#well after an hour and a half of sobbing and hyperventilating and a 2 hour nap

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[blueberri-blu]

Hiiii! I hope you’re having a lovely day! (Or night depending on your timezone)

I would like to request a 2012 Leo x Reader hurt/comfort fanfic. (I love hurt/comfort fanfics) Make it be about Leo comforting the reader who’s having a really bad panic attack.

Also, include a kiss scene as well as writing prompt 13 in it. And don’t forget to make the reader gender neutral.

And that’s my request! If you can do it, it’ll absolutely make my day!

Of Course! I'd love to ^^ Heres What I came up with:

Too Much to Bear ᗒᗕ

Prompt 13: "just take a deep breath or something!" "TAKE A DEEP BREATH!! I feel like my INSIDES are being RIPPED OUT!"

♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡

It was so cold. The freezing hand seemed to grip at your head without mercy, shivers racking down your whole body. Your face soaked with your frustration, only making things worse. Your jaw locked in as if holding onto prey, quite ironic since right now, you felt like prey. Like life's little plaything it just couldn't leave alone, like a doll a little kid couldn't help but leave lonely and forgotten on the abandoned playground as the rain seemed to come down like bullets.

Before their mission, Leo had told you he'd come back to your place, just so you'd feel better. You had told him a couple days ago that you felt scared and restless whenever they went on missions, so he started to come back and see you right after.

But he still hasn't come back. Leo was always on time, ever the gentleman. And even though you knew they could handle their own, your mind couldn't help but wander. That's what got you here, cold, wet, and shaking, like an abandoned puppy. You couldn't help what you felt, you knew that, logically, they were most likely ok, and they probably just got caught up with things, but your mind and body seemed to work against you.

Your inner battle seemed to drown you, not realizing that Leo had finally walked through your window. You suddenly felt 3 cold fingers on your shoulder, you jumped, but soon made out the green blob with a blue mask through your teary vision. Your throat was sore, but more sobs racked through your body, only this time in slight relief. Leo on the other hand, was more than worried, you were sobbing, shaking, and hyperventilating, he was trying his best to calm you down.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, can I hold you?" You just nodded and he pulled you into his lap as he held and rocked you. You could tell he was trying to slow his breathing, in hopes you'd do the same. His hand was soothing, it seems to rub your worries out through your back.

It had been half an hour, and you were still crying, Leo, ever the confused one just said "Well, take a deep breath... Or something?" You, obviously, took offense and just yelled "TAKE A DEEP BREATH!! I feel like my INSIDES are being RIPPED OUT!" Seeing you no longer sobbing, or shaking, he let out a little chuckle, loving that no matter the situation, you always fought. "I'm sorry, you're right, what can I do?" "Just hold me..." As you calmed down, your little outburst having helped you control your emotions a bit, you finally wanted to talk about it.

"You were 2 hours late, and I just... I couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt, or worse, not coming back home" the mere thought sent more tears down you already drenched cheeks. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I really am, the mission went a little side way, but I'm back! I've got an idea...

What if, from now on, I'll send you my location before going on missions? Then you can see where we are, just in case" you looked up at him with pure adoration, he always tried his best to make you feel better, no matter what, you just murdered a simple, "that'd be great, love"

You both seemed to grow closer from the whole ordeal, always checking in on each other, and, whenever your brain started to race faster than it should, you'd be able to check on Leo. Donnie installed some extra features, allowing you to see his T-phone battery, his location, and even his vitals.

And if even with that information, you're still feeling anxious, Leo is always there, ready with comforting words, some tea, and impeccable back rubs!

♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡⁠˖♡

I really hope this helps! I personally haven't experienced panic attacks, I usually end up having a meltdown because of the overwhelming feelings I get, but I asked some friends to get a good idea of what they're like! I really appreciate the ask btw! I love it when you guys send in asks, so please feel free to send in as many as you'd like! I hope you guys like it, ily <3

[flockofdoves]

today was really really bad. was in the middle of cleaning my roommates cat shit off the floor today in preparation for our landlords inspection tomorrow that my roommate never responded about helping out with when my roommate got home from work. and of course she did her usual thing of trying to ignore me and running upstairs but i repeated her name a couple more times til she was forced to acknowledge i was there and when i said 'hey can we please talk for a little bit' she said 'haha no thats okay thanks though!' with a weird mocking tone while not looking in my direction continuing to walk up the stairs

and i started fucking panicking i walked outside for a bit with my gf and couldnt stop myself sobbing and hyperventilating and shaking once we were back inside which my roommate obviously could hear.

and i just didn't have the energy to clean up her mess anymore when i was so emotional right then and kept coming back to wanting to Really Well express my feelings even though i knew it wouldn't amount in anything and she never responds to texts anyway unless she stands to benefit from it

but just so i wouldn't push down and stop feeling my emotions and so i could let out my energy in an effective way i spent the last 2 and a half hours writing this all out

and of course when i went to text it it wouldn't deliver so i'm sure she blocked my number in preparation after that lol. but i also emailed so like whatever

katie —

i acknowledge that texting or emailing a giant wall of text is not really an ideal form of communication. there are some things i have hoped to express for a while, and i don’t want to pile it all on, so i hope despite the format i can do an okay job at expressing my hopes and needs without making this overwhelming to read or anything.

today jacqueline and i spent the whole day cleaning downstairs. as me and jacqueline are hoping to renew our lease here, i have been scared that if the apartment isn’t clean enough for the inspection that was going to be tomorrow (as of an hour ago moved to saturday instead) that we would have no housing in a month from now.

i feel drained in our current living situation. it is upsetting to smell months old moldy dishes in the sink every day, or to find the source of the fly problem in an old fermented cup of coffee full of larvae. but i get that you probably feel similarly, and it wouldn’t be productive to tie up my emotions surrounding that into blame, and i hope i can word things here in a way that makes it clear that i am writing to express my needs and where i am at, and not to simply leave you to handle my emotions or anything.

i have had times of my life where keeping things clean and sanitary has been hard, and even if i don’t know your specific situation, i empathize with that struggle a lot. i know that (beyond of course combatting structural issues in society and health issues that can often contribute to that sort of struggle) the way out of that struggle is in support and help from the people around oneself. we may not know each other that well, but i would like to be able to help in some form.

it isn’t sustainable for me though for the form that that help takes to be for me and jacqueline to deep clean everything every few months once it gets really bad again. i have a physical disability that causes me chronic flare ups of extreme joint and muscle pain. i have been in the middle of a flare up during this week leading up to the inspection, making cleaning a very slow and draining process for me. i’m sure that between being busy with work and any other situations i am not aware of that you clearly have a lot on your plate as well that is making doing stuff like cleaning a struggle too.

obviously there is no ideal solution to stuff like that when all parties involved are struggling and there aren’t enough external resources, but i believe from past experiences that the best thing that can be done to improve the situation as much as possible for all involved is for people to work collaboratively, communicating openly about what they might need help with, lessening the strain on them when the other person is able to do more, reciprocating the same when they can, and finding a compromise to push themselves a little and equitably share the strain when things are hard for both people but stuff still needs to get done.

even if i, for example, do not feel like i am at a point in my life where i have the time and resources to consistently take care of a cat and didn’t expect to have to worry about that responsibility, i would be much happier if you communicated stuff like for example, ‘hey would you be able to scoop her litterbox this week, things are really busy right now and i’m struggling with doing it myself’ as opposed to the current situation where it technically isn’t my responsibility, but it still needs to get done and i’m not sure if it will happen. i want to help you and kitty, and having stuff like that explicitly communicated would make things a lot easier for me.

i get that it is hard to communicate, especially when you’re in a bad situation, and i know i have been awkward in my communication as well, but no matter how hard it is i think it is still crucial for fostering a healthy environment where none of us feel too burnt out.

the same applies to a lot of other situations. if you are struggling with having the resources needed to get enough food for whatever reason, i want to be able to help you out, and if you ask i’d be happy to give you any food you want, no further questions asked. i also love to cook and share meals with people. but i feel upset when i allow myself in my budget one snack to look forward to, only to see it gone with no notice, or when my mom bought me a snack box when i was going through a hard time, only to find it empty out on the deck. what is important to me in these types of situation is the communication, i would be happy to share stuff if you asked.

i would really like if we could be more communicative with each other in our last month living together. while i totally respect if you wouldn’t want to, and its not at all in my expectations for what our household dynamic should be, i also would be happy to maybe even have movie nights and stuff like we talked about when we first moved in together. while there’s other small things that have built up that would be nice if they were resolved but i totally respect if they can’t be (ex. if by any chance you didn’t throw out me and jacqueline’s dishes that were on the deck i would love to have them back so i can wash them and use them again, or if you have the money to, our electric bills every month have been over the $70 you pay for electricity and its been a bit tight for me and jacqueline to pay your remaining portion of electricity after subtracting for the wifi if you can afford to compensate us) but the only thing i really want out of this last month is for us all to be able to equitably share the work of keeping the house sanitary and the cat healthy, and for there to be communication whenever you might need extra help, and then i would be happy to do it. please of course let me know anything i can improve on as a roommate too, i want you to have a good environment to live in too.

i know every sentiment i wrote out here jacqueline also shares too.

thank you for reading, chiara

[icarusredwings]

Tw: Rape mentions

*whispers* Wade has canonically (for no fucking reason really like seriously it doesn't add to the plot at all its just because his writers hate him fr) has been molested/ gRaped multiple times in both childhood and adulthood.

In Deadpool second series #13-14 Siryn (Theresa “Terry” Cassidy COUGH the daughter of Banshee COUGH) acted as the angel on Deadpool’s shoulder for a while, trying to steer him in the right direction as we see most heros who actually get to know wade do.

Unfortunately, Typhoid Mary (Ironically nicknamed Virgin Mary) disguised herself as Siryn (tricking him into consenting) and had sex with him, which caused him to have a major emotional breakdown from feeling violated. In a different comic, Wade explains that she laughed at him for it, and it shows him holding his knees to his chest and looking as if he was crying and still horrified by the situation.

We know about kevin, and he makes us not be able to FORGET about kevin. But he doesn't mention Typhoid Mary like ever, and I think it's because it's still a bit too fresh to joke about. How messed up it is is *too* messed up. Sure, he can joke about kevin because deep down, he logically knows it's not his fault. Kids can't consent.

But this time, he *did* consent, and because of his mentality, I believe he would feel as if he has no right to complain because he consented. It wasn't until afterward he felt really bad about it and began to question if those around him are real or not. If they're actually themsleves.

From this, I propose Prove it.

A fic idea where Wade has a panic attack after a really bad, realisitic nightmare about Logan not actually being Logan only to hyperventilate, scream, punch him in the nose, and try his best to explain what happened but just cant seem to get any words out. So he stands there in the corner of the room, shaking like a leaf, staring at him with such wide, scared eyes, threatening him that if he touches him he'll try his damndest to kill him. He then forces Logan to prove it's actually him, shying away and not letting him touch him at all until he fully gains his trust back by proving its him, reciting memories, small, tiny details about wade that no one else would ever pick up or know.

How he always puts exactly 3 pumps of bubbles in the bath because 2 is too little and 4 is too much. How wade absolutely hates eggs in stuff like quiche but often makes eggs sandwhiches in the morning. How wade folds his clothes a certian way and it drives him insane because he does it wrong. How he only has one dimple on his ass and once when he was a kid, in the scouts, he accidently caught himself in a trap and he hung upside down for about half an hour before anyone helped him down... why he keeps his baby knife under his pillow because of what happened later that same day.

He even offers him the baby knife. Telling him go ahead. Cut me if you want. Because a lot of copycats can pretend to have the claws, but almost none of them actually have the healing factor as well as he does. "Im the original baby."

It ends with Wade hugging him so tight that his nails dig into his sides and he sobs so hard that it gives him a headache from dehydration. He blubbers everything to him about Tess and Mary, all the other ones. and while Logan can't understand a single word he's saying, he's glad that he trusts him enough to tell him... er... what ever hes telling him right now.

rolling a whump situation around my mouth like fine wine

what if Stryfe nabbed Wade and gave him the ol' thousand-year-torture-session or whatever blah-di-blah (he's a very convenient Nate-shaped baddie for whump purposes >:3c)

and then Logan eventually finds him and comes to rescue him

Obviously Wade heals up from all the brutality; not a scratch on him. But weeks later, though he's completely fine physically

He's

still

not

talking

just. won't communicate. shakes his head desperately when Logan asks him (begs him) to say something, anything. Seems afraid of what'll happen, if he dares make a sound

and Logan's heart is breaking

[jenniferswhor3]

fool’s gold - rafe cameron

obx masterlist | masterlist

rafe cameron x reader

summary; you were always there for rafe but he still left you in the dirt.

warnings; mentions of drug abuse, panic attacks, swearing, a bit of manipulation

authors note; loosely based of ‘fool’s gold’ by one direction. sort of based off a true story :,)

you and rafe never dated. although, to everyone around you, it had seemed you were. you knew you weren’t, he knew you weren’t, and all of your friends knew you weren’t.

you had been with him through everything. you’ve been there for him through everything that’s happened with his dad, everything that’s happened with his drug addiction, and all of his violent tendencies. you were the only one that truly stayed.

it started off with you two being friends, then best friends, then, well, that’s complicated.

you guys had shared many moments together. like the time you helped him through a panic attack induced by his father.

he knocked on your first story bedroom window at 2:07 am. you were a bit startled at first, but once you saw rafe through the glass your fear vanished.

once you opened your window and let him in, you could visibly tell he was crying and shaking. his fingers were trembling and he was playing with his fingers. his shirt was wrinkled and had a couple wet patches on it, presumably from the tears he wiped.

