ch 250)

True to form, he cries in the Santa fantasy extra when his house is destroyed (ch 345).

MGS cries when he’s frustrated, like in this episode after the play when he can’t untie himself to pee (ch 359).

MGS is a weepy drunk as well.  After accidentally destroying Brother Qiu’s bike (ch 427), he drunkenly sobs in bed as he vows to somehow repay him. 

Later, while MGS is still drunk, He Tian slips and falls while carrying him, ripping Mo’s pants in front of He Cheng (ch 429).  MGS cries from embarrassment.

Unsurprisingly, MGS cries over his dad.  After He Tian unknowingly brings him to dinner at what is probably his father’s former restaurant, we see a young MGS in flashback crying in fear at the chaos around him.  Present-day MGS flees and He Tian finds him crying in the parking lot (ch 217)

One of the more moving chapters shows MGS breaking down as he visits his father in prison for the first time (ch 240).

MGS cries from sheer anger in several chapters.  The earliest is when He Tian forces an unwanted kiss on him as a misplayed joke (ch 174-175).  He Tian is taken aback by Mo’s strong, tearful reaction.  It’s probably the first time someone doesn’t try to placate He Tian when he’s being a jerk, and he begins to take MGS more seriously after this.

MGS tries to end his friendship with He Tian after the school play that indirectly causes him to lose his meager job.  He Tian doesn’t help matters by waving money at him as they quarrel.  MGS weeps with anger and says, “Standing with you makes me feel like a failure.”  (ch 364)

He cries in anger once more as he watches incredulously as She Li incinerates his backpack (ch 368).  (She Li seems to walk around carrying gasoline like it’s no big deal – what’s up with that?)

MGS cries when he’s worried.  When he digs frantically through the mudslide during their ill-fated mountain hike, he thinks He Tian has been buried alive.  When He Tian calls out, MGS throws his teary self into He Tian’s arms (ch 329).

MGS’s worry is clear when the last violent fight with She Li is finally over and He Tian has won (ch 408).  The battle was so fierce that by the end He Tian is crying too, and soon they’re embracing (I sense a pattern here!)

MGS often cries when his emotions overwhelm him.  Early on, after MGS is rescued from the fiasco of agreeing to take the blame for a serious crime, He Tian tells him, “Don’t try to shoulder everything yourself.” (ch 188).  MGS tears up at the thought that someone like He Tian has his back.

MGS ends up full-on sobbing in He Tian’s arms (again) when he finally admits why She Li has a hold over him: because of the homeless man who tried to kill him (ch 319).

In one of the most traumatic scenes (and a personal favorite), both guys shed a lot of tears when He Tian finds him after She Li has tortured and burned him (ch 369-370).  These chapters mark a turning point in their relationship from friends to more.

MGS is shown when he’s happy only once, and that memorable event will happen in their future: that Christmas night when He Tian returns and proposes with matching rings (ch 412).  Cue the waterworks!

Thanks to all of the translators who provide the English versions of the story!

[naffeclipse]

Warm Fangs

Naga!Sun x Reader. Sickness.

Prev

As you sleep, the fever worsens. Chills hit you with a violent shudder. The heat from the sickness flees under the quaking cold. You moan softly, curling up tighter. A soft hiss shushes you but you can’t find anything warm, anything warm at all.

The smooth brush of scales loosens from around you. The outside cold slips away from your feverish skin but stays within.

“It hasn’t broken yet,” Moon murmurs distantly. Cold fingertips brush your hair, damp from sweat, away from your forehead. A whine leaves you. You hate how pathetic it sounds inside your head.

“Oh, no. I was afraid it might linger with our poor lily pad,” Sun lowers his voice but he’s not as quiet as his brother, holding a stage whisper more than an actual whisper. You might have smiled if you weren’t bothered by the mottled moonlight giving way to a blue-bright early morning sky. 

It doesn’t feel warm. The sun is supposed to reheat the earth and take away the frost filling your chest with a shivering revolt.

A few quiet exchanges slip away in your near unconsciousness. Gingerly, you become weightless, lifted into the air like a feather before pressed into other arms. Heat, raw and covering, finally touches your body. You breathe out a low sigh, eyelids fluttering to peek up at the source of the heat. The form softly sways as you’re carried away.

“It’s going to be alright,” Sun hums. He looks down at you, his spiky frills flaring around his head in golden hues before the shadow of the cave eclipses the morning sun. “Don’t move, my water lily, you’re still sick.”

“Hmm, I’m fine,” you half moan. Your eyes fall close again. A tender soreness soaks into every muscle, especially at your neck and your shoulders. The deep, deep ache that refuses to go away. 

You shudder with another chill. Sun clicks his tongue in concern, the forked end whipping with a snapping worry. 

“You amaze me, truly. Even in the throes of illness, you’re still so stubborn.” He laughs softly, endearing but in a way that almost makes you push yourself out of his steady arms. He doesn’t get to think you’re cute. Not right now, when you feel how sticky your body is and how weak your limbs dangle as he carries you deeper into the cave you’ve made a shelter within.

“Sun,” you softly groan.

“Save your strength to fight the fever, not me.” A soft peck of his scaly mouth touches your temple. You nearly dissolve under his doting command. “You need to rest and do as I say so you can feel better. I don’t like to see you like this.”

You, in a reflective, rebellious instinct, almost try to kick out your feet and find solid ground, but Sun lowers you to the cold, cave floor. You’re seized by another icy torrent of coldness. Hugging your arms, you quietly groan. A soft swell of tears teem over your eyelids. That’s from the sickness, you tell yourself. You’re not crying because Sun and his sweet warmth let you go.

“I’ll be gone for only a moment, lily pad. Hold on for me, okay?” he singsongs.

You want to snatch the heat that had held back the torturous chills. Lifting your heavy eyes, you scour the dimness of the cave, catching sight of Sun’s long body softly slipping over the stone towards the shelves that were chipped into the wall of the cavern. The rich yellow hues of his scales are bright even in the shadows of rocks. The markings along his waist and around his throat are scarlet and vibrant with warning of his venom. You watch the outline of Sun’s defined shoulders move, taking and gathering, collecting a pale pink blossom you can’t currently name.

Pressed against the wall in a sleepy bundle of his scales, Moon watches you, eyes half lidded but attentive. You didn’t hear him enter. His hands open and close, as if to reach for you. He holds back. You frown at his distance but recall his cool scales through the midnight fever, and drowsily, in fitful half-sleep, wait for Sun.

He returns with a skim over the floor. His presence washes over you with hope.

“Don’t cry, my water lily. I’m here,” Sun coaxes with gentle mirth. A crooked finger swipes the leaking liquid from your eyes.

“Not crying,” you grumble, voice croaking like a frog. “Not a water lily.”

“Oh, I’m going to have to disagree and blame your lack of sense on the sickness,” he chirps as if you were simply the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

You pry your eyelids open for a glare. You certainly are not a beautiful and grandiose flower. Not right now in your freezing weakness.

Moon’s hissing laughter echoes. It fills you with another short burst of irate energy that lasts for only the moment of his humor. Sun tuts and shoots Moon a look before gently cradling you. The golden naga guides you upright with a tender hand supporting your back. He rests your head on his shoulder, his underside a shiny, pale cream color, and the gentle heat of his body burns away the chills holding you down. 

He lifts up a small flower, pale pink and pom-pom like on the end of a slender, green stalk.

“Eat this. It’ll make you feel better,” he softly insists.

You eye the flower as if it were a venus flytrap, and you were a particularly weak fly.

“What is it?” you murmur.

“I’ve heard humans call it a sensitive plant, sometimes called touch-me-not. If you had told me you weren’t feeling well early, you could have had this sooner.” The chasiting does not evade your awareness. Sun lowers the plant closer, as if offering a rose instead of medicine. “It will help with your fever and chills.”

“Ugh,” you turn your head ahead. The thought of eating when you have no appetite rears an ugly head within you. “I don’t need it.”

“I disagree strongly, lilypad,” Sun crones in disapproval. “Once you eat it, you’ll start to feel better.”

The soft lift to his tone invades you. You want to squirm, keep turning away from the offered medical plant, but Sun’s warmth surrounds you entirely. Gently, his finger guides your cheek until you face him once more.

“Please, won’t you, for me?” His cornflower blue eyes hold you with his plea. From the corners of his wide mouth, the very tips of fangs glint, but you’re not afraid of his bite. He saved you with his venom, once.

You grimace and force your lips to part. Murmuring praises and coaxes alike in a soft, musical tone, Sun presses the flower head to your mouth until you bite it off, and chew laboriously. It tastes green and dry. He watches you, hawk-like, ensuring you masticate the soft, brittle like petals before swallowing against the vicious dryness of your throat. You gasp after gulping.

His smile grows like a sunbeam at sunrise.

“See? It wasn’t so bad.” He tenderly rubs his mouth against your forehead. “Thank you."

The heat of his affection battles the cold underneath your skin, and when you shiver, he holds you tighter. You fall deeper under his fondness.

"This will pass and you’ll be in tip-top shape again,” he says softly, brimming with heated hope.

Oh, Sun. You want to curse him. You want to tell him that he can’t talk like that, melting your insides and making you nothing but an ooey-gooey mess, but you can’t. You are swept away by his sweet tones. 

No one but Sun unbalances you and catches you in the same motion. He’s disarming. He's the only thing that feels right.

You slump against him in another full-body shudder. Softly humming, Sun begins rearranging your limp form, draping your legs across his deliciously warm tail as the dark end wraps your lower legs. The tightness of his coils used to frighten you before you realized how summery and soft he is. He tucks you gently against his arm, lying down to become your personal pillow.

You are so useless. It’s a miracle you haven’t faded away by now—a miracle of two nagas, no less.

“It’s also called humble flower,” he continues with a soft note. “Perhaps you could take that aspect from it as well, my water lily.”

You moan, unable to offer a rebuttal that you are no flower, but his gentle embrace covers you entirely. His chest thrums lightly with a heartbeat you’ve listened to before. A soft hum fills his throat. He continues pressing his mouth against your cheek, the crook of your neck, and the top of your head as if smothering the clammy effect attempting to surface on your body.