“rafe,” you started. he started stuttering before you could finish your sentence.

“i- i don’t-,” he choked out a small sob, “i don’t know what happened.” he was hyperventilating.

“rafe. rafe, look at me,” you knew he was starting to have a panic attack. “watch me breathe. i’m gonna take slow breaths, you’re gonna follow me, alright? can you do that?” he nodded.

his eyes were only on your lips watching you move them indicated a breath in and out. your hands were placed on his biceps, rubbing small circles with your thumbs. his hands were placed around your waist, making almost identical circles on your hips.

this is something he always did. whatever he was holding he had a tendency to draw little shapes on you.

once his breathing slowed, you pulled him in for a hug. the fabric on your shoulder dampened from his tears, that didn’t bother you, though.

his arms securely wrapped around your waist. “please,” he muttered.

“i won’t let you go.”

that night you two held each other all night long. you sat in mostly silence, the occasional short conversation would be brought up. he sat laying on your chest with his arms around your waist. one of your hands rested on his back, gently drawing random things while your other hand was holding his head and gently scratched his scalp.

you swore you both felt something that night. swore you felt the spark between your hands every time you two held hands. the spark between you two as you felt rafe’s breath gently against your neck. the spark you felt after you two had adjusted to different positions and you heard his heartbeat while resting on his chest.

here’s the thing, rafe knew you liked him. he didn’t necessarily want to take that to his advantage, he just thought he could get away with certain things.

for instance, not talking to you for almost a whole week. he wasn’t really busy but he definitely had a few things to do that week. you had texted him monday around lunch time and he didn’t respond. you knew he had some busy days especially since he he occasionally work for his father. you didn’t want to text him too much and come off as clingy, that’s the last thing you want.

hours went by and still no text. a couple hours turned into half the day and half the day turned into a the whole day. that whole day went by extremely slow. it was boring as hell and one of your favorite people weren’t there to make it better.

by the fourth day he didn’t text or talk to you, you had little hope left of him talking to you. it had been a miserable day for you. your boss had been snappy all day, your little brother had been unbearably annoying, and your parents were on you about school.

you were wallowing in your own tears when your phone buzzes a couple times. it was rafe. your face relaxed a bit as you answer his three text messages. one of them saying to come over to his.

he knew what he was doing. he knew he didn’t talk to you for four days and he knew you’d come over and be “friends” again; or whatever you want to call it.

once you drove over to his, he immediately greeted you with a small teddy bear he saw at the store earlier. even if he hadn’t gotten you the bear he knew you’d still forgive him.

“rafe, he is just too cute. oh my god.” you’re in awe at the small brown bear with a pink bow.

“yeah,” he shrugged. “i saw it and immediately thought how much you’d love it, so i got it.”

that night you both made brownies, well it was mostly you. his arms were wrapped around your waist from behind and his head was resting on your shoulders watching you stir all the ingredients. you let him like the spoon, of course.

when the brownies had finished, you put one piece in two separate bowls and topped both with vanilla ice cream and you and rafe cuddled close together while watching your favorite movies.

rafe knew exactly how to make you forgive him. he just flashes those puppy dog eyes and gives you a small smile and you immediately forget why you had been upset at him.

and it was like this for a few months. he’d “forget” to talk to you or make any means of communication or he’d rope you into almost getting in major trouble and days later you’d forgive him on the spot.

this one time had been very different than the others.

he’d gotten in a lot of trouble and had you help him out.

on a sunny sunday morning he came knocking at your window. letting him in you immediately notice his shakey hands and somewhat pale face. you hadn’t recognized this demeanor on him, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“rafe, what’s wrong?”

“do you think,” he was struggling to ask this. he didn’t want to but the feeling inside of his body was crying out for him to ask, crying out for the loss of substance in him. “do you think i could borrow a bit of money?”

you were taken back by this question. it didn’t shock you but he’s never asked to borrow money so you were just surprised. “um, yea sure. how much?” you walked over to your dresser to grab your wallet.

“just, um, twenty dollars. yeah, twenty dollars, that’s good.” you looked at him a bit funny while handing him a twenty dollar bill.

“rafe, are you sure your alright?”

“yeah, yeah. i’m fine,” he didn’t look fine. “i just— i’ll pay you back as soon as i can.”

it took you a second to respond, “okay. i mean you don’t have to worry about it, honestly.”

“no, no. it’s alright. i will.” he was still shaking a bit.

you gave yourself a confused look as he made his way out the window. he gave you a small wave before taking off.

it had been nearly three days since rafe last spoke to you. at this point, it hasn’t bothered you as much as it used to.

you had been sitting on your bed, reading your newest book, when suddenly you get a call from an unknown number.

you were skeptical about answering it at first. you answered with a quick hello and immediately recognized the voice on the other end. it was rafe, but why had he been calling form an unknown number.

“y/n, please. i need you to come bail me out. please, y/n.” his voice was trembling.

“rafe, what’s wrong? what do you mean ‘bail you out’?”

“i’m in a holding cell right now. please, y/n.”

you sighed, “i’m on my way.”

you grabbed your wallet and keys and headed to the county jail.

you payed the bail and dragged rafe out of the building. not before you could mutter a quick thank you to the police officer for being very cooperative.

“rafe, what the hell—,” you started.

before you could finish your sentence rafe pulled you into a right hug. his head buried in your neck. it seemed like that was his favorite place to be.

“i’m so sorry, y/n. i fucked up, major. i’m so sorry, please forgive me.” he was sobbing.

“rafe, what are you talking about.”

he didn’t explain; and he wasn’t going to. “please, y/n. i love you, please forgive me.”

your eyes slightly widen at those three words. it wasn’t uncommon for you to say a quick love you while parting ways or something. but never the three words, especially in this context.

“rafe. rafe, hey. it’s okay. whatever you did, i forgive you. now let’s go home.”

and that’s exactly what you did. you two went home, spent the night cuddling and watching his favorite movie, the hangover.

one month went by after that. barely any communication. you had lost faith between whatever was happening between you two.

it seems as he didn’t care, though. you had seen him out, laughing and drinking with his friends. it had taken time for you to realize what he was doing to you.

he didn’t care. he only used and abused your love for him to get what he wants. he knew you’d always forgive him.

apart of you wondered what went wrong. you had wondered if it was something you said or did. you thought everything was going smooth between you two.

apart of you knew you’d still always have love for him. it was fool’s gold.

[kasienda]

The Five Minute Adventures of Snake Noir: Chapter 2 - Best Friends

Chapter 1: I Want it to be You

Chapter 2: Best Friends

Free running across rooftops as Snake Noir wasn’t as effective in easing the heaviness on his mind as he had hoped. And the more time that passed, the more Adrien realized that he was getting worse - not better. He came to a stop on a rooftop, and huddled against a chimney, clutching his head in both hands. His akumatized self had destroyed the world .

The whole world. He was capable of that.

He fought for air in shallow rapid breaths, but it didn’t work. The needed oxygen continued to elude him.

He needed help, and he needed it five minutes ago. He forced himself into a standing position, even as his limbs began shaking. He glanced around the skyline trying to triangulate his own position from landmarks. The mansion was too far away - he’d never make it in time. So it was either Nino or Marinette.

Nino was closer.

He called for his second chance right outside his best friend’s window without slowing down or coming to a stop. He jumped through the thankfully open window. Nino was sitting with his back to Adrien with his headphones snug over his ears clearly lost in a world of music. Adrien wasted no time in pouncing across the room and seizing Nino in a hug.

Adrien had never clung to anyone so hard. He was shaking like a leaf in an autumn storm, and salty tears came down over his mask in torrents.

Nino stiffened, turned around within Adrien’s embrace, and dropped the headphones around his neck. “C-c-chat Noir?”

“A-Adrien,” he choked out.

Nino’s arms immediately tightened around him. He asked no questions, he didn’t react at all except to hold him tighter as Adrien let out violent sobs. Nino just held him until the snake miraculous signaled Snake Noir was out of time.

Read on Ao3

“Second chance,” Adrien whispered. And he was outside the window once again, but he doesn’t do anything different in the next loop. He just throws himself into Nino’s startled embrace, tells him he’s Adrien, and every time, Nino’s arms tighten around him. And it got worse before it got better. Adrien would have lost track of how many loops he had gone through if the snake didn’t magically make it impossible to forget. But after twenty-six loops of Nino’s solid consistent response Adrien’s panic finally subsided a bit and he was eventually able to gain control of both his breathing and his tears.

“Dude, are you okay?” Nino asked. He pulled back a little, but his arms were still on Snake Noir’s shoulders.

“No,” Adrien said. Even that one word was hard to get out. His voice sounded shaky to his own ears.

“What happened?” Nino asked, and Adrien is grateful that Nino isn’t asking a million questions about his being Chat Noir.

“Today Ladybug told me why she’s never been able to tell me her identity or let me tell her mine.”

Nino nodded.

Adrien spoke rapidly, knowing he was on a time limit. “Apparently, our knowing each other leads to my akumatization. And as an akuma,” his voice broke as sobs choked off his air supply once again.

“It’s okay, dude. Take your time.”

Adrien sucked in a shuddering breath, and tried again. “As an akuma, I destroyed the world.”

Nino blinked at him. “W-what?”

”The whole freaking world, Nino.” Adrien rocked himself back and forth until Nino pulled him into another hug and took over the soothing motion. “I’m so scared, Nino,” Adrien cried into Nino’s shoulder, his whole body shaking like an earthquake. “I don’t want to be capable of that. That I could be responsible for the destruction of the whole world?!”

“You’re not responsible for your akuma,” Nino objected harshly.

Adrien tore away from Nino’s embrace, though he immediately regretted it. His transformed claws tried to tear through his hair, but were met only with the smooth cap of the snake half of his transformation. “But like, it makes me afraid of my feelings, which then just sends me into more of a panic and probably more likely to get akumatized! Nino, I don’t know what to do!”

His breathing sped up again. It was too fast - like a car headed for a tight corner on a cliff when the brakes were out. Adrien being aware of it did nothing to help slow his breathing back down. He was going to pass out and then he wouldn’t be able to reset the timer, and Nino would know everything. And even though Ladybug had granted permission, if someone knowing his identity could bring on the apocalypse, how could he ever risk it?

And did that mean he would never be able to share his identity with anyone ? Not Ladybug? Not his friends? Not even a future partner?

“Dude! Breathe!”

Adrien tried, but he just kept hyperventilating.

Then the snake bracelet started beeping again, and his panic sky-rocketed. It was too soon. Five minutes just wasn’t enough time.

Nino glanced at it, and then gripped Adrien’s hand firmly. “Dude, breathe in with me okay?” Adrien locked onto Nino’s golden eyes and nodded. Nino took in a deep slow breath and Adrien followed suit. “And out.”

And they did this for three more breaths.

“I’m not going to remember this, am I?” Nino said.

“I’m sorry, Nino,” Adrien cried. “Can I have your permission to erase your memory all the time? I know it’s not a fair thing to ask.”

Nino tightened his grip. “As often and as many times as you need, dude. Don’t ever hesitate. And don’t leave here tonight until you’re okay, okay?”

Adrien cried harder. “You trust me that much?” He could almost understand it with Ladybug. They trusted each other in life and death situations on the regular, but Nino too?! Adrien didn’t know what he had done to earn such friends.

“Yeah, man. Of course.”

Chat clung to Nino harder. He had some amazing people in his life. “Second chance.”

And this time when Snake Noir is outside Nino’s window for the 28th time, he doesn’t go in. He lets himself just sit on the window sill focusing on getting his breathing under control while Nino stays lost in his music. Just being able to see him, calmed Adrien down.

By the 31st loop, Adrien is able to swing himself into the room without immediately tackling his friend from behind. But he makes a point of landing with a loud thump.

Nino jumped ten centimeters out of his chair. Adrien almost laughed. Almost.

“Chat Noir! Is there an akuma? Do you guys need Carapace?”

Every muscle in his body tensed. Shit . “You’re a temporary hero?”

Nino paled. “Oh no! I thought that was why you were here. It meant that you already knew! Ladybug is going to kill me!”

“Nino, it’s fine.” And he was confident that it was. His lady trusted him as much as Nino did. It was only her identity he couldn’t know. He knew most of them at this point. Now, it was just hers, the new Queen Bee, and Rena Rouge that he didn’t know. “I actually came for a different reason. A personal reason.”