“Soon, you’ll rise and we can stroll through the jungle and find more flowers, more flowers like you, and you’ll feel better. Doesn’t that sound nice?” he chatters endlessly.

You can only snuggle deeper against his chest, against his warm, smooth scales, better than any patch of sunlight, and trust in him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 28

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

As you come outside, your mom sits on the deck, under the umbrella with a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. You can hardly tell if she’s awake. You hug yourself as you come into the summer light and look around. There’s a bottle of sun lotion on the railing of the deck. 

You cross the wooden planks and grab the bottle. As you pop the cap, your mom mutters. You turn as you squirt some into your hand. You look at her. 

“Do you need some?” You ask. 

“What in the lord’s name are you wearing?” She snarls. 

“Um,” you look down, once more shocked by the sight of your own body. “A swim suit. I... I’ll put a shirt on.” 

“Hey, Hol,” Steve comes out in a pair of lilac coloured trunks, “what do you think? Got the kiddo a swimsuit so she can enjoy the pool.” 

“Oh, you did?” Your mom hums as she leans her face in her hand, “how nice.” 

“Too bad you can’t join us,” Steve approaches and stops between you and your mom’s chair. “Got myself some new shorts.” 

He turns to her as you’re left watching his back. His muscle is thick and you can see it tense with his movement. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad, his arms burly too. Age has only seemed to add to his strong form. 

“Those are nice,” your mom says without much conviction, “I got a suit somewhere but... the water makes me sick. It’s these damn meds.” 

“Yeah, but they keep you going,” Steve nears her and bends to kiss her forehead. “You can be our lifeguard, how about that? Been a while since I’ve been in the deep end.” 

“You’re so...” she pauses and measures her words, “silly.” 

“It’s a nice day,” he booms, “did you try the smoothie? I put some vitamin C in it, too. Should help you feel a bit better. Oh, kiddo,” he claps and turns to face you, “did you want a smoothie? I got fresh raspberries.” 

“Erm, no thanks, I’m good,” you affirm and back away, focusing on spreading the lotion up your arms. 

“Towels are down on the chairs,” he says, “Holly Berry,” he gives your mom a strange nickname, “you sure you don’t wanna move closer?” 

“I needa stay in the shade,” she fans herself and reaches for the bright orange smoothie, “that damn inhaler. I told the doctor take me off it--” 

“Now, he’s just doing his job--” 

“I know. Don’t gotta keep saying so,” she slams the cup down and you glance over as her hand shakes violently. She’s worked up. She sits back as she tries to still herself, only for the tremor to quake through her. 

“Right, well, chill out,” Steve shrugs and backs off, “we’ll go cool off in the water.” 

He turns to face you and nears, “can I get some of that?” 

You offer him the bottle then work at smearing the lotion along your collar bone and around the top of the suit. You bring your hands to your tummy, rubbing the oiliness into your skin as Steve takes the lotion. You notice his eyes linger on you for a moment. 

“Come on, gotta check the temperature,” he waves you down the steps. 

You follow as you continue to work the lotion into your skin. You still need to get your legs and face. You continue across the lawn to the pool and Steve dollops a health heap of lotion into one hand before giving back the bottle. He slaps his hand against his chest and rubs in the sunscreen, his fingertips pressing into his muscles as he works down to his softer tummy. 

You bend to your legs. You would’ve rather a one-piece just so you wouldn’t have to use as much. As you put a light layer on your face, Steve grabs the bottle from where you left it on the lounger.  

“Here, turn around,” he squirts out the lotion into his palm. “I’ll get your back, you get mine.” 

You can’t argue. Besides, you can barely look at him. You’d rather stare at the fence. 

You turn and drop your arms. He puts his hands over your shoulders, jolting you, kneading harder than you expect. You feel his breath fan over the back of your head and he traces his thumbs around your shoulder blade, catching on the tail of the tie behind your neck. For a moment, you think he might pull it free. 

He spreads his hands, dragging them down, working in the lotion around your hips and sides, sending shivers through you. A trickle of sweat rolls down your spine and you draw away. His fingertips trail along your lower back wistfully.  

“Here,” he snatches up the lotion and hands it to you, smiling. You nod and take it. 

He turns his back to you and you gulp. Oof. You don’t know what’s worse. Being touched or touching him. It all seems so... strange even if it’s completely innocent. You’re just helping him. He does have a lot of back. 

You squeeze out the cream and rub it between your hands, hovering them before his back before you make yourself touch him. You swipe your hands up and down and side to side, working around the lotion to full cover his back. He groans and twitches as you come along the back of his ribs. 

“Careful,” he turns his head to speak over his shoulder, “old college injury. Don’t think it ever really healed.” 

“Oh,” you ease up, “sorry.” 

“Nah, you can’t hurt me, sweetie,” he insists and leans into your touch. 

You finish up and retract, trying to absorb what’s left into your palms. The greasy sensation irritates you. He turns as you reach to fix the tie behind your neck, making sure it’s tight as it feels like the suit is slipping. He blinks and his eyes flick up and down. 

“Well, are you gonna dive in?” He asks. 

“Erm, uh, I can just use the ladder,” you say as you tiptoe around him to the edge. You look down into the crystalline water, “it looks cold.” 

“Got the heater going,” he says, “shouldn’t be too bad.” 

He stands beside you and extends his leg to dip a toe into it, “not bad at all.” 

“Mm, maybe in a few minutes,” you cross your arms again, “I’m not a great swimmer.” 

“Well, I can keep an eye on you,” he reaches to tickle along your upper arm, goose dumps rising across your skin. 

“Sure, uh,” you edge away from him and run your fingers along where he touched. His hands are always on you. At least that’s how it seems to you. “Just... gotta build up my nerve.” 

“Mm,” he backs up, “sure, well, there’s the diving board and... I guess you could just sunbathe.” 

“Yeah, mayb--” 

Before you can finish, you’re scooped off your feet. You cry out as Steve lifts you up and launches himself into the pool. He keeps you in his arms as he splashes into the water and you flail wildly. You’re swallowed up as the chlorine floods your mouth and nostrils and you choke beneath the surface. 

You writhe against him, his thick arms around you, and try to free yourself. The knot at the front of your bikini catches your pinkie and you struggle to untangle both your hand and your body at once. You finally come up above the water and gasp as Steve follows, laughing as he keeps his embrace loosely around you. 

“Sometimes you just need the extra push,” he beams, “isn’t it refreshing?” 

You push the water away from your face and cough. As you do, he goes quiet and you spit up behind your hand. You can only taste the chlorinated water as you hack. You look up at him as his hands slowly creep up your sides. His blue eyes are fixated on you but not on your face. 

You look down at your chest, the knot on the front of the suit barely clinging together as you spill out from the fabric. The top merely acts to frame your nudity and you sputter as you try to cover yourself and his hands continue to ascend. You back away from his grasp and turn away. 

“Sweetie, it’s fine, all good,” he assures you. 

“Why would you do that?” You sniffle. 

“It was only some fun. I didn’t know... I’m sorry. I didn’t know the suit didn’t fit right.” 

“It’s not the suit,” you stretch the wet fabric across your tits as best you can, keeping your back to him. “I said... I told you... I wanted to wait.” 

“Ah come on, what good is having a pool if you don’t go in it?” 

“It’s your pool,” you snap, your cheek on fire as the rest of you buzzes. You wade through the water with effort. “I never asked for it.” 

“Now sweetie, don’t be like that.” 

“Please,” you pull yourself up the later, the water slaking off you and threatening to drag down the top once more, “leave me alone.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, hooking your hands over your shoulders, and rush away from the pool. You glance up at your mother as you pass the deck, hooking around to the gate instead. She doesn’t react as her head lolls over the back of the chair and her feet are splayed wide. You should get her inside but you can’t stop. You’re too humiliated. 

You race through the gate, not bothering to close it behind you. You clammer around into your mother’s yard and storm up the steps, crashing through the front door. The tears spring the moment you break the threshold as it sets in. You can’t believe that happened. You can’t believe he saw it. You just... can’t. 

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Headcanon with TF141 & König with Fem! Reader who had amnesia after loss blood from battlefield and how would the mens react. Pls!

Oof ouchie owie my heart 😭 this is so mean I love it 😭😭😭😭 (I’m not crying YOU’RE crying)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

When the nurse told him you suffered amnesia due to the severity of your injuries, he didn’t want to believe it. He refused. Even though they told him it could last a few minutes to several weeks or months, he didn’t want to believe it.

So he went to visit you, sat beside your bed, balaclava twisting nervously in his hands as he watched you sleep. He eventually dozed off, arms crossed over his chest, head resting back against the wall. He woke up to a soft prodding at his shoulder,

“Excuse me, are you the nurse?” You’d asked, throat hoarse and exhaustion evident.

“Who do you think I am?” He asked, his heart beat so hard in his throat, his stomach churning and heavy, he felt violently ill

“I… don’t know to be honest. I’m not sure why or how I got here.” Your voice was small and uncertain and fuck he wanted to cry. His eyes burned and his throat threatened to shut.

What should he do? Tell you what happened and risk further trauma? He’s the reason you were out here in the first place. What’s the right thing to do? What would you do in his position?

“Sir? I’m sorry, I’m just really thirsty. I’m sorry to bug you.”

“Don’t sweat it, here, have my water.” He uncapped his water bottle and got up to bring it to your lips, you took it from his hands before he could tip it back,

“I’ve got it, thank you.” You said with a weak chuckle. At least that’s still the same. He watched you drink your water, weighing his options in his head. If the roles were reversed, you’d be honest with him. Gentle, but firm. Even if it pained you, you’d tell him the truth.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

He was a both a coward and glutton for pain.

“You can call me Ghost, for now.”

He still wasn’t sure if he’d tell you about all the nights spent together, all the mornings you had breakfast in the mess hall together, your apartment that you shared, the tattoo he has under his collarbone of your callsign or the matching one you got of a skull on your hip. This could be his chance to spare you the pain of sticking around him any longer.

But he’s selfish, in that sense. He’s had you, he can’t lose you now.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He’s devastated. He’s absolutely heartbroken, there’s no way this is happening. He’s convinced it’s not real. It’s a bad dream and he’ll wake up in your arms and it’ll be gone. How he wishes that was true.