“A… uh… personal reason?” his friend stuttered, his golden gaze glancing nervously towards the cat themed hero who had landed unexpectedly in Nino’s bedroom. “I don’t know how to say this, man, but I have a girlfriend. And yeah, you’re hot as hell-”

Adrien’s cheeks were on fire.

“-but I love her and I won’t cheat on her. Not even… with a superhero.”

Adrien shook his head rapidly with his hands up echoing the gesture. “I’m super flattered, Nino, but I was not here for a hookup either.”

“Oh… umm…” And now it was Nino who was super embarrassed, his hands fiddling with his headphones at his neck. “Then, how can I help you?”

“I… uh… just came to talk.”

“Talk,” Nino repeated flatly. “With me?”

“Well, you are my best friend,” Adrien said, and then just waited.

Nino’s face went through a comical flash of expressions so fast that Adrien couldn't identify any of them. “A-Adrien?!”

“Hi?”

Nino buried his face into his hands.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, dude,” he mumbled. “Just embarrassed.”

“I said I was flattered.”

“I can’t believe I thought you were here to proposition me.”

“I mean, you do look pretty amazing in green,” Adrien teased, pulling out his most charming Chat Noir smile.

“Dude!” Nino objected, burying his face in his hands. “Please erase the last three minutes of my life.”

Adrien took pity on him. “That can be arranged.” He held up the bracelet on his wrist.

Nino wilted at the sight. “I’m not going to remember this?”

Adrien barked a genuine laugh. It felt good. “So you do want to remember, then?”

“Dumb shit should definitely be remembered,” Nino told him, but then turned serious. “So, if we’re on a timer, did you have something specific you wanted to talk about?”

Adrien shrugged and took a seat on Nino’s bed. “Ladybug told someone her identity when she was having a personal crisis. She suggested I do the same.”

“But then why don’t you want me to remember?”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, looking for the words to explain. He didn’t have time for the whole Chat Blanc explanation and he definitely didn’t want to start crying and undo all the work Nino had managed to pull off in just a few hours even if he didn’t remember any of it. “I guess the identity rule has been drilled into my head so severely that it’s hard for me to break it?”

Nino grinned. “So you’re taking, like, baby steps!”

Adrien grinned. “Yes! Exactly! Testing it out.”

“It’s super cool that you’re Chat Noir! You have no idea how happy it makes me that you can escape your golden prison if you need to.”

The bracelet started beeping. “Whelp! It looks like my carriage is going to turn back into a pumpkin! Thank you, Nino.”

Nino smiled, and gave Adrien the head nod. “Anytime, mec. Anytime.”

“Second chance.”

Then Chat Noir was outside the open window again and Nino was once again lost in his world of music.

“One more time,” he told himself, launching himself over the window sill and into the room with the same loud thud.

“Chat Noir! Is there an akuma? Do you guys need Carapace?”

Snake Noir shook his head. “Not this time, Donashello. But your best bro needs ordinary Nino.”

Nino paled. “Did something happen to Adrien? Did his father hurt him? Does he need a place to stay? He can totally room with me if needed. I’ve already discussed it with my parents. They’re cool with it.”

“Y-you have?” Adrien stuttered, taken aback by how much Nino worried about him, but also apparently planned for him. And now Adrien’s eyes were burning once again underneath his mask, but for an entirely different reason.

Nino stood up and hovered awkwardly. “You okay, dude?”

“I’m fine, Nino.” Adrien managed a huge smile, and yanked Nino into a hug. Nino remained awkwardly limp in his arms. “I just didn’t realize you worried about me like this. You have it worked out with your parents that I can just... stay here? Like whenever?”

“A-Adrien?!”

“In the flesh!”

Nino finally enthusiastically returned his hug. “Dude! No way! You’re Chat Noir?!”  

“The one and only!”

“This is so cool! And then Nino paled and pulled away. “Why are you telling me this now? I thought secret identities had to remain secret. Are you okay?”

“I’m doing a lot better thanks to you and the snake.”

Nino glanced at his altered transformation. “Oh. I’m not going to remember?”

Adrien wilted. “I wish I could tell you. Turns out knowing my identity specifically might be really dangerous.”

“I get it, dude. I’m a target of Hawkmoth, too.”

Chat frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Hawkmoth has made a copy of me twice now. Once as Nino and another as Bubbler.”

Chat Noir winced. Right, the Carapace sentimonster was Nino. “I hadn’t even thought about how you might feel about that. I’m sorry. I’ve been too wrapped up in my own head. What does it feel like to be impersonated?”

“It sucks. I worry that he’ll do it again. And that my friends and family will trust the imposter. And then become hostages or worse!”

Adrien nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know what I’d do if Hawkmoth used my family against me like that.” And it felt good to be the one listening and supporting for once, even if Nino wouldn’t remember. “What can we do?”

Nino shrugged. “I don’t know man. Ladybug was able to catch my imposter because he didn’t interact with Alya the way I normally do.”

Adrien’s brain was whirling. He could definitely fix this - or at least mitigate it. He just needed to talk to Alya and she would get Nino set up with everyone in his life with some kind of password or something.

His bracelet beeped it’s first warning.

“Thank you, Nino.”

Nino’s eyebrows scrunched together in bafflement. “What for?”

“For tonight. We’ve actually gone through this same five minutes 32 times now.”

“Thirty-two?!” Nino repeated. “Dude! That’s like… what?”

“Almost three hours,” Adrien filled in. “I wasn’t in a great space when I got here the first time. That’s what I’m saying. You told me not to leave until I felt okay.”

Nino hugged him again. “I take it you’re doing better now?”

“Much better now. You talked me through the worst panic attack I’ve ever had, and then you made me laugh when you thought I was here to proposition you.”

“I did what ?”

“You thought I was here to sweep you off your feet!” Adrien teased.

Nino buried his face in his hands. “Please never tell me that I did that again.”

Chat barked a laugh. “Apparently, you think I’m hot as hell.”

“But you already knew that,” Nino argued.

“I didn’t, actually. But if it makes you feel better, I’m apparently no competition for one Alya Césaire. You would have turned me down cold.”

Nino laughed. “Oh man, I would get so many brownie points for turning down a superhero for her.”

“Either that, or she’d hit you upside the head for being an idiot.” The miraculous was now rapidly beeping. “I'm out of time. Thanks Nino, for talking me down tonight.”

Nino grinned. “Anytime, bro. Come by anytime. I mean it. Even if I won’t remember. Any time. ”

“Thanks man. I’ll totally take you up on that.”

...

Read Chapter Three

[buckysbitch107]

Home Isn’t Just A Place Part 2 | Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Life in 2023 is very different from your old life 80 years ago. Steve has caught you up on some of it, but there’s still so much for you to find out.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Slight Allusion to Habits of an Eating Disorder, Fluff, Nudity?

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: Here’s part two of this small little series. Hope you like this one and I hope it meets your standards! I deeply apologize for not being active for a while. I am going to attempt to upload on a schedule, but school and mental health and COVID are all impacting my life in a negative way at the moment. I have been struggling with my bipolar disorder and depression, so I am in fact trying my best.

“Winnie the Pooh.” Steve calls out, bending his head over the back of the couch to project his voice across the common room. A small gasp and running footsteps are the only sounds heard on that floor of the tower before your figure appears in the doorway of the kitchen and living room.

“POOH!” You squeal, throwing your arms up in the air, the material of Steve’s sweatshirt flopping over your hands. As soon as you found out that wearing your partner’s clothes in the 21st century was acceptable, you practically pillaged Steve’s closet of all sweatshirts and shirts in general. The past two and a half months have been full of learning pop culture and getting caught up with the 78 years you skipped, which included all things Disney. Nat giggles at your response to Steve’s words, and he holds up a finger before leaning his head back again.

“Y/N, what’s the most wonderful thing about tiggers?” He asks, a small smile forming on his face as you gasp and your eyes light up like a kid in a candy store.

“Well, the wonderful thing about tiggers is, that tiggers are wonderful things.” You explain, the smile sticking on your face as you continue reciting the song. “Their tops are made out of rubber, their bottoms are made out of springs. They’re flouncy, bouncy, trouncy, councy, fun fun fun fun fun! But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is that I’m the only one!” You flop down onto Steve’s lap as the finale to the song, and he quickly wraps his arms around you to protect you from falling off the couch.

“Told you she’s obsessed.” He mumbles to Nat, a frown appearing on your face as you overhear his words.

“Not my fault Walt Disney’s a genius.” Natasha silently agrees with you, the small nod she gives you making you pump your fists in victory. As Steve and Natasha continue their conversation, you lay in Steve’s lap and play with the dog tags hanging around his neck. He runs his hand through your hair, slowly lulling you to sleep.

~~~

“But-”

“No! I am on my break!” You exclaim, finishing your extra assigned duty of organizing the different bandages and gauzes.

“Y/NNNNNNN-”

“NO! How many times have I told you? Steve’s shield should not be used as a frisbee, and Redwing should not be used to divebomb your friends.” You screech once more, attempting to brush off the three dipshits you call friends, all with different ailments caused by the shield and the tiny robotic bird. 

“How did you know about Redwing?!”

“Part of Redwing is stuck in Buck’s arm.” 

“Ah.” Sighing once again, you motion to the table and try not to laugh as all three of them try to fit on the medical bench at once. The three men somehow all fit, squishing each other a little bit but eventually sitting normally. You look at the clock and sigh, knowing your break only lasts for another fifteen minutes. You start with Steve, cleaning off the bruises and cuts on his face, even though they’ll heal in a moment. Moving to Bucky, you pull his arm forward and begin carefully maneuvering the broken piece out of his upper arm. You tug. He flinches. Finally, the piece comes out of Bucky’s arm and the man sighs. 

“Thank you.” Bucky mumbles, flexing his fingers to make sure everything is still intact.

“Yeah, yeah.” You say, brushing him off with a small wave. “Don’t thank me until I’ve fixed the only purely human person in your idiotic triad.” Sam looks down at his feet and you chuckle, grabbing an antiseptic wipe and attempting to clean the cut from Steve’s shield.

“OW!”

“It would hurt less if you stopped moving!” This continues for what seemed like hours but was only a few seconds. You were finally able to clean and bandage the cut on Sam’s forehead and hand him some Tylenol for the other bruises after he stopped whining like a four year old. The three of them sat there for a little longer while you finished cleaning up and they thanked you, one by one heading out of the medbay. Steve lingered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re adjusting really well. I’m proud of you.” He whispers.

“I know! I barely say gas anymore!” Steve smiles and kisses you once more before walking out after the other two. After putting away the bandages and tweezers, you sit down to actually enjoy your break, now shortened to ten minutes instead of thirty. You pick up the nearest magazine and start reading. Everything is going fine, until you reach the advice section of the magazine. And I thought the 40’s were harsh about women.

~~~

What you read in that magazine shook you a bit. You knew that beauty standards had changed over the years, but you didn’t know that they changed THAT much. Women were expected to be so much skinnier and healthier and plastic. After overhearing Steve tell Bucky he’d always liked a girl with a “good figure”, you began striving to look like the girls on the pages of magazines. Cooking healthier meals, working out more, even skipping meals sometimes to not pile on carbs. You realized it wasn’t the healthiest, but it seemed to be working. And yet every day, you looked in the mirror and loathed yourself a little bit more. On this mediocre day, you had just finished a run and were now looking for food when Wanda walked into the kitchen. 

“Hey Y/N!” She exclaims, walking over to you as you dug through the fridge. “What’cha making?”

“Oh nothing, just grabbing an apple for lunch.” You say nonchalantly.

“For lunch? Aren’t you gonna eat more than that?” She looks at you worriedly while you shrug and she sighs, pulling you closer to her so she can look at you head on. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“An apple for lunch, working out when just three months ago you mentioned loathing it, and you’ve been skipping dinner with the team a lot. What’s going on?” You shrug once again and she pulls you over to the couch on the other side of the room before staring at you and gesturing for you to talk.

“Well- the future is really new and exciting, but it’s also scary. I picked up a magazine a while ago and it talked about body figures. And I know I don’t have the prettiest body but the future seems really harsh and then I overheard Steve talking to Bucky and saying he likes a girl with a good figure and I’m chubby and-” At this point, you begin to cry and hyperventilate as you vent your feelings to Wanda. She listens quietly as you rant about how you feel overweight and unlovable in the future, and how you think Steve is getting sick of you and might leave you for a different woman. A modern woman. A skinnier woman. 