He comes into your room, the nurses words echoing in his head, triggering his tinnitus, making him nauseous. His legs are horribly unsteady and his hands have never shook this hard. He feels like such a fool for being so fucking weak in front of you like this.

This isn’t about him, it’s about you. It’s all about you, it’s about setting things right with you, it’s about bringing you back to him. It’s all about you.

He sat beside your bed and waited for you to wake up, and when you did you smiled so wide when you looked at him, that he honestly believed the nurses were wrong

“This might be wildly inappropriate, but you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

God how he wished the nurses were wrong.

“Could say the same for you, love.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and stamped out the ache in his chest

“Love?” You blinked in confusion, “are you my- oh god, I’m sorry, I… I don’t remember.”

“It’s alright, the nurses said it could happen. You’ve been through a lot.”

“If I’m here then, yeah, seems like.” You chuckled dryly,

“I’m Johnny.” He held his hand out to yours, you took it and couldn’t help how soothing his palm felt against yours as you introduced yourself shyly.

He could be strong. For you. He’d do anything for you, whether you wound up remembering or not, it didn’t matter. He’d do anything.

John Price:

He’s shell shocked. Please god no. Not you. Please sweet fucking Christ, not you. He doesn’t go to see you right away, he sits in his office quietly. He’s sitting in the dark, replaying the events that led up to this over and over in his head like a fucked movie on loop.

He snaps. He’s flinging everything off his desk, it’s all flying to the floor, he’s screaming, crying, raging. The team hears it and they all run to his office, Ghost is the only one to successfully hold him back. He eventually gives up and starts sobbing. Perception be damned.

He’s clutching onto Simon like his life depends on it, Soap and Gaz quietly start picking stuff up off the floor,

“Come on, mate, she needs you. Clean up and go.” He’s not stupid. He’s seen you two, seen the way you are with one another. It’s the best kept secret of the 141.

“I know. Fuck, I know.”

He hesitantly walks to your room, his heart pounding a mile a minute, he hears you talking to the nurse and you sound a little hoarse but it also sounds like you’re drinking water. He waits until you’re done talking and walks in, he steps aside to let the nurse walk out and sits beside you,

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Not great but the pain meds help.” You laughed weakly, “and you must be?”

“John.”

“John…?”

“Just John.” He sighed, slowly taking one of your small hands in his, giving you every opportunity to withdraw, “Your John.”

He’s a patient man. He can wait.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

He’s in tears before the nurse even has a chance to walk away, Price has a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in an attempt to keep him grounded

“None of that, Gaz, just go see her. Somewhere in her heart, she’ll be happy to see you.” His words were reassuring and it helped give him the boost he needed to go and see you.

So he did, with an arm full of flowers, your favorite snack and candies, and fruits of course. He came in and set them down at the table quietly, watching you watch him as he did so. He took a deep shaky breath and pulled the chair up to the bed.

“Is that all for me?” You asked with a shy smile, even under the unflattering glow of the fluorescent lights above you, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen,

“Yup. I thought if I’d brought you the things you like, it might help you recover your memory.” He swallowed his tears, swallowed the lump in the throat, he’d set it all aside because there’s work to be done.

“I take it you and I are quite close then?”

“As close as two people can get, without being related.”

“Hm. That makes me happy, you seem really sweet…?”

“Kyle. Or Gaz. But you’ve always called me by my name.”

His heart skipped a beat when you tried his name out, getting a feel for it on your tongue, and then you smiled softly at him.

It’ll be hard work but fuck you’re so worth it.

König:

He feels violently ill. He’s nauseous through and through, he’s in shock, he’s grieving, he’s mourning, he’s furious, he’s appalled, he’s miserable

It’s all playing over and over and over and over again, the exact moments that led up to this. You trusted him and let you down. He fucking let you down. He ruined it. He ruined the one good thing he had going for him in this shithole. It’s gone it’s all fucking gone. And it’s all his fault.

All of that was repeating in his head as he punched a hole in the tile in the bathrooms, it repeated when he’d try to sleep until you woke up, it repeated while he’d wait for you, it repeated until there was nothing but self-inflicted venom pumping in his system, circulating mercilessly

And then you woke up. He’d at least had the presence of mind to take his veil off so he wouldn’t startle you, but in his vitriol he forgot something,

“You’ve got a little something on your uh… all of that.” You sleepily laughed, pointing at your eyes,

“Ah yes, that’s intentional.”

“Why?” You blinked in confusion, weakly trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes,

“Helps keep me concealed when I wear this.” He lifted the veil in his hands for you to see,

“I imagine it’s hard to do with your size.”

“It can be but I’m quite determined.”

“You seem upset, I take it you and I are close and the nurses told you?”

He gently took your small hand in his, his eyes watering, lower lip starting to quiver,

“Oh schatz, you have no idea.” His voice shook and your heart broke for him, his accent brought you peace even if you couldn’t exactly remember why, you could still put the pieces together. You don’t know why, but you wanted to be strong for him,

“Then give me an idea.”

[nuumbie]

KARMA’S A DOG.

Prompt: You’re a prized worker at the IPC Marketing Department. You spend your days waiting for that flash of black.

Trigger Warning: Reader is mentally ill and a little shit head. Curse Words. General Violent Terms and Reader Gets Ragdolled. Boothill is NOT into you!!! He actually hates you! Guilt! Etc, etc… it’s just all hurt no comfort.

Author’s Note: Written to celebrate his trailer. Save a horse. Ride a cowboy. Contains spoilers regarding his character story.

He’s resting peacefully. This should still count as sleep. You pose the question in your head if you replace the pieces of something, how far until the thing is something else entirely. But he’s still alive. You find relish in that. There’s something in him that still lives.

He still has his head. Maybe, that’s all he has left of his old self. You wonder how the surgery must have gone. Of course you’ve met people who’ve changed themselves so drastically with robotics that you couldn’t recognize them after the surgeries. It’s a rebirth in ways. When you change so dramatically that you’re a different person by the end. His body’s 90% metal. 10% flesh. So, wouldn’t it be the cybernetics that win?

Despite everything. You don’t think so. Perhaps, that’s all that he needs. I think therefore I am. There’s no doubt he’s alive. Not to you, anyway. He’s brimming with human life. He’s more alive than you. Not in the same way where the question poses in your mind with other beings or creatures that change themselves so drastically. Boothill is obstinately simple.

You like that. He’s simple. The Hunt and those that follow it is straight forward. A single path. A single road. You like that you don’t have to read his intentions. You know what he wants and why.

Boothill. Galaxy Ranger. IPC Hunter. The Man who just tried to sneak into your office and put a bullet through your head like he has with many of your employees, those who’ve worked directly under you no less. You know. Most criminals don’t get this far. Not far at all past Pier Point. Oswaldo will have a riot.

If he knew he would. You’re not going to tell him.

Boothill is special.

The cowboy opens his eyes. Your personal grim reaper.

“I see you’re awake.” You smile in a loving way. If you can even manage that. People who can control their expressions make it seem so easy. Laying across his chest. You’ve opened up his core to play with his inner circuits. He must not like that though considering there’s a burning hatred in his eyes which threatens to scorch you. You glance up towards his face and sigh and ignoring the lingering, simmering, resentment. His body is heating up beneath your touch. So, maybe it resonates with his feelings, you wonder if his body steams. “We need to stop meeting like this. You’re going to make me think you’re obsessed with me.”

It’s the opposite way around. You know that. But the very idea that it isn’t causes him to lunge at you. The cowboy turns into nothing more than a blur, all the wires connected to the body collecting samples that took at least a good thirty minutes pulled from him. Some ripped from the walls, and in instants he’s on you.

“You dang—“ his hands make its way to your shoulders, you’re flipped without hesitation. his hands grasping you down, he lays on top of you. breath heavy. robots don’t breathe, though, so you try to think of another word as he catches himself and tries to make it so he’s the one on top. “— you again!?”

“I’ve been meaning to get my hands on you… you oughta’… you ANGEL!” He screeches. Music to your ears as he shakes you more like you’re more ragdoll than person. “AEONS, it’s so freaking annoying! You absolute delight! How did I lose to…”

“Thank you so much for the compliment.” You smile back. Probably the only one getting anything out of this arrangement. Pinned against the floor hand pressed tightly against your waist so you can’t struggle. He should’ve pressed it against your mouth. But it isn’t like you’re going to scream. You’re certain. Lots of women would love to be in this position you’re currently in. But it’s you. And this is far from some sweet, pure, little romantic story. You’re not delusional. You act like you are purely because it annoys him. It’s good for him to build up his rage, his discontentment because it keeps him on his toes. “I was just looking over your upgrades since the last time you invaded Pier Point. As for asking how I beat you~…”

“The electronic upgrade was not the best idea.” You smile. “If we can control your language… your body isn’t hard especially for a renowned genius like me. Have to talk to your doctor about that. You’re lucky I’m the one that found you. Where’s my thanks? If it was anyone else. They’d have torn you asunder.”

“Aeons of COURSE you Market-Phonies have something to annoy the DANGNATION out of me.” he grinds his teeth, looking around for his pistol. making a point about how dead he wants you. you can feel his grip loosen and tighten. he’s likely processing which one would get you to be quieter. “Where’d you put it? My gun. I’ve decided. I’m killing you now. Puttin’ ya out of your misery, sweet-face! You think this is rough? Think of a 9mm lead in your skull will be?”

“Cabinet.” You put on your best smile. “Is it for me?”

“Of course for you. Love you.” You didn’t take away his ability to say hate. So, he must have said something worse like an insult. You just know it’s bad because he says it in a way that’s so vitriolic it almost hurts. “You knew this was coming. I’m not going to miss my shot again. You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You did know it was coming. You wished he would get the one person above you first so you could witness your boss with his brains blown out, the outcries that an Emanator of Qlipoth killed. You could have gotten wine with Diamond and laughed about it and died happy knowing the world was washed clean forever of Oswaldo Schneider.

But you can’t be so lucky. You’ll have to wish him luck. If he actually manages to kill you that is. With how things are going? You’re not making it hard.

He grabs you by the neck so you can’t struggle away to call help. The iron hands encased over your neck like a shackle isn’t a bad feeling. You almost quote as such so he might grab you a little tighter. Sadly, it seems his finger is directly over your windpipe— making talking an impossibility. He really doesn’t want you to run. Not like you would. Dragging you as he goes towards the cabinet. He presses you against the wall one-handed.

Using his other hand to peruse through your belongings. Even if you struggled. You doubt you could make a dent against the material. You’ve always been more of a pen instead of a sword guy.

It seems he’s smarter than you thought. Since, he checks the bullets in the gun. Rather show-offishly, too. He clicks the trigger against your head and nothing comes out. He counts them out, too. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

You already knew that none of the shots would ring. But here’s a certain heart-pounding feeling even if you know it’s empty. He clutches the gun even tighter till it threatens to break between his metal appendages.

Obviously, you’ve cleaned them out. He glares at you. Of course you’re the one at fault. Of course you were smart enough to know the first thing he’d do when he woke up was try to kill you. Of course you wanted to see the look on his face when he got his gun back when he realized it was empty. “Don’t you have spares? You eat them, don’t you? Just shit them out.” You smile. It’s hard to talk with his hand on your throat.

The floor hits you. Hard.

Or maybe you hit the floor.

Either way. It hurts. Your head spins. But, you collect yourself. Maybe. Dizzy people often can’t tell they’re dizzy. “You going to kill me right? You don’t need a gun to do that. To make it painful. To get your little revenge.” You’re sputtering. Aeons. It be embarrassing if you didn’t say that. If you’re slurring. Though who are you to ask for a clean death? Innocent have died in uglier ways.

“I don’t get you.” Boothil’s boot presses against your chest and juts against your lungs— “make up your mind you wanna die or not? You’re seriously flip-flopping.”

You smile back at him from the floor. “I’d rather my employees not go down with me when you’ve got to escape. Jeremy just got a promotion. You won’t die here… will you space cowboy? So, you’ll have to make your way out.”

“Might as well limit the casualties.”

“You took everything from me.” Robots don’t stumble over their words. Robots are more precise. Everything about him is human. The way he’s so sentimental, emotional at your lap, while you can do nothing but watch. “What right do you have? You have way more blood on your hands than I do.”

“You’re not wrong.” you repeat, quietly. “It’s karma. It’s justice. I’m so happy you exist. So people like me get that just-dessert.”

“I could never ever dream of it. I could never do it with my own hands.” You smile remembering where you work. Your boss. The things you never had the confidence or strength to do yourself. “So I’m glad that you did. Thank you.”

He looks down at you.

He steps back.

You already know.

Too self-aware for your own good.

Maybe you should have shut up. You already know you’ve messed it all up. The way he looks at you is a look of disgust.

“Everyone here’s so fluffed up.” he grimaces. rubbing his shoe against the floor like he’s snuffing a cigarette out. so lowly. “Anyone the IPC touches get’s gosh-dang ruined.”

You know why he did. You ruined his life. You did. So, it was only fair he did the same in return—

Reaching out— before you realize it. “Hey, wait.”

“You’re not dragging me down with you! I want you to pay I’m not letting you off easy. When we meet again. I’ll have changed this place forever. And you’ll be forced to live with yourself…!”

He doesn’t even look back at you. You wish he did.

He lets you go and he runs out the door. You hear the sounds of loud screams. Shooting guns. It turns into a blur after a few seconds. They’re going to fail to apprehend him. You hope.

On the messy floor. Your lab a wreak. You’re sure. They’ll come here. They’ll question you.

And your life will continue as always.

You’ll lie. Jade can tell. But she won’t tell on you. You hope Oswaldo doesn’t notice. He’s the tricker. If he knew. He’d laugh.

“Fuck you, too.”

You put your hands over your eyes and you just ignore everything until someone comes and gets you. You’d use the word save. But, that’s what he was meant to do.

You’ll meet him again. You can wait. It’s all you ever do.

[tonyboneysblog]

HII Im the anon that requested the touya fic you can just call me the 🍊 anon if thats fine with you because ill probably be back a lot more 😭 your fics are SOO good can i request another touya fic, basically the same as last time what it was like being childhood friends with him? Ty!! 😁😁

SECRET SPOT: oneshot request!

parings: Touya Todoroki x reader

wordcount: 1.4K

notes: actually took forever because I forgot what kids do in their free time

warnings: none

summary: you find a cool spot you’d like to show Touya, shenanigans ensue.

You feel your lungs by start to burn as your run as quick as you can towards to best friends house.

You knock almost violently on the door when Rei Todoroki opens it.

“Miss L/N? Is everything okay?” She says with a worried tone.

You nod your head quickly before you say breathlessly, “I-i have something super cool to show Touya!”

Rei chuckles nervously at your excitement, “he’s in his room, I remember correctly.”

You mutter a quick thank you before booking it towards Touya’s room, only to find it empty.

Now you weren’t too concerned by the fact Touya wasn’t in his room like he was supposed to be, if he wasn’t holed up in his room then he’d be holed up at Sekoto peak over using his quirk in the name of ‘training’.

You shrug before making your way back to the front door, you weren’t planning on telling Rei that her son was up at the peak, he made you promise not to anyway.

Sekoto peak wasn’t the farthest away from the Todoroki household but by the time you got there at the summit you could feel your legs aching.

Now all that was left was to walk up it…

You could make out flashes of red as you hiked up the trail, few sparks of blue which was curious since Touya’s was red?

No point on dwelling on it.

You yell out his name, scaring him before running up to him excitedly.

“Y/N- you scared the hell out of me-“ he blabbers out.

You try to make your voice serious as you speak, “Touya- you absolutely need to follow me now, we’re going on adventure.”

Touya scoffs softly, “adventure? What are you- twelve?”

You stare at Touya after he choices his words, quietly as the seconds tick by.

He clears his throat, “ahem- sorry uhm, where are you trying to take me?” His voice is steady unlike yours, “can’t tell, it’s a surprise.”

“Then scram, I’m training right now Y/N.” He starts to walk off over to his little training corner with the log before you grab his wrist.

“Please Touya?” You beg with a pout on your face.

Touya try’s to tug his wrist away, “Nope, I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.” You groan before pulling him back, “Touya- don’t be a brat I’m trying to show you something cool!” You continue to plead.

“You trying to fight me now? I’ll win.” He says almost threateningly.

you tug again, “you built like a prepubescent chicken- look Touya please just do this for me?”

You and Touya enter an unspoken eye staring contest, Touya loses by looking away nervously and you could almost feel his skin heating up.

“Fine, take me to your stupid spot.” He says lowly, but it doesn’t have any venom behind it.

You celebrate silently in your head before dragging him down the mountain, then towards the woods near your own home.

Touya’s brows furrow, “are you planning on murdering me or something?” his voice could be described as a fake out between ‘I’m so scared!’ And pure sarcasm.

You shrug, “keep up the attitude and I just might.”

He laughs at that one.

You climb over smaller bushes and duck under branches before entering a thicker part of the woods, you got lost in it one time and your parents had called every emergency number they knew.

Touya still dogs on you for it til this day.

Whilst trekking throughout the woods your legs decided to make home with a near by rose bush that hooked into your skin painfully.

You yelp before trying to ease the small thorns out of your poor calf but Touya decides to help out for once.

“Don’t move.” His voice was stern when he said it but his face was filled with worry practically.

He grabs you calf then the vine and pulls the two apart gently, only to leave a small stinging sensation in the wounded area.

“Be glad it’s not bleeding.” He hops over the vines to join you, you kinda hopped his leg would get stuck too for karma but you’ll get revenge soon.

Revenge for everything you’ve done to get him to this cool spot, made your legs sore, made them injured- what’s next? A broken arm?!

You continue to walk throughout the forest, the ground below you getting wetter with each step. Then you could finally hear the faint noise of water rushing.

You walked out nearer towards it before hitting a drop off but luckily you had already scooped out the terrain. There was and edge that you could scoot by on if you held on good and if you fell you- probably- wouldn’t die!

Before you could get to it Touya grabs your hand, “that isn’t safe, find another way.” his brows furrow.

“This is the only way that I know, hold on and you’ll be fine-“ “Y/N I don’t want you getting hurt.” He cuts you off before you can rationalize with him.

“Touya I’ve done this before, I’m not gonna fall.” You smile while you say this but then Touya made it fade quickly with his next words.

“I’ve seen Bridge to Terabithia, don’t play with me Y/N.” His tone is serious but it almost sounds like he’s messing with you.

You mumble out a small fine then Touya smiles like he won, you don’t like that cockiness.

So you quickly run back and scoot the wall almost expertly, pieces of rock falling down below as you move.

Touya calls for your name but by the time you respond d your already on the other side, “see- I told you I’d be fine!” You smile cheekily.

Touya visibly relaxs before his face goes mean again, “you could’ve fallen.”

“Yet I didn’t?”

“I’ll push you down myself.”

You scoff, “thought you didn’t want me getting hurt?”

Touya groans as you start to skip off towards the rushing water, it’s a nice little spot but it has logs all around it like some parkour obby.

Touya watches as you walk over towards one, it’s over a larger area of water- hell it evens look deep.

“Touya, be careful here since it’s slippery.” you sound sweeter than usual, Touya notes.

Touya cautious steps onto the log with the water calmly drifting beneath him, truly it wasn’t hard to balance on it.

You step behind him following close, then you wind your arms back and push him into the water with all your strength. He hits the water with a loud splash, it only takes him a few seconds to resurface.

“Y/N- are you fucking crazy!?” He yells out, you could barely hear him from your own cackling.

You don’t even notice when he grabs your own ankle to drag you down with him.

You yelp before hitting the water, whilst falling you accidentally hit your back against the log.

When you plop back up from the water, coughing violently. You can hear Touya laughing at you, you splash water at him before he could continue.

“Psh- don’t be angry that I got you back!” He yells, his voice sounds light.

Like he’s having fun.

You and Touya continue to have a splashing fight before you raise your hands up, “okay- we’re still not there yet-“ he splashes you again.

“Touya!” He stops for a moment, listening to you.

“It’s a little up ahead, follow me.” You trek through the water, making your way past floating branches or jagged rocks.

Touya could faintly hear water falling, then he felt the water become much more shallow.