“Oh you poor thing.” Wanda whispers, pulling you into a hug as you cry harder. She turns her head, a certain blond-haired man catching her eye as he stands quietly in the doorway. You continue to sob as Wanda glares at your still-fiance and rubs your back. They seem to communicate telekinetically before Steve nods and walks away, leaving Wanda to calm you down.

~~~

You slowly walk into the apartment you share with Steve, your medical bag slung over your shoulder. You slam the door behind you and take off your shoes, setting your bag next to the door. You’re about to stand up when a pair of hands clamps around your eyes. Gasping, you’re about to fight back when a familiar voice begins to shush you.

“It’s just me, it’s just me.” Steve whispers, causing you to relax a little while Steve loosens his hands a little bit. You start to speak as you attempt to pry his hands off your eyes.

“Why didn’t you say that? You nearly gave me a heart atta-”

“Don’t open your eyes!” He exclaims, scaring you once again. Steve can practically feel your heart begin to race once again. “I-I have a surprise for you.” You nod and he stands you up, leading you blindly further into the apartment.

“Should I be nervous?”

“I don’t think so.” Steve answers, leading you a little bit further before taking one of his hands off your eyes, sliding the other to cover both. You hear the balcony door open and wind rushes in as Steve leads you out onto what you assume is your balcony. He removes his hand and you quickly gasp as you look around you. The tiny balcony that had once only contained a single light was now covered in soft yellow fairy lights, a rug placed down instead of the harsh concrete and soft music playing. You quickly recognize this as the song you two danced to the night he proposed. The night he left. Turning around, you find him standing there with one hand out to you and a grin on his face. “May I have this dance?”

“Of course.” Steve quickly grabs your hands and pulls you closer. Resting your head on his shoulder, the two of you slowly sway to the beat of the song, the calming chaos of the streets of Manhattan now just a background noise in your tiny little bubble. You look up at Steve and he’s smiling down at you, occasionally mouthing along to the song. Quietly laughing once more, you decide to focus on the man in front of you, starting with his eyes. “Have your eyes always been this blue?”

“I mean, I think so. Kind of hard to tell.”

“Well they’re pretty.” He smiles at your compliment, and Steve hears you mumble something else. He doesn’t quite catch it all, but he does hear one word. Kids. The two of you dance for a little while longer before it starts to actually get cold, and the two of you head inside.

“I have one more thing.” He says, taking your hand and leading you to the bathroom. The two of you stand in front of the mirror as he slowly starts to undress you, and your mind goes in a whole different direction than what he’s planning. Steve finishes pulling off your clothes and instead of kissing you like you’d hoped, he moves you in front of him so you’re forced to stare at your reflection. You start to squirm as he looks at you, a small frown resting on his face. “I hear you talking to Wanda today.” He starts, immediately being cut off by your gasp.

“Oh god. I’m so sorry. None of that has to deal with you, it’s just me being stupid and-” You quiet down when Steve gives you that look, and he soon resumes talking. 

“You’re not stupid. Your reasoning is valid, but I want you to know that you have nothing to worry about. I will always choose you.” But what if you don’t? He can practically see the doubt on your face, so he pulls you closer to him and begins his original plan. Steve kisses the top of your head, lips pressed softly against your hair. “I love your hair because it’s part of you. It’s gorgeous and always seems to look perfect, no matter how much you criticize it.” And he continues doing that. Going slowly down your body and pointing out what he loves about every single part of your being. Once he reaches your thighs, however, you start to grow more self-conscious. How could he love something like that? It’s all cellulite. And yet he carries on.

“I love your thighs because they’re perfect to hold. Whether I’m dancing with you in my arms or having them squeeze my head, they’re perfect in every way. They’re perfect for me, because they’re a part of you.”

Every single body part, from the hair on your head to the feet attached to your legs (he didn’t kiss those, he said no thank you), was properly adorned with love from your fiance. By the time he finishes, there are tears in your eyes, and he stands up with a goofy smile on his face.

“I want you to know this, Y/N. I mean every word I just said. I love every part of you.” You nod slowly and he finally does what you’ve been waiting for. Steve kisses you softly before pulling away and beginning to run a shower. You stand there quietly until he’s done, and he motions for you to join him. Once the shower is warmed up, the two of you make your way in, simply staring at each other for the time being. Steve wraps his arms around your shoulders in a hug, the two of you just standing there silently under the water.

“I love you.” You murmur, some of your words blocked by his chest, the others getting through to him. Your fiance smiles and looks down at you, similar to the way he did outside.

“I love you too.” He gives you a kiss on the forehead before reaching behind you, grabbing your bottle of body wash and squirting some on his hand. Confusion crosses your eyes before he begins washing you, something he does every once in a while on special nights. Your fiance carefully moves his hands around your body, his actions calming from the very hectic day you had. He continues to do this with your shampoo and conditioner, movely slowly in order to not pull you from the beautiful land between sleep and consciousness. Once he finishes with you, Steve lets you rest against him as he takes care of his own shower routine. The one time he moves you is to rinse out your hair, making sure everything is out in order to not have to do it again. He knows how much you hate being woken up. 

~~~

Grabbing a towel, he carefully wraps it around your body, drying you off before repeating his actions on himself. The two of you exit the bathroom and you stand in the middle of the bedroom, your fiance moving around somewhere off to your right. Steve returns with his shirt and boxers for you to where, along with some boxers for himself. After getting dressed, the two of you brush your teeth and get ready for bed before finally falling into the wildly-made bed from this morning when the two of you were late. You cuddle into Steve’s side and wrap his arm around your shoulder, the man chuckling at your actions. The two of you sit there for a little longer before Steve turns to you.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you say about kids earlier? After you asked about my eyes?” You stare up at him as you start to blush, and Steve nudges you to explain what you said.

“I said-” You pause. “I said that I hope our kids have your eyes.” You hear Steve gasp and you look down at his chest, the two of you never having the conversation of kids before.

“You-you want kids?” He asks, sitting up to be able to look you in the eyes.

“Of course I do! I’ve wanted them since forever, but back then, you said you were scared of them having your medical problems. And now it seems we kind of don’t have time for them with the whole saving the world thing and-” Steve cuts you off with a kiss, the both of you smiling and he pulls back first.

“I will make time for them.” He whispers, kissing you once more for good measure. “So,” He begins, sitting up a little straighter. “When do we want to start trying?”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut​ @breakmy-bedbarnes @stuckys-hot-dogs​ @andreasworlsboring101 @yaxamarvel @donutloverxo​ @celaena-carstairs-cullen​

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! My Prompts list is attached to my masterlist in case you need something extra! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

[hyperfixationtimego]

Alright we’re trying this angst thing again

Diamond Brothers Angst because I said so

Both Daiya and Mondo have huge self esteem issues bc of the crash

Both think stuff along the lines of what the fuck I could have prevented that

Neither Daiya nor Mondo can sleep very well because when they hear vehicles driving past and the occasional screeching tires they’re back at the scene of the accident

They hear a semi truck rumbling past? Suddenly neither of the brothers remember how to move or breathe properly

They both survived the crash but they were both injured severely bc fuck dude that was a truck that hit them

The Crazy Diamonds witnessed the whole thing and they were Worried™️

And we all know how the Owadas hate being vulnerable

Neither of the brothers could actively ride their motorcycles for a long time after the crash because they couldn’t handle it emotionally

They played off their mental recovery time as time in the hospital

Daiya made Mondo promise not to get back on his motorcycle, much less the road, until he was 100% sure that he was prepared to handle it because what if there’s another freak accident that neither of them have control over

Mondo made Daiya promise the exact same thing because He Cares™️

Mondo has reoccurring nightmares about the crash and often sees Daiya dead in those nightmares

The gang shows up in the nightmares too and they’ve all been hit and it’s all Mondo’s fault and he couldn’t be a good leader because he wasn’t strong enough and why couldn’t he just be more like his brother god fucking dammit

Sometimes he sees Taka or Chihiro in place of Daiya and the Diamonds and that Absolutely Terrifies Him™️

Daiya has reoccurring thoughts about hijacking a truck to hit the driver who hurt him and his little brother

He wants them to feel all the same pain and more that they put the Diamond Brothers through

Daiya has breakdowns over this because even if he is a gang leader, he would not go that far

cue the Am I A Bad Person Complex™️

Mondo does not let himself stim

He doesn’t think it’s manly and it definitely doesn’t fit the Tough Guy™️ act

This leads to worsened focus and next thing you know he and Daiya are having a yelling match at home because if Mondo’s grades drop any lower he’ll be expelled soon and Daiya just wants the best for his brother but nothing works out the way it was planned

One time Mondo received a popsicle stick and paper heart from Taka

He was extremely happy

When he got back to his dorm he was that happy that he was shaking and then oh shit

Mondo broke it

He snapped the popsicle sticks in half

the note that Taka wrote,, it got ripped in the process

Mondo full on sobbed over this for an hour at the least

Like

Actual

Real

Tears

He broke something that Taka— not just his bf, but his best friend— had worked so hard on to make just for him and he fucking broke it like a shit for brains idiot

Mondo is terrified of hurting his friends

Because what if he forgets to take his adhd meds one day and his emotional dysregulation is all fucked up and he has an outburst again and actually hurts his friends

Or what if he takes 2+ doses by accident and focuses too hard and is left staring at one (1) spot and everyone hates him and what if they think he’s a creep

Mondo hates going out of his dorm at night because what if someone else is out and they have a flashlight and now they’re pointing it at him and it’s bright and those are headlights and that’s

that’s his brother

on the ground

not moving

Mondo will start shaking and he’ll break down hyperventilating or freeze on the spot

Either way, he hates being vulnerable

Whaddaya think? :D was that enough angst?

also can you tell that i kin Daiya on the dl bc i too got hit by a moving vehicle to save my young mer sibling from being hit /lh but also srs lmfo

HEY TINK??? HEY TINK????????

GodDAMN make me cry over this shit oKAY-

also sorry this took ✨forever✨ I had to gather my Thoughts™️ and my brain did not want to work today 😌

also before we get into my things, tw for trauma (obviously), unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking/drug relapse/smoking as a crutch, and suicidal ideation (passive, but still there)

First of all, y e a h oh my god?? There is literally so much internalized guilt for both of them,,,,,like they rlly do have episodes sometimes where they just. Play over the events of what lead up to the crash in their heads and fixate on what they could have done differently,,,,,even though in the moment they both did their best? Like “well, I shouldn’t have taken us down this street” or “if I had acted quicker, maybe it wouldn’t have happened” and.....yeah those thoughts really fuck with them, y’know?

and 100% that unexpected/overwhelming vehicle noises and/or presences are nearly debilitating. Honestly, I imagine that Mondo can’t go hang out with Leon and Taka or whoever else if said people are hanging out in Kaz’s workshop. Owada’s only ever been in there once and immediately had to leave when he heard Kazuichi starting an engine he was working on. Not to mention being surrounded by a shit ton of vehicles, even if they were idle, had kept him on-edge the entire thirty seconds he was able to handle it.

They both deal with a lot of phantom pain, as well. Like something triggers them and suddenly, even if they’re able to remain in the moment and keep conscious of their surroundings, they somehow feel every ache, every twinge of pain, every breaking bone, or bruised patch of skin that they felt on that day. It’s a lot more prominent in Daiya than it is with Mondo, but they do both experience it!

And neither one lets the other know when they’re feeling like shit or having an episode because 😌 Daiya. wants to be strong. for his little brother. and Mondo. sees his brother basically functioning like a typical person. and figures that there’s something wrong with him. because he can’t get over what happened.

Takemichi is absolute shit with Emotions and being vulnerable or getting people to open up to him, but he’s like..........internally these bitches are Not Okay what the fuck am I supposed to do about it???? So he kind of...tries to hint to both of them that he’s worried? Without making it obvious or embarrassing them, but he’s like.......fuck these assholes.......making me be the one to make them realize they need help goddamnit........

And michi exhibiting a change in behavior is pretty 👀 because. it’s michi I mean he’s not just gonna change the way he talks in front of u for nothing, u know? So both Daiya and Mondo are actually able to pick up on it, although their reactions differ pretty greatly.

Like Daiya’s first thought is “wow, he’s worried, that’s really sweet of him. Better convince him everything’s okay.”

Meanwhile Mondo’s is “wow, he’s worried. my stupid emotional turmoil is that obvious. he must think I’m some sorta fuckin idiot for not being able to get over it. or selfish. or both. yeah, probably both.”

Also I think Daiya’s pretty perceptive in general? Like he can Tell™️ that something’s going on with his brother, but........yeah emotional conversations....vulnerability......that’s rlly neither of their strong suits. + he also figures that if it were something mondo were really really really having trouble with, he would come talk to him!

And so Daiya has absolutely no concept of just how Not Good his brother is doing right now hbbvvvv

So he settles for being like “I’m just gonna stay strong and act like the memories and intrusive thoughts aren’t affecting me in any way because I want to be a good role model” (which. is not healthy obv)

oh g o d the nightmares

they are so horrible and vivid and concentrated at times that Mondo simply.....refuses to sleep. He’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, and yet he can’t bring himself to close his eyes because he knows what he’ll see if he does.

And of course it affects him to the point that his friends start to become worried. Like Taka notices a stark increase in tardiness or general absences, and, after an initial assumption that it was simply Mondo choosing not to care about his academics again, realized that there was probably a lot more going on than he realized. He really, really wanted to bring it up and let his boyfriend know that he’ll always be there for him no matter what, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to articulate it properly. The farthest he gets is with the question, “is everything okay?”