The two of you continued to walk throughout the shallow water before it starts to rush before your feet, once Touya look up the first thing he sees is a miniature waterfall.

You turn back to look at him, “isn’t it amazing Touya?” Your smile is bright.

He can’t help it when his faces starts to match yours, you just have that affect on him.

He watches you run up to the falls, collecting rocks or whatever you do.

He can’t help but think how glad he was that he stopped training, even for a moment.

He felt good, his heart felt warm.

you just have that affect on him.

EXTRA:

“Touya- why in the world are you soaking wet?!” Rei practically screams.

Touya stumbles over his words for a moment before speaking, “uhm- next question?”

“Were you out training again?!” Rei says her voice going softer.

“Uhm….next question?” Touya says whilst looking down.

He’s never going on adventure with you again.

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 11

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Ingredients, potions, spells

Pairing: sick!Loki x gn!reader

Tags/warnings: Loki (he's a warning), descriptions of cold/flu symptoms, gn!reader, feverish confessions (but it's sweet I promise), mutual pining

Summary: Loki gets sick and reader takes care of him :)

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: I thought of this when I was sick myself haha. Most of these remedies are what I use when I'm ill and they work a treat. And for a special treat for you dear reader, here's the Roasted Garlic and Potato Recipe I use (minus the nutritional yeast - and I use single cream not vegan).

Also, don't know why I keep writing stuff that's mostly 2k? Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment because I realise towards the end that I'm not writing a novel? Who knows. Enjoy! - Love, Grem x

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It started with sniffles.

You’d raised your eyebrows at Loki when he sniffed softly, but frequently, the warning signs of the impending flu clear to only you. Somehow, the irony of a frost giant having a cold wasn’t lost on you either.

“Are you feeling alright?” You asked when Thor was out of earshot. If one thing would put Loki on edge it would be his adoring brother fretting over him.

Loki sniffed again and cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

His usually smooth voice was gravelly and hoarse, another sign that he was most definitely not fine. You frown softly. You don’t want to push him; you’d gradually worked up a friendly bond with the God of Mischief, at least you thought you had, and you didn’t want to blow it all up. Still, your eyes rake over Loki’s face worriedly, noting the redness around his nose and the missing mischievious glimmer in Loki’s bleary eyes.

Loki narrows his eyes at you, sensing your worry and prickling with defiance. “What?”

“Nothing.” You squeak, snapping your head back to the papers you’d been reading. Maybe this was how ill he’d get he was a god after all. Yet you had a nagging feeling that it would get worse.

Shuffling your papers together, mind made up, you begin to rise to your feet. You can feel Loki’s gaze on you as you pack your bag and try to ignore it, trying to hurry as much as possible.

“I need to run some errands,” you tell him hoisting your bag onto your shoulder. You look over and give him a gentle smile. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Loki huffs in response, clearly believing that he wouldn’t need a mere mortal’s help for anything. You head to the door, waving at Loki before you step through the threshold. Once you’re out of sight, you walk at a breakneck pace to the nearest convince store to do some last minute shopping for the incoming storm you predict.

The following morning, Loki can’t breathe.

His sniffles became worse and  no amount of healing spells made a dent. The headache he thought was Thor, turned out to be a real headache and worst of all, he was hot all over. The burning sensation rolled over him in waves, leaving him sweaty and uncomfortable. He could barely sleep with the stuffy humidity of his body and he thought he may die. We’re frost giants meant to be so hot?

Loki could barely keep his eyes open. He hadn’t felt this ill since he was a child. His heart constricted as he remembered his mother, Freya, fussing over him and caring for him in a pathetic snotty state as a child. She made sure he was cared for, spoiled and well-fed. Tears stung at his eyes in the dark room and he cursed softly, the pain in his sinuses worsening as the threat of tears triggered a new onslaught of snot to build painfully in the bridge of his nose.

The door to his room creeper open, golden light spilling in making him squint angrily. Was it not enough that he was sick with a human affliction, but to be assaulted with bright lights too? But then your head peeked in, and Loki’s breathing hitched – causing him to cough violently into his covers.

“Loki? You okay?” you ask, knowing it’s a stupid question. “Can I come in?”

“I’m fine,” He croaks, turning onto his side. God’s, how embarassing. “Just a bit under the weather.”

You enter his room, tentatively stepping towards the bed and kneeling before him. Loki barely registers your presence, his green eyes looking up at you and struggling to stay open. Any other time he would have equipped about you finally knowing your place before a god, but he’s too tired, too sick, to care. His eyes flutter and he sighs with content when he feels a cool palm press on his sweaty forehead. He leans meekly into your palm and looks up into your worried fface.Your palm is soft and soothes his aching body better than any of the healing spells he’d tried.

And Its probably the fever, but you look ethereal. Loki smiles at you, a dazed smile, but a smile nonetheless. No sneer, no smirk, a genuine smile.   

“You’re burning up,” you say, voice laced with concern. You ignore they way your heart skips as he smiles at you, brushing it away as delirium. You go to move your hand, but Loki’s face follows, chasing the cool calm your palm offers. You sigh a little. Your gut feeling had been right; he is worse. You were glad to have gone to the store to get the ingredients for remedies you knew would help ease the symptoms and speed up recovery.   “Stay here, I won’t be long.”

Loki humphs, which turns into a wracking cough. You hastily remove yourself and head to the common area of the tower. You’d already prepared food the night before so setting up a large tray with an assortment foods was quick.  You pulled out your pre-made bowl of roasted garlic and potato soup and stuff it into the microwave whilst the kettle boils, slicing rounds of lemon, orange and ginger and adding them to a large mug  with honey.  You breathe in the aromatics smells of citrus and garlic melded together, wondering if Loki would heal quicker because he’s a god, or if he'd be defeated by the common cold.

When the microwave dings, interrupting your thoughts, you remove the bowl of soup giving it a quick stir before setting it on the tray with the  rest of the cold-beating snacks you’d bought the day before. You look down at the tray with a sheepish smile. Maybe you had gone overboard; cold and flu tablets, a box of tissues,  homemade soup, bread, honey-and-lemon drink.... and you had isotonic drinks to help with fluid retention.

Yeah.

You had gone overboard.

You carry the tray precariously back to Loki’s room. Pushing the door with your foot, you re-enter the dark room.

“I’m back.” You say into the darkness, waiting for your eyes to adjust. You place the tray beside his bed, and turn on his bedside lamp.

“Hng?”

“Here, let me help you sit up.” Loki meekly swats you away, but he’s too weak to prop himself up without assistance, and begrudgingly concedes to allow you to help him. Your arms wrap around is chest, slotting under his shoulder to help shimmy him upwards before fluffing a pillow behind his head. Loki is frowning slightly, and if you weren’t so concerned about his health, you’d notice he was blushing.

“I’ve brought you some food. You need to eat before you take any medicine.” You give him a soft smile. “And I brought tissues.”

“Hmph.” Loki huffs, glancing to the tray you’d set down. His chest tightens when he sees everything you’ve brought. You must have planned this. Maybe you cursed him somehow?

“Did you... put a spell on me?:

“What? No. Loki you know I can’t use magic.” You chuckle at the absurdity of his question and pick up the bowl of soup. On autopilot you scoop some onto the spoon and guide it to his lips. Loki leans forward slightly, eyeing you suspiciously, but opens his mouth to accept your offering. He can’t taste anything, but as soon as the creamy texture hits his tongue his stomach growls. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was.  He weakly reaches for the bowl and spoon, which you gladly hand to him, and forces himself to eat slowly. Loki hums with delight as he eats , the warm soup soothing his throat and filling his stomach. Whatever you had made was making him feel better already. He wished he could taste it and was overcome with that same fluttery feeling his his chest whenever you were around.

His cedar green eyes rise over the spoon to meet yours and in a quiet voice he mumbles, “Thank you.”

You give him another smile. “No problem. Happy to help.”

The feeling in Loki’s chest increased, tightening almost uncomfortably. Your presence had already helped with the fever, now the hunger. You were slowly but surely making him better just by being near him. Being your silly, idiotic, caring, kind human self.

“You don’t have to.” He thickly after another spoonful. His eyes are downcast, almost ashamed. He hadn’t made it easy to be befriended by you, but you had been patient with him and accepted him as part of the team without so much as a second thought. Over time, Loki had developed a liking to you and he hated that. Feelings for a human? No. Not Loki. He just favoured you above the rest. With your beautiful smile you always gave him and the way your eyes twinkled when he’d get one over on Tony or Thor, even if you were reprimanding him or shaking your head. And of course, the way you made an effort to speak with him everyday; even if it was a quick hello. Treating him with a kindness that no one else offered.

“I know. I want to.” You say firmly. “I can leave you be, obviously, but you just need to call me and I’ll get you what you need.”

You push some of his unruly hair out of his face whilst he eats and his eyes flutter closed briefly. Your heart warms at the sight. You were infatuated with the God who was a black cat personified. Handsome wasn’t even a befitting word for Loki but it was the best you could come up with at short notice. His eyes were so green you wondered if emeralds would be jealous of the hue and you always found yourself enraptured by them. Too bad you were just a human.

Loki considers your words carefully, a wave of heat creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the fever. Selfishly, he didn’t want you to leave. In fact, he wanted you to stay so badly it made his stomach churn with excitement but he was a god  and the whole thing was supposed to be beneath him-

“Please stay.” Loki whispers, ignoring pestering thoughts. He’d worry about consequences later, as usual. He was too tired to argue. You only nod in response, but your body sings with happiness.

Once Loki has finished eating you clear away the bowl and hand him two flu tablets and the mug of citrusy goodness. Loki’s large hands envelop the mug entirely whilst he sips, humming again at the soothing feeling that you and your food bring him.

“What is this potion?” He asks, sinking further back into his pillows.

“it’s lemon and honey, with ginger and orange.” You lean back onto your palms, watching him like a hawk. “It’s hardly a potion.”

Loki humphs quietly, not quite believing you, but continues to drink it. It’s not long before he’s drifting to sleep, the fullness of eating and the comfort you bring quelling the sickness that wracks his body. You gently pry the half drunk mug from his hands. Loki can barely keep his head up, leaning onto your shoulder as his eyelids fighting to stay open but his sleepy sighs are winning the battle.

He hums quietly and murmurs something you can’t quite make out. When you ask him to repeat himself he obliged, but remains ever so haughty about the fact you didn’t hear his incoherent mumblings.

“I said,” He huffs. “You are my favourite.”

“Favourite?” You chuckle. “Is it hard to be your favourite?”

Loki frowns slightly and cuddles closer. You smell nice and you’re warm. Enrapturingly so.

“Yes – but you. You. You’re different.”

“Oh?” for a moment you feel smug, until he continues.

“Infuriating.”

“Oh.” You roll your eyes to yourself. That one was on you.

“Captivating.” Loki’ tone is wistful, teetering on feverishly dream-like, but you perk up nonetheless. “Beautiful.”

“Oh...”

You look down at his form lying against your shoulder. He looks so different now, vulnerable, a cocoon of his usual self and it makes your heart melt. You were sweet on him and the feverish confessions were making your heart do somersaults.

“Make me feel so... nice and fuzzy,” he huffs out gently, slumping more and more against you. “You’ve cursed me.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a flustered giggle. Your cheeks are bright and so hot that you worry you may catch Loki’s cold. You wish you could record this moment; knowing that Loki would deny, deny, deny ever saying these things when he was better.

“To feel... fuzzy?” you try not to snicker but it’s too cute.

“Yes.” Loki hisses, turning his face against your collar bone. His skin his warm and sweaty and worry prickles at you again.

“You’re clammy,” You comment, going to move to grab the head towel. However, Loki’s arm wraps around you, holding you loosely but stopping you from moving away. “Loki?”

“Stay.” His voice is so quiet you barely hear it. The soft plea making your resolve break instantly. “You make it better. You make me better. Please don’t leave me.”

“Of course I'll stay. For as long as you need me.” You say gently and you hunker down next to Loki, wrapping him in your arms. You move hair from his face and his green eyes flicker to you briefly with a small sniffle.

“Do you swear it?” He murmurs.

“I swear it.” You murmur back without hesitation. Content with your answer, Loki pulls you closer and cuddles into you. You murmur sweet nothings to him as he drifts to sleep in your arms.

You stay with Loki until his sickness passes. Unwavering in your promise to him and as he recovers, his feelings for you grow tenfold.

So when you inevitably get ill, Loki remains by your side, just as you had for him. Once you’re both recovered, you’re inseparable.

[missmonsters2]

—AGNOSTHESIA | FIVE

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: After the talk, things were going well, or so Wednesday assumed. You've been distancing yourself and Wednesday is forced to sift through her past behaviors to see why and comes to a realization that makes her violently ill.

Warnings: Angst. Jealous!Wednesday. Enid, has to spell it out. Thing, wants more dew drops. Xavier, rip.

Series Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

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Note: we're making waveEees (slow burn mode) 🥺💘

Part Four

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Agnosthesia: Noun. The state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behavior, as if you were some other person—noticing a twist of acid in your voice, an obscene amount of effort put into something trifling, or an inexplicable weight on your shoulders that makes it difficult to get out of bed.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You've been distancing yourself from Wednesday.

"Not quite, Henry. Try crushing the seed instead of chopping it; you'll get more juice out of it that way."

You've been distancing yourself from Wednesday.

"Yes, use the flat side of your knife, just like that—careful."

You've been distancing yourself from Wednesday.

"Well done, Henry!"

Wednesday slams her textbook down on the desk.

"Ow!" Xavier yelps, the tips of his fingers caught under the textbook. He yanks them out. "Jesus fucking Christ, Wednesday, my fingers!"

"Quit blubbering," Wednesday unapologetically tells him. "They are still attached to your body, are they not?"

"For now," Xavier grumbles, rubbing his bruised fingers. "What the hell is your problem, anyway?"

"I don't have a problem," Wednesday's eyes briefly look at him before looking back at her own flask. "Why would you think that?"

This was her third time re-making the elixir. 

The textbook had said to cut the seed to extract the juice inside, but after Xavier nearly lopped off his finger the first time, Wednesday took over the second time. The only issue was that despite her flawless knife work, they could hardly squeeze any of the juice out from the seed's hard shell. 

Xavier was plucking at her last nerves with his suggestion to try again—as if the seed would suddenly get softer. 

Wednesday clenches her jaw. She should've declined to be Xavier's partner. Even Bianca would suffice better because at least she would feel no inclination about holding back on murdering Bianca when they finally got fed up with each other. 

But this was only an issue because—

"Because tooth fairy has refused to be your lab partner, like, what, 3 times now?" Xavier whispers.

Wednesday doesn't say anything, but her expression gets more contemptuous, her mouth pinched, and Xavier doesn't say anything more. She doesn't even comment on Xavier's horrible epithet that he's been sticking to despite your immediate veto. His only reasoning was that you had a nice smile, which Wednesday was inclined to agree with reluctantly. 

But it was true. It was a rather new development when you began growing closer to Wednesday, especially after they resolved the tension regarding Wednesday not asking questions. It was going well, or so Wednesday had thought. 

Now, you jumped at making sure someone else was your partner before the teacher would even finish telling everyone to partner up.

Looking up, Wednesday stares at the back of your head, willing to burn a hole through it so you'd look at her. 

You don't.

"That guy has been hanging around her often," Xavier comments, his eyes narrowing a little. "Pretty sure he's a legacy. His dad went here—Henry Morrison? Can’t believe he named his son the same name."

"Why are you telling me this irrelevant information?" Wednesday cuts in before he can say anything else. 

"Is it irrelevant?" Xavier smiles, though the corners of his mouth don't make it too far up. "Thought you, of all people, should know this: know any potential rival—lest you want someone else to swoop in."

'Rival?' Wednesday thought with confusion. She looks at the boy next to you. 

There was no way this lanky, pitiful, stuttering boy could be her rival. If she were to look at anyone as a rival, it'd be Bianca. 

The siren looked way too smug and haughty every time you spent time with her. Every time Wednesday caught a glimpse of you two, Bianca would have this aggravating smirk that would send Wednesday into a burst of rage that Thing would have to suffer through while she ranted. 

"How's psychitect going? Getting better?" You ask.

Henry nods eagerly. "I-I can almost make a fully functional mindscape. You should come to see it," Henry says with a shy smile. "Y-You have a free period during that time, right?" 

You nod with an easy-going smile. "Sure, I don't have much else to do, and it sounds pretty cool."

Wednesday purses her lips unhappily, stabbing the seed with the tip of her knife precisely, and Xavier moves his hands away just in case. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Wednesday—"

"No."

"You haven't even heard what I'm about to ask—"

"No."

Enid exaggeratedly pouts, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Wednesday..." she pitifully drags.

"Enid," Wednesday grits her teeth, holding firm. "No."

"C'mon!" Enid continues to plead. "One of the girls broke her arm! We're short a girl again this year."

"How tragic," Wednesday says without care. "But that, unfortunately, wasn't my fault. I applaud your efforts to torture me but I have no inclination to join the boat race this year."

"But don't you remember that satisfying feeling of beating Bianca?" Enid tries to entice Wednesday instead. "What was it that you said last year? A dark, vengeful spirit."

Wednesday raises her brow. "I have no additional quarrels with Bianca this year. I get my satisfaction from beating her in fencing."

Enid lets out a groan. She knows she's running out of options, and she's about to give up when something pops into her mind, and a mischievous smile that Wednesday doesn't like appears.

"Oh, well," Enid says with a dramatic sigh. "I guess we'll just have to ask someone else and risk losing to Bianca."

Wednesday narrows her eyes. "It appears so."

"And with Fae watching in the crowd, I bet she'll be so impressed with Bianca taking that trophy," Enid continues, astutely turning away as she says it, a smirk on her face. "Man, how embarrassing. I can't believe I'll have to explain to Fae that we lost because my roomie didn't want to get into the whole school spirit thing."

Enid sighs one last time as she sits on her bed, looking at Thing, who sits beside her. "Oh, well. I'm sure Fae will be thrilled to celebrate Bianca's victory."

Wednesday clenches her fist. She's not unaware of Enid's horrible attempt at manipulating her. It was tragically embarrassing on Enid's end but what was more embarrassing was that it was working.

The idea of you celebrating Bianca's victory was making Wednesday more sullen than she already was. 

So, for the second time this year, despite Wednesday's reluctance to win the Poe Cup again as it made her more similar to her mother, she was going to make Bianca burn with the taste of utter defeat. 

"Enid," Wednesday scowls. "It would be wise to sleep with both eyes open after the competition is over."

"I love you, too, Wednesday."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday is at a loss. 

Despite her attempts to ask more questions and discover what could possibly be the reason why you've been distant, you've stonewalled her. 

It is a very sickening feeling. 

"How could she do this to me, Thing?" Wednesday seethed at the disembodied hand as it was just the two in her room. "This is the second week she's cut our time short. That's 14 days, Thing. Our usual 38 hours a week have been cut down to a mere 15 hours."

Thing taps and signs.

"Why are you asking if I did something?" Wednesday glares.

Some more tapping.

"It's a fair assumption," Wednesday concedes. "But I haven't done anything out of the ordinary as of late. You must know how painful it is for me right now to admit I am at a loss."

Thing taps.

"And she has said nothing to you?" Wednesday glares suspiciously.

Thing taps more firmly, and Wednesday lets out a sigh through her nose and lets it go. Checking the time, she finds you'll be here any minute now.

As of late, you've been insisting on meeting Wednesday in her room at night instead of your fae studio realm. Enid seemed to catch on and was happy to hang out with Ajax or Yoko for an hour or two until you left.

It only served to remind Wednesday that it used to be four hours at your studio. Wednesday bitterly thinks you've done it on purpose because it was easier for you to leave her space than to make her leave your space. 

There's a knock on her door. 

Right on time.

Wednesday looks at Thing before glaring at the door.

"I will not accept defeat tonight," she ominously declares as she walks towards the door. 

When she opens it, Wednesday finds you smiling at her but there’s something about it that makes her feel disgruntled. 

“Hi, Wednesday,” you say in the exact same way you’ve said hundreds before. “Enid out again?”