And as much as Mondo wants to respond to him by saying that no, in fact, everything is not okay, everything sucks and everything hurts and he’s tired and he hates himself and sometimes he wishes that the crash had killed him, but that’s selfish so he should shut up- he just.....can’t bring himself to open himself up like that. Yes, he and Ishi are dating, so logically he should be able to tell him all this, but.....it’s so much. It’s too much. Too much to think, too much to feel, let alone try to explain. So he shuts himself up with a quick, curt, “Yeah.”

And....Taka knows he’s lying. He’s not sure how he knows, but he does. And it hurts to see someone he loves so much in such a state of anguish, and basically be unable to do anything about it because....how is he supposed to respond? What is he supposed to say? Navigating everyday interaction is difficult enough without having to improv something that could affect his partner’s mental health indefinitely. So....he does his best. Which isn’t enough, really, but it’s something.

“You can tell me anything.”

Mondo wants to believe him.

—

Another side of that same coin is Mondo skipping class a lot more than is typical for him. It’s almost always with Leon, but he’s also begun slipping away on his own, occasionally, as well, now.

And....y’know, at first, Leon thought it was super rad that Owada and he were skipping more! Like it used to be that Kuwata would offer for them to miss the next class, and Mondo’s usual answer would be ‘not today,’ and then Leon would keep bugging him about it until Mondo either gave in or told him to fuck off.

But....there’s just something about how it went from Leon being constantly shut down, to being told yes around the first few times the idea was brought up, to how, suddenly, Kuwata wasn’t even the one asking, anymore. It’s....depressing? Uncomfortable?

There’s also the fact that hanging out while they’re cutting just....isn’t as fun as it used to be? Leon’ll crack jokes or come up with stupid dares, and Mondo’s responses will be noncommittal at best. And Leon’s had enough experience with sleep deprivation to know it in his friends when he sees it.

He’s never been put in this situation before - usually it’s kuwata having some sort of stupid episode and usually it’s owada who’ll tell him to chill the fuck out and think rationally about things, but....Mondo acts a lot different when he’s upset than Leon does. He smokes more. Cuts himself off from everyone. Doesn’t engage with anything.

It’s different with people like Toko, or Makoto, or Kaz, because Leon knows what they need. He knows whether or not they need vulnerability, or a physical presence, or tough love, or tactile grounding, or a willing ear or shoulder to cry on, but with Mondo......he just isn’t sure.

So Leon doesn’t comment.

——-

Chihiro’s probably the one to get him to open up about it ngl.

ANYWAY-

y e a h Daiya intrusive thoughts?????? fuck yeah???? absolutely??????

god yeah I rlly feel him on that ngl hbhdbdbdbbb

and MONDO DARLING 🥺

god okay it SUCKS because????? he doesn’t judge his friends for stimming????? Like he sees his friends fidgeting or repeating phrases or rocking back and forth and he’s like???? Hell yeah you go u funky kid ilysm

But when it comes to himself????? he’s like if I do anything aside from stay perfectly still, I’m weird and bad and a failure so I simply Will Not

he’s wrong but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels that way ❤️

hhhvhvvdd I’m also a slut for daiya doing his best as a makeshift parental figure,,,,,,,like fuck dude okay,,,,,,as an older sibling who also loves and cares about their younger sibs but often finds emotionally connecting with them to be difficult,,,,,,,,,mood??? And having all of that amplified by rlly being his younger bro's only support in his home life,,,,,,,like ok mr. owada go off

he feels a lot of pressure to get it right and make sure that Mondo's doing okay, so the grades really worry him. but, of course, grades are a touchy subject with mondo regardless, so as u said it devolves into arguments and yelling and a lot of defensiveness!!

and god okay,,,,,,,the heart rlly got me,,,,,,,like that hurt. it rlly hurt man okay damn

honestly??? I think that might be the thing that gets him to break. like that might be his final straw.

because when they meet up again, Ishi asks him about it and whether or not he liked it. And Mondo just.

fucking.

breaks.

down.

He’s shaking and he’s crying and there’s snot running down his nose and this is so ugly and so not manly but he can’t stop. he can’t stop. Because there is this sweet, gentle, kind, sweet, beautiful, darling, sweet man before him who did something so nice for him, something he didn’t deserve, and he destroyed it.

Like he destroys everything.

And so when Taka panics and asks him what’s wrong (yes Ishi gets worried that he did something bad and yes ishi also gets worried that his boyfriend didn’t like the present because hdbdvdvd kin 💛) owada just. spills everything. and he doesn’t even begin with the gift??? he starts with apologies upon apologies, many of them incoherent, and many of them with Mondo not even certain what he’s apologizing for, just that he knows he needs to

and ofc Taka is like o-o because wow ok

but after his initial shock, and after Mondo has thoroughly cried himself out and explained everything he could stand to explain at that point in time, Taka just......holds him. And strokes his face, brushing away the tears that have not yet dried, simply offering his body as a weight, as something for Mondo to ground himself with. And it works.

And Taka insists that Mondo has nothing to apologize for, only that he wishes Mondo would have told him what was going on sooner. Because he wants to help. And hearing that just gets Owada’s waterworks going all over again, but he’s still got Ishi there with him. He hasn’t scared him off.

And it’s more than enough.

—

and UGH yeah????? yes absolutely absolutely okay okay so,,,,,,,,mondo comorbid adhd/depression/anxiety

like sir 🤝

got me fucked up smh

honestly he’s probably not diagnosed with the depression or anxiety, either, until something like the incident with ishi prompts him to realize oh wow I’m not okay actually

so yes he 100% does???

he constantly has all of these what if situations swirling around in his brain about what might happen if he fucks up, or does something that he doesn’t qualify as fucking up in the moment, but leads to something awful or painful or harmful for someone else, and he’s just??????? g o d

[idnek83]

Hey it’s angst o’clock: before Kaz and Gundham get together, when they still kinda hate each other, 2 of the Devas have babies and everyone takes turns babysitting the litter while Gundham works. Kaz’s turn comes and he finds one of the babies has died and fREAKS THE FUCK OUT. Like sobbing cuz he’s never had a pet before let alone seen one die and so he takes the baby and flees and everyone thinks he just straight up stole a baby but really he’s fucking horrified and terrified to tell Gundham cuz he fucked it up and the baby is dead cuz of him somehow. And someone, maybe Sonia, finds him and talks him down and they go to Gundham who is more upset that Kaz “stole” a baby but once he realizes what happens he understands. Being a Breeder he probably sees animal death a lot unfortunately. But he helps comfort Kaz and forgives him and lets him help with the living babies and maybe that’s how they start becoming actual friends and sometime down the line they realize oh fuck I’m actually in love with this dude when did that happen IDK SHOWER THOUGHTS WOULDNT LEAVE ME ALONE I HAD TO TELL SOMEONE SORRY

You think you can come onto my blog and just rip my fucking heart out, huh? Right in front of my mutuals? You think you can just rip my heart out and force me to write something sad so everyone else has to feel sad too?

Good. Cus you 100% can lol.

TW: animal death - It’s mentioned repeatedly and is the central theme of this, so please just skip this one if you think you might be uncomfortable reading it. 

Gundham comes into the class one day and he’s super proud and showing off the baby hamsters to everyone. He’s a little embarrassed to ask for help, but he’s working on a very important conservation project or something, so he asks if anyone would be willing to keep an eye on them for an hour or two at a time over the next few days, insisting that it wouldn’t be hard, all they really had to do was make sure they didn’t escape and call Gundham if something went wrong. At least like half the class offers cus the babies are just so damn cute, Soda only offers cus Sonia did and he’s trying to impress her.

Gundham sets up an enclosure for the hamsters in the classroom, and everyone picks a time to come by to watch them.

When Soda’s turn rolls around a few days later, he’s secretly a little excited. He’s been complaining about it the past few days to keep up appearances, can’t have anyone suspecting that even tough he can’t stand Gundham, he also kind of has a soft spot for him (What? Dudes handsome), but he’s actually pretty psyched to get to spend some time just chilling with the baby hamsters. He’s never had his own pet, but he’s always wanted one.

Anyways, when he gets to the class he checks on all the babies and as far as he can tell they’re all good. He gives pets them for a bit, but then they seem like they’re trying to go to sleep so he leaves them and sits at a desk to play around on his phone for a while. Like 40 minutes later he gets up to check on them again.

They’re pretty much all huddled up, and Soda thinks it’s super cute, but he notices one lying down a bit away from the rest. He assumes it must have rolled away in it’s sleep, or that it got kicked out since its the smallest one, so he goes to move it back over to the hamster pile.

It’s cold when he touches it.

He knows pretty much right away what that means, but he doesn’t want to believe it. He pokes it a bit and tries to scratch it’s whiskers to get it to react, but it doesn’t move. He’s already crying, but then he starts thinkin about how it was probably something on his hands that killed it. He didn’t was his hands after finishing up in his garage, and he must have had oil or something on his hand when he was petting the hamster and now it was dead.

He’s hyperventilating.

He’s worried he killed them all, but looking at the hamster pile, the rest of them all appear to be breathing still. He’s too scared to touch them to make sure.

He’s sure its his fault. His fault for touching the hamster with dirty hands and his fault for not paying more attention. The hamster was probably acting weird before it died, if he had just been paying attention he could have called Gundham and it would still be alive.

He’s a murderer.

Sonia was supposed to be the next person watching the hamsters. He couldn’t let her see the dead baby hamster, couldn’t let her know he killed it. He looks around the room and finds a little box to put it in. He’s chocking on his sobs as he picks up the hamster, and he nearly drops it because his hands are shaking so bad. Once it’s in the box he has to take a moment cus he thinks he might vomit from how guilty he feels. 

There’s like 10 minutes before Sonia is supposed to get there, so he takes one last look at the other hamsters, picks up the little box that has no right feeling as heavy as it does, and leaves.

He doesn’t really know where to go so he just heads up to the roof to get some fresh air and think, sobbing the whole way. He’s pretty sure he saw Sonia down one of the hells on his way up, but he just prays she didn’t see him and that she doesn’t remember how many hamsters there were.

He sits with the box in his lap, shaking. 

He thinks he feels it shift.

His chest seizes up. Was it alive? Had he really not killed it? He can feel the hope swelling up inside him as he slowly opens the box-

It’s dead.

It’s definitely dead and now its lying on its side and its little eyes are staring right at Soda and it takes him a minute to realize his sobs have turned into screams of agony. The hope made it so much worse.

He closes the box again and sets it down so gently beside him, before curling in on himself and just sobbing and screaming into his hands so hard his whole body is shaking from it.

He’s a murderer. He killed a defenseless animal. A baby. It was only a few days old and he killed it.

Suddenly there’s a warm hand on his back, rubbing just a little and bringing him back down to earth. His sobs slowly get weaker and he manages to look up, though his vision is still blurred with tears. He can make out dark clothes, pale skin, and a bright purple scarf. He assumes Gundham is there to punish him.

Gundham just asks him what’s going on, says Sonia called him because one of the hamsters was missing and she thought she had seen Soda running away from the classroom earlier. They assumed he had taken one of the hamsters for himself, but that didn’t explain why he was crying on the roof.

Soda realizes that the only reason Gundham isn’t beating him senseless is because he doesn’t know the hamster is dead.

“I killed it.” He starts sobbing harder the second the word leave his mouth. He feels Gundham’s hand tense on his back

“What.” Gundham definitely sounds pissed now. He’s not yelling, but his voice sounds deadly. Soda accepts that he’s about to get the shit kicked out of him, accepts it even. He deserves it.

“I-it must have been the oil on my h-hands or something, I don’t know. I s-should have been paying more attention, but when I looked at them gain it was-” his voice is cut off by another sob, and he’s just waiting for Gundham to hit him. To his surprise, some of the tension in Gundham’s body dissipates.  

“Where is the poor creature?” Gundham doesn’t sound angry anymore and Soda doesn’t understand. He just gestures towards the box, he’s too much of a coward to even look at it again.

Gundham gets up and opens the box. Soda hear him exhale sadly after a moment, before returning to Soda.

“It would seem we have both been mislead.” Gundham sits beside Soda and starts rubbing his back again. He explains that Soda did not kill the hamster, it seemed like something must not have developed right internally, and it simply died of natural causes. There was nothing either of them could have done to save it. Soda is just amazed how calm Gundham is being.

He asks him why he isn’t more upset, and Gundham sighs and tells him that it’s unfortunately something he sees a lot, so over time he’s just gotten used to it.

Soda’s just like “That fucking sucks.” and Gundham kind of laughs sadly and say “It fucking sucks indeed.” Soda’s kind of startled by Gundham swearing and it forces an awkward little laugh out of him. 

They’re both quite for a while, then Gundham tells him he’s touched by how upset Soda was over the hamsters death, and that he’s sure the hamsters soul appreciated him mourning it, but it is simply part of the circle of life and death, so he shouldn’t get too fixated on it. Soda’s still crying a little but he nods and says he’ll try, Gundham keeps rubbing his back.