“Of course,” Wednesday deadpans since not even Enid knows about your wings.

“Cool,” you reply before looking out the window. “Can we open the window? It feels a little stuffy in here.”

Wednesday looks at Thing, who scuddles to the window and cracks it open. There’s a slight breeze that makes you sigh with ease as you take off your sweater and sit down on the floor at Wednesday’s bed. 

There’s a momentary pause as Wednesday stares at the familiar sight of your back before your opulent obsidian wings slowly grow out, stretching as much as they could with a ruffle. 

They were healing quite well, Wednesday notes. Soon, you won’t need to meet with her every night for treatment. 

You still need to meet her now but you’re already distancing yourself. 

Wednesday feels self-pity, rage, and dour. She won’t admit it, though, as she pulls out the tub of salve and sits behind you. 

Your wings trill as Wednesday moves her fingers through the feathers.

The way you won’t even tell her it tickles anymore. 

“Did you enjoy your day today?” You ask conversationally and Wednesday clenches her jaw.

“No,” she grits out.

“Oh,” you seem surprised at the admittance. There’s a delay and Wednesday knows you’re debating on inquiring further, but you make up your mind. “Why?”

“Why do you think so?” Wednesday asks instead, her voice flat and unimpressed that you’d sink to playing stupid. It was beneath you.

You remain silent.

“I don’t know,” you eventually say, your tone even and unassuming. “Has Xavier finally tried to hug you?”

You’re lightly jesting to avoid the confrontation but Wednesday won’t have it. She applies the salve slowly, knowing full well it was making you antsy. Wednesday was going to drag out tonight so painfully slow, you were going to regret having ever been the reason for Wednesday’s dreadful days. 

“No,” Wednesday answers, “And I doubt he ever will if he wants to live.”

You laugh but it’s not very sincere. “I guess he could always ask Enid to pass along a hug for him.” You’re jesting again but there’s something in your tone that sounds bitter.

Wednesday doesn’t know what to make of the comment, so she ignores it since it’s not like you can see her glare right now.

“You’ve been partnering up with the lanky boy lately,” Wednesday shifts the subject, sounding flat as if it were just a mere observation.

“Henry?” You say confusedly but Wednesday doesn’t confirm or deny. “I mean, I guess,” you shrug.

“Why?” Wednesday demands, asking what she really wants to know.

“I mean,” you say slowly. “Why not? You and I are some of the people with the top grades. It’s obvious we’re adept and Henry needs help.”

“So, why must you be the one to help him?” Wednesday clenches her jaw.

It’s a miracle how gentle she’s still applying the salve despite how uncomfortably irritated she feels. 

“Why? Are you offering to help him instead?” You ask wryly.

“I think if he’s destined to fail, then we should not interfere,” Wednesday bluntly and callously reasons. “Is he not the same boy who first saw you and could barely get a word out, leaving you with such a dull sobriquet?”

“It’s just a class, Wednesday,” you dryly say, awkwardly shifting. 

Wednesday’s jaw is set tightly in place, and she feels utterly humiliated right now.

“I heard you’re joining The Poe Cup race again this year?” You say, changing the subject as the atmosphere was tense. 

Wednesday feels her body relax ever so slightly at the new subject.

“Yes, at Enid’s relentless and piteous begging.”

“Oh,” you say softly.

Wednesday feels uncomfortable and she’s unsure why. 

“Have you considered joining the race?” Wednesday spits out to keep the conversation moving. 

“No,” you answer softly again. “Even though there are no rules preventing sabotage against other teams, Principal Weems and I agreed that my powers would be a very unfair advantage to fight against.”

Wednesday’s curiosity rules over all other emotions. She wants to ask exactly what powers you’re talking about when you suddenly stand up and Wednesday realizes that you could feel when she’s finished applying the salve to the end of your scars. 

“Thanks again for helping me,” you tell her softly as you turn around, making your wings disappear with an uncomfortable grimace. You put your sweater back on and zipped it up. “I have some assignments with my other project partners I have to meet up with. Catch you later?”

Wednesday is left sitting on the floor, seething with rage and defeat as you walk out the room, shutting the door with a resounding, sickening click. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Enid returns home from her date with Ajax, feeling joyous and charmed. She immediately spots Wednesday at her desk on her typewriter.

“Hey, Wednesday,” Enid sing-songs. “Did you have a good night?”

“It was fine,” Wednesday says sharply, which has Enid looking over to Thing, who signs to not ask. 

“O-kay,” Enid replies, taking off her jacket before sitting on her bed. 

Wednesday is typing aggressively on her typewriter, each push so hard it sounds punishing. 

“So—”

“Not now, Enid,” Wednesday icily cuts in, continuing to type as if she wanted to break her typewriter. “I need silence.”

Enid doesn’t reply, only letting out a soft sigh as she puts her headphones on and rests in her bed. She opens a magazine and Thing shuffles over to her to look along with her. The sad thing is that Enid can still hear Wednesday aggressively typing, but she ignores it knowing her best friend and roommate needs the time to cool down before attempting to talk.

The only problem is an hour and half passes and Wednesday is still typing as if the typewriter has personally wronged her.

Enid yanks off her headphones, closing her magazine before she slams both down on her bed. She frostily looks at Wednesday.

"Wednesday, this was cute and funny to watch the first two weeks, but now it's getting sad," Enid purses her lips at her roommate. "Stop moping and go fix it. And don’t play stupid, I know you know what I mean."

"Enid," Wednesday says with thinly veiled anger, her typing coming to a stop. "Whatever it was between us has clearly taken a nose-dive and hit solid concrete and died. It was nothing and I'm not affected by—"

"Wednesday!" Enid snaps, and it makes Wednesday close her mouth. Her bright roommate rarely snapped. "Stop dismissing your own feelings."

"I'm not sure what you're—"

"Oh, yes you do," Enid cuts in, and Wednesday wants to remind her that it is a rude habit. "Maybe your big brain hasn't caught on yet, but if you spent time looking at your behaviors and actions of late, you'd be able to get on the same page as the rest of us."

Wednesday frowns, glaring at her roommate, who glares back.

"I implore detective Wednesday to make an appearance and annoyingly obsess over the clues she's given to herself," Enid scrunches her nose. "I'll be at Yoko's and when I'm back, I expect you'll have come to the correct conclusion. I'm taking Thing as well."

Enid doesn't wait for Wednesday's reply as she turns and leaves the room with a resounding click of the door shutting. With her alone in her room, Wednesday initially ignores Enid's words, going back to sit at her desk and placing her fingers on her typewriter, but nothing comes to mind. 

After sitting in frustration for 10 minutes, Wednesday curses her blonde roommate as she contemptuously gets up and goes to lie down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. 

It's almost embarrassingly easy to think back to the beginning. Wednesday remembers seeing you for the first time and thinking nothing of it. It was only two weeks of your friendly smile and greetings, despite having yet to be formally introduced, that she noticed you more. And then she couldn't stop noticing you because you never endeavored to say anything more to her than hello, even though you were diligent in getting to know everyone else. 

Then, it was the slow desire to know every single thing there was about you. Wednesday was still mostly ambivalent about her phone, but she had wanted your number. It was the gruesome butterflies, the discovery of your secret place, and your wings that began to make this year thrilling.

Wednesday had never suffered through so many hypothetical conversations in her head—she had considered admitting herself as a patient to a mental ward rather than being the usual enthused visitor. 

It was easy to admit that, on some level, she thought of you as hers to protect and would carry out any revenge needed. 

But this was normal, wasn't it? Wednesday bargains. This could all be construed as friendship, the same as whatever she had with Enid—just with more curiosity. 

The foundation of that reasoning was pathetically shaky, she knew.

It was the smaller things that Wednesday analyzed. 

Wednesday thought back and reluctantly admitted there were too many times she's felt jealous and sullen because of you. She thinks about how she would take the long way to her class just to bump into you down the halls. 

The way she would ensure her nightly plans were left completely free to spend with you. Quite frankly, Wednesday planned her days around you, and if there was something she could not put off, then she was sure to include you. 

It was coming horrifyingly clear. Wednesday has always told herself she wasn't sure how she felt about you to give herself plausible deniability. But her own actions and behaviors have ratted her out. 

And it was such an outrageous revelation. 

Damn it all. Wednesday Addams was romantically interested in someone. 

How unfortunate. 

The door jiggles before opening, revealing her blonde roommate returning with Thing on her shoulders. Wednesday looks at the time and finds she's been lying in bed for an hour.

"So?" Enid drawls. "Did you figure it out yet?"

"Yes," Wednesday tightly replies, looking at Enid briefly before glaring back at the ceiling.

"And how do you feel?"

"Enraged." 

"Enraged?!" Enid's in disbelief but then sighs. "But of course you'd be."

Wednesday suddenly sits up. It's well past midnight, but she doesn't care.

"Thing," Wednesday writes a quick note, folding it before giving it to Thing. "Go deliver this."

Thing grabs it and scuddles off while Enid stares at her roommate with curiosity. "Are you going to go meet up with her?" Then, excitedly. "Are you going to confess?"

"The only thing I will ever confess to is a murder," Wednesday flatly says. "But yes, I will be meeting up with her and I will make her suffer as I have."

Enid winces, looking doubtful. "Really?"

Wednesday is silent for a moment before she says, "No. But I will be getting to the bottom of this, and I will come out victorious."

Wednesday puts on her boots and sweater.

"Are you sure she'll even meet up with you? What did you say in your note?"

Wednesday grinned wickedly. "I told her to meet me, or I would set fire to her forest until it was nothing but ash."

Enid sighs, turning to get ready for bed. "Good luck."

Wednesday doesn't reply, walking to the door. It is pathetic she's romantically engrossed in someone, but as it happened, she couldn't undo it. 

Therefore, as the object of her affections, she could not allow you to distance yourself without a sound, robust reason. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday makes it to your studio before you do, but she can hear your footsteps heavy with annoyance. 

"What the hell is wrong with you, Wednesday?" She hears you huff. "Why the hell would you send me a note that you're going to burn down—"

"You've been avoiding me," Wednesday turns around and hisses, anger written all over her face. "Why?"

You’re stunned silent, shocked at the sudden confrontation and venomous tone from Wednesday. For a second, Wednesday thinks you won’t answer and turn around to leave, risking your little haven burnt to a crisp.