They stay up on the roof for a while longer. Soda has mostly stopped crying, but Gundham’s hand is still on his back and he tries not to think too much about it. When they stand, Gundham picks up the box before Soda can even think about it and motions for him to follow him.

They bury it in some nearby woods, Soda insists on leaving some flowers. He asks Gundham not to tell their classmate about how much he cried. Gundham just says ‘of course’, as if they didn’t spend most their free time looking for new ways to get under each other’s skin.

Later, Gundham insists that Soda comes to see the healthy babies, telling him it will help him feel better. Soda is scared to be left alone with them, so Gundham just stays by his side the whole time. Even after Gundham finishes his project and brings them back to his place, he invites Soda over to see them. He starts teaching Soda about proper hamster care and they slowly grow closer and closer.

Sometimes Soda gets a little teary eyed while looking at the other hamsters, and he’s worried Gundham will make fun of him. He never does, he always just silently rubs Soda’s back, until one day he pulls him into a hug as well.

Months later, their relationship has completely turned around. They’re both constantly talking to each other and hanging out, they even occasionally refer to the hamster babies as their children haha. The rest of the class starts making bets on when they’ll realize they’re into each other, but for the time being they’re both happy they were able to finally become friends.

[hold-me-sickfics]

Day 2: Jin’s Prompt💙

Good morning everybody 😊

TW: Scat mentioned, heavy emeto, I don’t think food is mentioned, but if I missed anything please let me know and I’ll fix it!😁

—————

“That is it! I’m done!” Jungkook stood up and partially threw the game controller halfway across the room.

“Jungkook!” The leader scolded. Namjoon was not one to put up with Jungkook’s occasional spoiled attitude towards games.

“He’s cheating! He couldn’t beat me normally! There is literally no way.” The youngest pouted and huffed as he pleaded his case.

Taehyung decided to fan the flames.

“Or maybe you’ve just lost your touch Goldie.” Taehyung snickered at his reference to Jungkook’s “golden maknae” title.

“Shut up Taehyung!” Jungkook shouted, falling back on the couch.

“Make me!”

The two continued to bicker. Namjoon decided to intervene (meaning lecture both of them for at least a very long, long half-hour, and had delegated another important task to Jimin. Jin was late waking up, so Namjoon told Jimin to go check on him. They had a huge conference today, and Jin never liked being out of routine on these kinds of days.

Jimin’s house shoes tapped the floor as he walked quickly down the hallway. When he reached Jin’s door, he was shocked to find it locked. Jimin tapped lightly, and then heard no movement so he knocked a bit harder.

“Hyung? Are you awake?”

“Mh- yeah, what time is it?”

“Nearly 10:15… we have to leave for the conference in forty-five minutes. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m good. Just tired. I’ll be out there before time to go.”

Jimin gave an affirmative “okay” and then went back up the hallway to watch his two younger members get scolded. It was always so funny to watch.

On the other side of the door…

Jin bent down to set his bucket in the floor. The simple motion made his stomach feel like revolting. He’d been awake since nearly 3:00 that morning, but hadn’t left his room. He knew the other members needed sleep if they were going to do that conference today, so waking them up would have been counterproductive.

His feet touched the cold floor, sending shivers up his back. He had a fever, he’d already checked. At 5:00, it was almost 100.8, but he was sure it was higher now. He’d attempted to take fever reducer, but it wouldn’t stay down no matter what he tried. He had just hoped that it would go away eventually.

He took out the thermometer once again, and closed his puffy eyes hoping that just maybe his fever went down and the house was just cold. After a couple seconds, the familiar beep sounded, and he took it out of his mouth.

“101.3”

He leaned on the side of the countertop, feeling more lightheaded than he ever had before. His eyes welled up with tears, but he wiped them away quickly with his sleeve. He felt vulnerable, like a little boy. His lips quivered, and he sniffled as he tried to regain composure.

He hated the fact that he had to be sick today. This conference was big, and they really needed to do well. He had to suck it up and do well… if he just didn’t let any of the others know he was sick, he’d be fine.

Taking his pajamas off was one of the most painful experiences he’d ever had. Each time the fabric brushed his skin, he felt like thousands of needles were just jabbing him over and over. Somehow, he managed to make it through that, and went on to brushing his teeth. This would be a difficult task.

He usually used a charcoal toothpaste to whiten his teeth (those maknaes made you need wine sometimes. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.) However, today he used a mint flavored paste since his gag reflex was already beyond triggered. As he slowly brushed his teeth, he stood crouched around his stomach, attempting to ignore the cramps which meant he’d need another “bathroom break” and soon.

He was able to put clean clothes on and brush his hair, but he still looked like he was sick. He couldn’t let the others know, or they’d worry. Not to mention, he loved taking care of them, but the thought of them taking care of him? That was just weird. He felt like he should be independent since he was the oldest… although, he’d kill for some tea to calm his stomach and maybe a heating pad? And a hug? Please?

He put his shoes on, and then went over to his vanity mirror. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t do anything to help his pale, sickly complexion. He applied a bit of foundation and powder to his face just to hide the lack of color. He was desperate to keep the secret about him being sick, which is probably why that was the best makeup he’d ever put on himself. He hoped to remember how to do it again when he felt more like a living person.

He stood up slowly, and felt his stomach drop. He shuffled quickly to the toilet, and let out everything he could. He felt bloated and crampy, so he wrapped his arms around his taut stomach as he tried to empty himself.

Though he tried, his efforts were less than successful. He cleaned up, and flushed, still feeling beyond full.

He walked up the hallway, and out into the living room. Namjoon had finished playing “father figure” to the maknaes, and they were already hugging and making up.

“Morning Jin- woah, are you feeling okay?” Namjoon got a good look at Jin’s sweaty, pale, and weak appearance. Adding the “sleeping in” part, things were starting to look suspicious.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just ate something that didn’t agree with me. But I think I’m about done so I’m good.” Jin lied pretty convincingly. His story would allow him some bathroom breaks, and the other members wouldn’t question a story that embarrassing.

“Okay,” Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “But if anything starts bothering you and you don’t feel well enough to go, just tell me alright?” Namjoon was always so caring. He placed a strong hand on Jin’s back. The gesture itself nearly made Jin bust out crying. He needed someone to be his strength right now, and Namjoon, though he didn’t know it, had just reassured him that everything would be okay.

A few minutes passed and it was time to load the van. Jin made sure to get the back seat, and put his bag in the seat beside him. He wished he could have Namjoon there, but he didn’t want to risk extra exposure for the leader, or risk Namjoon actually finding out his temperature. Earlier had been a close call anyway. Luckily, he’d been wearing a jacket so Namjoon couldn’t really tell.

The car ride passed relatively smoothly. For one, the tight, confined sections in the van helped Jin to feel warmer and more protected. For two, it was rainy and that made the guys keep slower, more calm songs on the radio. Jin wasn’t sure he could handle “IDOL” or “Cypher 4” at the moment. Although, they had thrown on Namjoon’s “Expensive Girl” for kicks and giggles and Jin had to admit: even with how bad he felt, hearing all that come out of Namjoon’s mouth made him laugh a bit. (Side note: there had been a night in the studio where Namjoon and Jin were alone reviewing tracks. They’d gotten a little drunk, and Namjoon might have performed “Expensive Girl” whilst dancing on a table. It always brought back good memories.)

The minute they got onto the premises of the conference building, Jin felt bile rush up his throat.

“Not in the bus” he thought, “Anywhere but here.”

He swallowed thickly, bringing the bile back down. He gagged again, but was able to jump up and get some fresh air before it came back up.

“Alright guys, we don’t have much time. Our scheduling manager made a small mistake and brought us in an hour late. We won’t have time to get hair and makeup done, but we do all have time to run to the restroom real quick if any of us need to.” Namjoon subconsciously turned to glance at Jin. Thankfully, Jin didn’t catch him.

Jin was just trying to focus on the cool rain that was dripping from the roof of the awning to his palm. Somehow it helped his nausea to calm down.

The others went ahead into the conference room, but Namjoon stayed back with Jin.

“Jin?”

Namjoon saying his name broke his trance.

“Oh, sorry. I got distracted.”

Namjoon took Jin’s hand and pulled him inside. He then took off his jacket, and wrapped the older boy in it.

“I know you’re sick Jin. You need to rest. Honestly, you need to be at home asleep. Why did you try to hide the fact that you feel bad?” the leader then helped Jin to sit down on a small bench.

“I’m…” he paused. “I’m sorry Joonie…” Jin started to tear up. Namjoon wiped his tears, and started to whisper to him sweetly.

“Hey, it’s all okay. Everything is okay. I just don’t like that you feel bad and you aren’t able to rest. Was it because of this conference?”

Jin felt dazed, but was able to say yes.

Namjoon’s eyes softened. He was about to brush Jin’s hair out of the way, but one of the staff members came to get them both. Namjoon would have stopped them from taking Jin, but Jin had gone back stone-faced too quickly. He was back to pretending he was fine.

They were into the room and in their seats quickly. Namjoon was furious when he learned that Jin’s seat was on the other side of the table. He wanted to help him… and he couldn’t even touch him.

The cameras started rolling quickly, and Namjoon put on his “stage face,” pretending he wasn’t about to hyperventilate over Jin.

Namjoon answered question after question, translating for the rest of the boys. Jin could feel his stomach becoming more and more active as time went on.

Eventually, a question came for Jin.

“Kim Seokjin, how did you decide to dye your hair purple?”

It was a fun question that Jin would have normally enjoyed answering. However, his stomach decided to answer first.

Jin cried out in pain as his stomach was overtaken with a sharp cramp. He doubled over, and immediately felt bile come up his throat again. This time, he couldn’t stop it. In no time, both the medical team and Namjoon were at his side.

“S-s-sorry.” Jin sobbed.

Namjoon was speechless. His heart was broken into hundreds, maybe thousands of pieces. Jin was in front of him, doubled over in pain with vomit on his pant legs and shoes.

“Okay, let’s check him out.” The medical team went straight to work examining him. Jin squirmed against them, partially becoming afraid of all the people around.

“It’s alright bud, look at me.” Jin nodded, but still squirmed quite a bit as numerous people came close to him.

His fever was found to be back at 100.4, but that didn’t stop the team from giving him a pill version of fever reducer. The hope was, even if it didn’t all get digested, at least some would.

The other members stepped up quickly to help out with whatever they could. Hoseok called the driver, Yoongi talked to the interviewer, and Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin waited for incoming orders from their hyungs.

The medical team deduced that Jin was suffering from a stomach virus, one that was contagious at that. They said that there was really nothing they could do to cure him. It just had to run its course and leave his system. The conference was scheduled for another day, and the boys headed home.

Since Jin had to stay behind and change clothes, Namjoon and Jin rode separate from the others. Jin was sick practically the whole way home. Luckily, he had a bucket to throw up in, so all he had to do was just hold it.

Jin retched painfully, and having thrown up all of his stomach contents already, this time he didn’t have anything left to bring up.

All Namjoon could do was stroke his back and encourage him.

“You’re doing great Jin. Just close your eyes. It makes it easier.”

Jin couldn’t protest. Any advice was relevant when you were puking your guts out.

That continued until they got home. The others had gotten home first, and when Namjoon and Jin got to the door, they realized just how sweet the other guys were.

At the time, they were all in their rooms, but they were being quiet as mice. They had turned the lights down just in case Jin would have been sensitive to them. They’d made the bed in Namjoon’s room, and had even left a couple cold bottles of water on the countertop. Namjoon smiled at the boys’ efforts, but quickly focused his attention back to Jin, who was using his shoulder for support.

They walked to Namjoon’s room, and the leader leaned Jin down on the bed.

“So I’m gonna let you borrow some of my pajamas since your room is down the hall.” Namjoon might have just used that as an excuse to see Jin in one of his own hoodies. He picked out a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a yellow hoodie that he’d worn to a fan sign.

Jin looked pretty weak, so Namjoon decided to offer his help in changing clothes.

“Want me to help you change?”

“Yeah... I don’t think I can sit up without my stomach hurting.”

Namjoon nodded, and then gently got Jin dressed. He looked much more comfortable by the time he got done.

“Joon-“

Namjoon turned around just in time to see Jin gag over the blanket. He quickly grabbed the waste bin and put it in his Hyung’s lap.

“That’s it Jin. Just let it up okay?” Jin leaned into Namjoon’s side, but kept his head over the bin. Namjoon rubbed Jin’s back a bit, and that helped to relax him. He ended up not throwing up again, but retching so harshly had caused him to feel even weaker. He was so tired.

“I feel so bad...” Jin’s eyes were red and puffy. He was going to cry.

“I know Jin. I know.” He wrapped the older boy in his arms and held him close. His heart hurt as Jin’s chest started to bounce with sobs. He couldn’t catch his breath once he started to cry.

“Breathe Jin, you’re okay, it’s all okay. I know you feel bad. I’m gonna take care of you. I promise.” Namjoon gently guided Jin’s face to his own neck, hoping that Jin would feel safer there.