"I have not," you say slowly, rising to the challenge as you raise your brow at her. "We still see each other every night, don't we?"

"But we don't..." Wednesday pauses. "You don't..."

"What?" You tilt your head. "Spend all my time with you?"

Wednesday remains silent, her blood silently burning inside her. She's so filled with disgruntlement. It's always better to suffer the truth than to be blissfully unaware, but Wednesday wishes this entire realization wasn't her truth. 

"Should I start prioritizing you?" You say with no inflection, but it feels almost malicious. "I'd have never thought Wednesday Addams would demand so much of my time."

Wednesday would never, ever admit that something as silly as words could hurt her. They were just words, and she'd have to care enough to let them affect her. Even Enid's rare spiteful words were more of something she used to reflect on rather than let them dig at her. 

Yet, here she was, clenching her jaw and feeling her throat constrict. 

Wednesday clenches her fist. "This was a mistake." She turns around and starts walking away, feeling violently ill. She only gets a few steps away before you're chasing after her.

"No, Wednesday—wait," you grab her hand, and Wednesday absolutely detests the way it soothes her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it." Your tone is full of regret and sincerity.

Wednesday stands still in her spot a moment longer before she slowly turns back to you. You don't let go of her hand, and she doesn't pull away.

"Then, why?" Wednesday asks, even though she isn't in a position to accuse you, as she's the exact same when lashing out.

"Because..." you let out a deep sigh, holding Wednesday's hand more tightly. "Because I'm jealous."

Wednesday's eyebrows furrow. She is thoroughly at a loss. "Jealous?"

You shrug and then nod. "Jealous, upset, lamenting—whatever you want to call it."

"Of what, exactly?" Wednesday frowns. 

"Enid."

"Enid?" Wednesday is even more confused. "Why would you be envious of Enid?"

"It's not necessarily Enid as a person. I know she's your best friend," you sigh. "It's more of Enid as a concept."

"As a concept?" Wednesday raises her brow, prompting you to continue on.

You stare at Wednesday, studying her entirety with a focus that begins to make Wednesday uncomfortable even if she doesn't show it. 

"Everybody talks about last year," you reveal slowly. "Since I wasn't here, everyone is excited to share last year in detail."

Wednesday nods. Even her group talked about last year's events when you hung out with them from time to time. 

"The only thing I can think about when people talk of it is how different you've become," you say quietly. "Which isn't a bad thing, but I'm very aware of the fact that Enid was a big factor in your change."

Wednesday lets the words soak in, analyzing them before she nods in agreement. "Enid has left an enduring mark on me, and she continues to—do not repeat that to her."

You give Wednesday a wry grin. "Yes, Enid is..." you sigh. "She's warm like the sun—like basking under the rays. I can't blame you because I feel it in her presence too. She's genuine and bold. What you see is what you get, and you can't help but be charmed."

"I would say Enid is more like a fungus that grows on you and you have no choice but to be fond of, but continue on."

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you look at Wednesday, mirroring her impassive eyes. "I'm not like that."

Wednesday raises her brow. "And?"

You swallow, and Wednesday sees something dim behind your eyes. "I will never be warm like the sun, and what I show others will always be different—always a mask. Wednesday, despite you being grim, solemn, and interested in all morbidities, you're enticed by the sun and moved by its warmth." It was such a miserable smile. "And that will never be me."

You drop Wednesday's hand, and there's something so hollowing about it that Wednesday wants to tell you that you're such a fucking moron because the lack of your warmth is upsetting her. 

"Did you fall on your head when I wasn't watching?" Wednesday snaps at you, and you merely stare back at her. She grabs your hand back, almost crushing it to punish you. 

"Basking in the sun is only tolerable when you're sitting under the shade," Wednesday follows your ridiculous metaphors. "I will admit that Enid's warmth has taught me that while I enjoy solitude, it is a choice—not a condemnation."

"I will also admit that Enid has her whims indulged by me more," Wednesday rolls her eyes but looks at you sternly. "But so do you. I could argue I let you get away with more."

"Do I?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"If anyone consumed my thoughts and put me through such self-pity and suffering as much as you do, I would have already turned them into the next true crime documentary."

You can't help but crack a smile.

Wednesday looks at you, her eyes softening, and she evenly says, "It is easy to adulate the light." Her thumb brushes over the back of your hand. "Show me your darkness."

You squeeze Wednesday's hand gently, and the tension in your fades, your shoulder becoming relaxed.

The anger subsides within Wednesday, quelling as she knows this stupidity is coming to its end and you will no longer be avoiding her. 

It comes to Wednesday suddenly how much emotional labor you put her through, and she's in disbelief that you think you aren't capable of changing her.

"You are..." Wednesday huffs with frustration. "Unpleasant."

You can't help but laugh. "You are, too."

"You already knew that," Wednesday plainly says. "I told you I would devastate you at some point."

"I wouldn't say I'm devastated," you smile amusedly at Wednesday's dramatics. 

"Nevertheless, this is still a mistake."

"And what a grand mistake it would be," you muse. 

"We clearly don't know what we're doing."

"I guess we just have to keep going until we do."

"Quite frankly, even if we do, we will still both needlessly suffer," Wednesday warns.

You hum, drawing Wednesday closer. Wednesday looks a little wary, but she allows your proximity. Her eyebrows are slightly tense as she gazes at you. 

"I heard your mother named you after her favorite poem," you say softly, your hand grazing Wednesday's fingers before you entangle them together. For someone who enjoyed the cold so much, her hands were warm. "Wednesday's child is full of woe."

Wednesday only nods slightly because moving too much would make her lips graze yours. 

The tension is so thick, Wednesday could suffocate in it. How lovely. 

Your lips graze against Wednesday, and she tightens her hands against yours when you pull away. You look at Wednesday's eyes so vehemently, and she experiences opia all over again. 

"But did you know?" 

Wednesday can feel your breath on her face.

"Love is suffering—and we get the honor of enduring its torment."

Your lips press warmly against the corner of Wednesday's mouth, and she finds you're veracious. What torture it is—and Wednesday takes delight in it.

PART 6

[tongue-like-a-razor]

for the 5k celly, (congrats btw! 💕) if you feel like it, I'd love to see that part in part 6 of bbf where she's drunk and says she's not going to break up with her boyfriend from Jake's pov? like how was he feeling knowing that the girl he likes is dating a dick?

Ooh another request for part 6 of BBF!! I was really hoping for some Jake POV requests because I LOVE getting in his head 😆 So, thank you! (Ps. Is part 6 everyone's fave chapter?? 🤭)

Here you go, love! Jake's perspective. Enjoy ❤️

5k Weekend Bash Drabbles

Brother's Best Friend - Jake's POV of The Fight

Jake Seresin x Reader

Jake can’t believe what he’s hearing. To think that you’re actually planning on continuing to date this douchebag after how he’s treated you is absurd. “Don’t you dare consider seeing him again,” he warns, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He winces slightly at how threatening they sound. What Jake really means is, please, for the love of god, don’t get hurt.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you retort, making a face at him that suggests you’re going to do the exact opposite of what he says. That’s nothing new.

“I can if you’re gonna be stupid about it.” Another phrase which makes Jake inwardly cringe, but he’s trying to get a point across, damnit.

“Go to hell,” you say tiredly, turning away from him.

Jake releases a disgruntled sigh. “Whatever,” he replies, even though, obviously, it isn’t whatever, and he can hardly take in a breath as he storms out of your bedroom.

“Stop judging me!” you’re yelling from the threshold of your room when he reaches the stairs.

Jake gapes at you, struggling to keep his anger in check. “I’M NOT JUDGING YOU!” he roars. “I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU!”

“WHY?” you scream, as if it isn’t evident.

Jake takes a breath, trying to compose himself. If he lets himself say any more, there will be an entirely different problem on his hands. So, he exhales slowly and starts down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” you ask, sounding alarmed.

“Home,” he replies, as unemotionally as possible, making a left at the foot of the stairs and marching straight for the front door. Before he can even get his shoes on, however, he hears a gasp and then a thump and he’s running back toward the staircase without a second thought. When he sees that you’re still standing, he claps a hand to his chest and starts breathing again. “Why are you following me?” he growls, coming up the stairs to meet you as you waver on the spot.

You blink up at him miserably when he reaches you and whimper, “I don’t want you to go.”

Jake holds you by the shoulders as you sink down onto the step. Your words induce a violent series of jolts in his chest that he’s ill-equipped to deal with in the midst of your persisting conflict. Why you don’t want him to leave has no bearing on whether or not he will stay, so why dwell on it? “Let’s get you back to bed,” he says quietly.

...

“I don’t get it,” Jake says once you’re tucked in, sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Why would you keep seeing this idiot?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts as if you’re not quite sure, yourself. “It’s just nice to be liked,” you say hesitantly.

“I like you!” Jake responds instantly, surprised at your logic. Plenty of people like you. More than you know, in fact.

But you’re shaking your head. “Not like that, Jake. You know what I mean” – he doesn’t – “It’s nice to feel…”

“What?” Jake asks, watching you closely.

“Wanted,” you finally say.

Jake stares at you in awe. There’s no way your dumbass boyfriend wants you the way – well, the way that he does, for instance.

“You know,” you continue, as if Jake isn’t following, “physically. To feel like someone needs to have me. An all-encompassing, mind-altering desire that can’t be helped.”

Jake watches you mutely. He hasn’t given much thought to the kind of desire he feels for you, and he’s not going to pick this moment to start. “That jackass makes you feel this way?” he asks with a cringe.

“I mean, he wants sex.”

Jake brings his hands up to conceal the revulsion on his face. “I swear to god, if you mention your sex life one more time, I’m going to throw myself out your window.”

You laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jake sighs and lays down beside you. There’s got to be a way of conveying just how much he wants you to never see that asswipe again without revealing that he wants to be the one you see instead. “I know it’s not my place,” he says cautiously, apprehensive about riling you again. He turns to face you, not thinking about how all-encompassing, mind-altering, and utterly unparalleled his desire is for you now that he's this close, and says, “But I am begging you, please dump his sorry ass.”

5k Celly