Thankfully it worked and in a couple of minutes, Jin was calmed down again.

Even then, Namjoon could tell his Hyung was exhausted, and decided to help.

“Wait here alright?” Namjoon went over to the television and turned on one of Jin’s favorite KDramas. He looked back, and was relieved to see Jin smile a bit.

Namjoon got into bed with Jin and pulled the covers over them both. Within five minutes, Jin was asleep, but he had subconsciously curled himself around Namjoon. Jin would never admit it, but it made him feel safe and protected when he was close to him. Namjoon didn’t mind at all, and had even readjusted the way he was lying to accommodate more room for Jin’s head on his chest.

Namjoon looked up at the television and since Jin was asleep, he decided to change the channel. Unfortunately for him, the remote was out of reach, and he wouldn’t dare move, so he was stuck watching whatever this was. Less than ten minutes after that, he was pretty well invested in the show.

“I love you Suk. Don’t leave me.” The girl had whispered those words to the leading male before drifting off to sleep in his arms. “I’ve got you Lee-hyun. You’re safe with me.” He had kissed his hand, and pressed it against her cheek. Namjoon looked down at Jin. “I’ve got you Jin-ah. You’re safe with me. I promise.” He kissed his hand and pressed it to Jin’s feverish cheek. Namjoon didn’t see it, but Jin smiled in his sleep.

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel (Part 7)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Logan placed a spoon in one of the boiling pots in front of him so he could get a better look at the liquid. It looked dark enough, but he leaned forward to taste it just to be sure. At the moment, it was basically just mint and lavender tea with a couple of extras. Satisfied with it, he slowly poured it into the slightly simmering larger pot in front of him and stirred it a few times clockwise. The pot glowed a soft purple when he took the spoon out.

He glanced into the other small pot and saw that the liquid there was starting to thicken. It wasn’t quite at the honey consistency he needed it to be yet, but it was on track.

Then, he glanced up at his guest. Virgil had clearly been watching him but looked away quickly when Logan turned to him. Logan studied him for a few more moments. He looked almost sickly in the light of day, like he’d shatter in a stiff wind. Yet, somehow, this was the assassin sent to kill a king? He was an enigma.

Logan turned his attention to the binding potion still simmering on the other table. Virgil cowered slightly as Logan walked by him to check on it. He certainly did startle easy. It was another piece to a concerning puzzle.

The binding potion was coming along well. He stirred it slowly a few times and carefully rinsed off the spoon, so it didn’t get anywhere he didn’t want it before laying it back down. He checked the open book next to it and compared the color to the chart in it. It would need at least an hour or so more before it could be used, but it would be a much better solution to the one that basically glued Virgil’s hands to a chair.

He walked back over to the other potion’s station to start cleaning up his supplies.

He had some herbs that he hadn’t used and stuck a mint leaf in his mouth as he returned them to their correct containers. There was a small wedge of honeycomb left on the plate that he’d cut it on. Without even really thinking about it, he cut the honeycomb into to equal parts with the plan to offer half of it to the other presence in the room. He paused and looked up at said other presence who looked down at his lap quickly.

“Would you like half?” he asked. Virgil looked back up at him, hesitance in his eyes. “You can pick which half each of us eats,” Logan offered.

Virgil nodded slowly and Logan rounded the table with the plate. “Left or right?” Logan asked.

“…Left.”

Logan nodded and went ahead and stuck the right piece in his own mouth before offering the left piece. Virgil parted his lips and Logan popped it into his mouth. Logan almost laughed at the expression that crossed his face as he started to chew. He imagined this is what people were talking about when they mentioned feeding babies different foods for the first time. His eyes went wide, and he blinked a couple of times before chewing a bit faster. Logan smiled at him and took the plate back around to the other side of the table.

The liquid in the second pot had gotten thicker now, and he stirred it carefully a few times before deciding it was finished. He then turned off the heat and quickly scrapped the sticky substance into the main pot. The purple liquid that had been in the pot slowly turned golden as he counted the number of times he stirred clockwise and then began to sparkle as he stirred it a few times counterclockwise. Once he was finished, he turned off the heat under the pot and wandered over to the case that held empty jars.

He grabbed one of the liter ones, and while he waited for the potion to cool, he measured and marked the container with 30 careful lines. The consumer did not need to take an exact amount every day which is why he didn’t bother with separate containers, but for maximum benefit it should generally be about 40ml for the first 10 days and 30ml after that. The lines should help them keep track.

He walked back over to the potion once that was done and placed a funnel into the opening so he could pour it into the marked container. The liquid filled the container a bit higher than 40ml above the top line but having a bit extra the first day wouldn’t harm him.

He looked to Virgil who was watching him with suddenly very wary eyes. He rounded the potion’s station and approached him slowly, hoping not to startle him when he already seemed rather skittish. “Okay, Virgil,” he said. “I’m going to need you to drink this. It’s a…”

“No.”

“W-what?”

“No,” his eyes were locked on the container in Logan’s hand and he shook his head back and forth. “Please no.”

“I assure you, it isn’t poison,” Logan said. “I will even test it myself.” Yet, he was acting differently than he had with the food. He’d begun to shake and cry as he continued to shake his head.

Oh dear. Logan grimaced and set down the potion. He glanced at the door very much hoping that Patton would come through it in the next few seconds, but he did not. “What is…” Logan said. “What is wrong?”

“Please don’t,” he said. “Please. Can’t. No.”

Logan wrung his hands and then went to his knees in front of the hyperventilating boy. He tried to place a comforting hand on his knee, but he flinched violently, and Logan removed his hand quickly. He dithered, unsure what to do as the boy continued to heave with sobs.

“I am not adept with discerning feelings. Please communicate with me verbally.”

He did not seem inclined to capitulate, making pitiful upset sounds that Logan could not determine the meanings of.

“Please, no, hurts,” he said.

“You think it will hurt you?” Logan asked with a frown. “It won’t hurt you Virgil. The purpose of that potion is quite the opposite.”

He either did not hear Logan or did not register what he said. “Please,” he begged. “I’ll be good. I won’t even move. Please.”

Won’t move? Logan glanced over at the other potion still simmering at its station. “Do you think this is a binding potion?” he asked. “Why on Earth would I be offering you a binding potion to drink?” Yet, Logan watched as he shook and cried, eyes not quite focused on Logan but on something else that wasn’t there. “Did,” Logan with dawning horror. “Did someone feed you a binding potion?”

Logan had once accidently gotten some of a binding potion he was making on his hand. It had stung like a thousand small bees had attacked one area of his skin, and it was only made worse by the fact that even that small amount had kept him trapped in place for hours. Binding potions were sticky. They were difficult to remove. Even after the counter potion had been applied, he’d still felt a bit of an ache when he moved it for the next week or so. It’s why one was never supposed to apply it directly to a person’s skin.

Who would make someone drink that? Beyond the assured agony and full body paralysis, it could easily kill someone. If not cooked properly, it was literally poison and even if it was perfect, there was still the possibility that it would freeze a person’s lungs, heart, or any other number of internal organs. If someone had fed Virgil a binding potion (and while he was no expert on facial expressions, the one currently on his face made Logan sure that someone had) they had little regard for his life.

Logan tired his best to soften his expression and tone. “Hey Virgil,” he said. “It’s okay. I won’t force you to drink anything. It’s not a binding potion, but I won’t make you drink it anyway.” It took him a bit to calm down as Logan continued to give him soft assurances, but finally his breaths started to even out. “Are you alright?” Logan asked.

Virgil nodded after a moment.

“Good.” He waited for a few minutes for Virgil to calm down even more before he said anything else. “I will not make you drink any potions,” Logan promised. “Though, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to explain the option of drinking the one I prepared.”

He gave Logan a suspicious blink, but he didn’t seem inclined to have another fit at the sentiment.

“It is not a binding potion,” Logan started with. “I am making one for you, but I have no intention of having you consume it. What I was offering to you is medicinal. Both Patton and I noted that you seem unhealthy and likely malnourished. While nothing can reverse the effects of malnutrition completely, the potion I made would help prevent many future problems as well as let your body acclimate to a more nutritious diet easier.”

Virgil squinted at him. “Why?” he asked. “I’m your prisoner. Why would you want to help me?”

“You are my prisoner which means you are under my care,” Logan said. “I will not abide by your suffering if I can prevent it. That being said, if drinking the potion causes you undue mental distress, I will not force it upon you.”

Virgil studied him, eyes hard and suspicious, but his words were tentative when they came. “Does it hurt bad?” he asked.

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” Logan promised. “Allow me to demonstrate for you?” He nodded and Logan stood to retrieve the potion.

Logan placed his thumb over the lid of the container and tilted it until he felt the liquid hit his skin. He pulled his hand away and showed Virgil the notable drops of liquid on his thumb before opening his mouth and clearly placing it on his tongue. “It mostly tastes like the honey I put in it,” he told him, “plus a bit of lavender and mint. It does have a slightly sour aftertaste, but overall, it’s fine. How about just a small amount to start and then you can decide if you want to drink the rest of the dose for the day?”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“I’m going to put this bottle to your lips. You can take as little as you wish.” Virgil nodded and Logan leaned forward and pressed the container to his mouth. Virgil kept his lips firmly closed as Logan titled it up briefly before taking it away. Virgil’s tongue came out to swipe up a bit of the liquid on his lips. He seemed to brace himself as he waited for something to happen, but he calmed after a few moments.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s not bad.”

“It is not intended to be,” Logan said. “Would you be willing to drink a bit more?”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

[evermorehaikyuu]

Day 27

Title: Accident

Note: I realized I’ve done accidents in this month more than once and usually they’ve all died, but not in this case. This is deathless, and perhaps if I was a good writer, it’d hurt more. N e ways, enjoy the angst. (Lowkey wanna make a part 2 and make it fluffy, hmmm maybe, after a whole month of angst, fluff is well deserved)

˜”*°•.˜”*°•.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

Konoha Akinori was a man of many talents. He was also someone that did not let his heart be broken easily. Heartbreak, though, was something that almost no one could stop, unless they had no emotions whatsoever. But the love in his eyes when he looked at Y/N was unmistakable. He’d do anything for her, he was absolutely whipped for her. Every single day he’d make sure that she was okay and if she needed space, he gave her space.

He was basically everything anyone could ever ask for. Now the question is where did everything go wrong?

Maybe both of them were bound to blow up. Or actually one of them and Konoha was in the way. It hurt him, it did, it hurt him to see Y/N in this way, but what hurt him more was seeing Y/N explode on him. She had tried all day not to say anything, but it seemed as if the sight of him was the trigger. 

“Hey, Y/N--” Konoha started, startled when Y/N whipped around to face him, a dark shadow looming on her face. She shook her head and turned back around, not saying anything to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she grunted, trying not to get mad at him for no reason. He hadn’t done anything and she’d be ungrateful if she said something rude to him. How long could she keep the mask on though? 

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing when you’re not even looking at me in the eye.” Konoha said gently, striding over to her to take her hands. “Talk to me.”

Ripping her hands out of his, she glared up at him. “There’s nothing for me to say, I’m fine.”

“Y/N--”

“No! I don’t want to say anything more so just respect my wishes! Don’t stay any closer to me, I just want to be alone.” Y/N exclaimed before biting her lip. Konoha was there to help her out and she was pushing him away, even though he was trying his hardest to be a good boyfriend. It failed because she wouldn’t let him.

“Y/N, why do we always end up like this?” Konoha asked impatiently. He was done, he tried his best to help but was sick of being pushed away every single time. “I keep trying to help you, but you never let me. Even if I do something, you’ll still look at me like I’m not your main character, like I’m someone that you don’t even know?”

“Konoha. Just. Go.”

“So that’s it? You basically don’t care for me even though I’ve told you hundreds of times how much I love you.” Konoha hugged himself, staring at the floor before looking at the back of her head. “And every time...every time, you’ve never said it. Not once. And you don’t feel anything?” Konoha sighed, shaking his head. “Fine. I’m not saying anything more, but I really do love you. I hope you finally realize that someday.”

At hearing the door shut, Y/N bit her lip, regretting everything. He had tried everything in his power to stay with her, even though she was hard to get through. Maybe she would go after him, maybe not. Instead, she stayed alone in the room, hugging herself. However, she would regret pushing him away for the next three years.

She looked at her phone and saw at least 65 calls and over 100 messages from the Fukurodani team. The one she noticed was from Sarukui and she clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight.

Konoha was run over by a car. He’s at the hospital and unconscious.

Racing to put on something presentable and giving up and just grabbing his hoodie, she grabbed her keys and sprinted out of her house. Public transportation was awful, she was practically bouncing up and down in place, desperate to get to him for any sign that he was going to make it out alive. 

The moments she had alone with herself on the train were the ones that attacked her like bullets. What if he had lived? What if she didn’t push him away? What if both of them were at her house and doing something? Now she wouldn’t know because she had done something despicable and because of her, he may not come back alive. 

The hospital was full of white walls, yet the atmosphere was filled with trepid anticipation. The antiseptic made her dizzy, she knew that the smell of it would linger in her nostrils long after she was gone. What she didn’t know was that the aroma would also haunt her in her nightmares for the next few years. 

Once getting the room where Konoha was in, she started shaking as she got on the elevator. Thirteenth floor. The superstition made her feel worse about his fate. The guilt that came along with it was agonizing. The doctors did not let her inside, even though she pleaded multiple times to be able to go inside. Nothing. 

So that’s what it felt like when she pushed Konoha away.

“Please just let me go inside and see him, I need to see him!” She screamed, her nails raking down a guard’s chest. “LET ME SEE KONOHA!”

The nurse said gently, “Please, miss, wait and you will be the first one to know of his results. Let us do what we have to do and if necessary for him to go into surgery, we will let you know.”

Oh, how much pain would she have to suffer next? It felt like everything was laughing at her. He did not have to go into surgery but the doctors were murmuring to each other and some of them even stole glances at her through the window. 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. 

And then it was over. The doctors came out of the room and she tried to look at Konoha. One of the doctors allowed her to see through the window and she pressed her hands against the glass, peering at him through the thick glass. 

Konoha was there, his eyes closed and his mouth also shut. She wished to push back the stray bangs on his face, knowing that he would always wake up whenever she did it then go back to sleep. He didn’t move, nothing. Not even a little twitch. But somehow, there was the tiniest smile on his face. It was very small and it gave her hope that he would make it out alive, make a silly pick up line and hop out of bed. There was a catch to all of this, however, and she knew it. 

“Konoha….” Y/N said, gulping. “How is he?”

“He’s in a coma.”

There it was.

~

For the next three years, Y/N came back to Konoha’s side in his room, taking his hand. No sign of him moving at all. She always pushed his hair back, stroking it slowly while whispering small things to him. Sometimes she’d talk about stuff that she had done that day and other times, she’d walk in and stare at him for hours at a time.

The second year, on a Saturday, she came back and started singing something to him that only both of them knew. It was a song Konoha had made up on a whim and she had added to it, it was their song. Only they knew it and they used to sing it to each other when the other couldn’t sleep. 

It went like that for the next year and a half and there was no end in sight. Y/N held his hand close to her heart and sucked in a breath. “Hey….today was our--” She swallowed. “My graduation. I wish you were there. Komi, Bokuto, Sarukui and Washio were there and so was Akaashi. Konoha...Akinori….” A sob rose out of her and she placed her forehead on his chest, barely hearing his heart. 

The doctors always made sure he was still alive but the fact that he never woke up, that his hand never made its way to her hair hurt more than anything. 

Then suddenly, she was called by the hospital. Four words. The four words that brought her hopes up, drop everything and make her way to the hospital, a giddy smile on her face. 

Konoha is waking up.

She raced from her job, her heart racing. Three long years without him, three years just sitting at his bedside and singing softly to him, three years going everywhere and worrying about Konoha. 

Three years of being alone.

Konoha is waking up.

He’s going to be okay.

Once she got to the hospital, she sprinted past the receptionist’s desk and went up to his room, already memorizing the map of the hospital and his room. Pushing the door open, there was only one doctor there and he looked up at her with a grimace, wincing. “Miss--”

“Akinori?” Y/N ran to Konoha’s side, pushing his hair back as his eyelids slowly opened and his hand started twitching. At a snail’s pace, his eyelids opened fully and his head lolled, looking at her with blank eyes. Her heart sped up as she reached down for his limp hand and staring into his eyes. “Hey...look at me...you’re awake, Akinori, you’re finally--”

“Who are you?” He asked, genuine confusion on his face. 

Y/N stared at him for a moment before looking at the doctor with concern. “Doctor? What--?”

“I’m sorry. He’s lost all of his memories except for his name.”

Y/N let go of Konoha’s hand, breathing heavily before she started hyperventilating. She only looked back at Konoha, who was gazing at her curiously, before going into his bathroom and screaming, loud sobs coming out of her as she gripped her hair. The words kept bouncing around her mind, driving her insane.

All those years together. All the love she had for him. The last words she had ever told him. Everything.

Everything was gone.

Because of her.

~

Taglist: @skyguy-peach @jovialnoise @versatilewindow @tsukiibaka @jaegersblogh @kodzuken-pie @kara-grayson04 @attixca @volleybloop  @seiijixcia @sunareii @osterfield-hollandwriter @selca11 @his0kasbungeegum @holaaaf @tired-penguinn​

[spooks-and-tea]

Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader) [Ch.8]

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, bad words, sexual situations (some non-con), the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: Here I am doing a half-assed essay on quantum mechanics. I’m an artist you guys, literally no clue what I’m talking about. I just read the wikipedia info. Never felt so dumb. Anyways, here’s a chapter to extend your heartbreak.

Word Count: 3,175

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4. Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7. Chapter 8.  Chapter 9.  Chapter 10.  Chapter 11.

************************************************************************

************************************************************************

Y/N You can't say how long you sat on the floor of your apartment, trying to figure out if any of this was real. You would've concluded that your night with Spencer Reid was a dream if it wasn't for his shirt that you still wore. Your tears had stopped long ago and now you just stared; you watched the television, you watched the tv-Spencer solve crimes. There was no way, you knew, no way for you to get back. You weren't sure how you got to his reality in the first place.

Your mind cruelly replayed the last moments you remembered spending with him.

———————————- "Tonight was perfect, Spencer," you whispered against his chest.

"It was." He agreed, playing with your hair.

"How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself at work tomorrow when I know what you're capable of?" You happily traced his skin. Spencer laughed, his chest rumbling under you.

"Hey, at least you don't have an eidetic memory. I can picture every second, clear as day." He mumbled, brushing his fingers along your neck.

"Mmm, as long as I'm not the only one that has to suffer tomorrow." You yawned, growing tired.

"No, I promise you, we'll both have to suffer tomorrow." ———————————-

You had the pleasure of knowing and loving Spencer for 4 whole weeks, but you didn't have his eidetic memory. Today, it was fresh in your mind, the sun was just rising. By tonight, you would remember him a little less. By tomorrow, less. You would always have his physical image in the show, but the details; the way he looked at you, the way he whispered he loved you. You would forget it all.

The magnetic pull in your chest was back, it buzzed and ached for something that it could no longer have.

Your mind tried and tried, but it just couldn't process the reality of losing Spencer Reid, forever.

************************************************************************

Spencer Spencer woke up cold.

He groaned. His limbs were sore, not used to the exercise.

He reached out, wanting to pull you close, but you weren't there. Had you already woken up?

This wasn't like you, he was the one to wake you up every morning. And not to boost his ego or anything, but he did properly exhaust you last night.

He stretched out, yawning. He rested his head on his arms and listened for your usual morning noises. He had them memorized, of course. Shower, appearance, breakfast. Without fail, that was your routine.

Silence.

His apartment was dead silent, he frowned. Did you break your routine? Did you leave to buy breakfast? You weren't supposed to be alone with that stalker still on the loose.

Growing worried, Spencer pulled himself out of bed. He first checked the main living room and kitchen. Your discarded clothes from last night were still scattered around his apartment, as well as the little things you had started scattering as you grew more settled with living with him.

"Y/N?" he called out.

Silence.

He circled back to the bathroom, nothing was out of place.

Now very worried, he jogged to the couch and fished his phone out of his jacket. He dialed your contact and listened for the ring; tapping his fingers on the cell.

His hand fell to his side as he heard a ringing coming from your purse just next to him. He opened it, finding your cell, keys, and wallet. You wouldn't have gone anywhere without these things, you knew you were under his protection. You wouldn't have left Spencer's side.

Sirens went off in his head. This couldn't be happening, not again. Another girl he loved and he couldn't protect her. He promised he would protect her.

He started to hyperventilate, his hands shaking as he phoned the only people that could help.

"Reid."

"Hotch, I-I need help." Spencer's voice cracked. His back slid down the nearest wall.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Y/N. She's been taken. I-It must have happened at night when we were asleep."

"You're sure she hasn't gone anywhere of her own accord?"

"I'm positive. She was taken. All of her things are here; her phone, her wallet, her keys." Spencer let out a sob, covering it with his free hand. When Hotch heard it, he knew this was serious.

"We'll be there in 20." He stated before hanging up.

Spencer dropped the phone and grasped his hair in his hands; pushing it back. He tried to still his breathing, but his throat felt constricted. His tears slowly fell. A buzzing, magnetic pull, ached in his chest.

JJ was the first to find him.

"Spence, what happened?" She tried to comfort him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"We were sleeping in the bedroom and, in the middle of the night, he took her." Spencer mumbled.

Hotch and Morgan scoped out the apartment. The activities Spencer and Y/N had gotten up to that night were obvious, with clothes strewn all about; they decided not to bring that up. Derek, biting back an especially long list of quips.

The position of the bed sheets is what gave them the most information.

"Spencer, honey, which side of the bed do you sleep on?" JJ asked for them. Her kind, motherly voice was the only thing keeping him calm right now.

"The right side."

JJ turned and nodded at Morgan. He returned to the bedroom to look over the left side of the room.

"No sign of a struggle." Morgan observed.

"No, Spencer would have heard." Hotch narrowed his eyes. He pointed to the bed. "Look at his side, see the way the sheets are turned over? He got out of bed normally, flipping the sheets off. Now look at Y/N's side. Her sheets are pooled in a near-perfect pile. She was lifted up without a struggle."

Morgan nodded. "Do you think she was drugged?"

"No, but judging from the clothes around us, she and Spencer were exhausted. She may have thought it was Spencer and just gone back to sleep." Hotch made a point to speak softly.

"Shit. The kid's a wreck." Morgan whispered. He knew how attached Spencer was to you; they all did. He was asleep just next to you when it happened. You were under his care; he was bound to feel guilty.

Morgan returned to see Spencer spaced out, his knees pulled up to his chest. He knelt in front of him, placing his hand on Spencer's other shoulder.

"Hey Kid, we need to go back to the station so we can start trying to find her. The local police have been informed to keep a look out. You need to get dressed and bring her wallet and cell phone with you. This is the first 48 hours, you know how important this first 48 are. We need your big brain alert for this one. She needs you."

Morgan's words got through to him. He lifted his head, finally clearly seeing his friends and co-workers. He took a deep breath and nodded. Morgan helped him stand, pulling him in for a quick hug. "We're going to find her." He pat his back.

Spencer left to his room to get dressed, avoiding looking at where he had last seen her in his bed. He tunnel visioned, grabbing her things and leaving with his BAU family.

———-

That was 1 month, 3 days, 5 hours, 2 minutes, and 34 seconds ago.

There was still no sign of you, it was as if you had just vanished off the face of the planet. Only Spencer knew just how true that saying was. You were gone, he knew. The probability of you ending up back in his reality was one of the least probable things he could thing of.

Every night he stayed at his desk late and stared at your desk, willing you to show up as you did the first time.

He cleaned his apartment, packing your things away in his closet; on his most desperate nights he would open your suitcase and feel the fabric of your clothes between his fingers. You were officially presumed dead, your huge apartment, assets, and money were all signed away. There was a will that he was sure you didn't write; it was here when you arrived. That will gave everything to charity. You wouldn't have minded.

Spencer knew that everything after you woke up at the BAU was real, but the rest of the BAU didn't. They had 2 years worth of memories with you.

Some nights he couldn't bring himself to sleep in his bed. He spent many nights on the couch.

Of course, he blamed himself. Why didn't he hear something? Did he forget to lock the entry door? How did he not feel you move out of his arms? These questions ate away at his mind. The team filed your case. Whenever they weren't working on another case, they were working on yours.

The problem was, he knew you were never coming back and he wasn't even sure if they could physically catch the unsub that caused it. It was hopeless.

Then, one day, 2 months, 4 hours, 32 minutes, and 14 seconds after you disappeared, they found something.

"Reid we have an update on Y/N's case." Hotch stood next to Spencer's desk.

Spencer sat a bit straighter, his eyes going wide.

"What is it?"

"A lead based on the description of the man she saw behind the warehouse. He was spotted about a week ago near an abandoned house. I'm giving you permission to put the Missouri case on hold so you can go scope this place out with Morgan today. The rest of us will stay here and continue working on the Missouri case." Hotch gave him the location.

Spencer stood almost too quickly, bumping the pile of books in front of him over.

************************************************************************

The house didn't look like much on the outside. It was unowned and abandoned, so Morgan and Spencer were able to walk in without a warrant. They cleared the 1 story home within minutes seeing nothing but a crumbling frame and missing appliances.

Spencer's heart dropped until Morgan opened the basement door. Spencer followed him down, guns and flashlights drawn.He found a light switch, but he knew the long-abandoned house wouldn't have electricity.

Spencer's flashlight illuminated a table full of science lab equipment, some of it, Spencer knew, you had to know the right people to get. Papers were scattered about, some illegible from stains or burns. Spencer looked them over, recognizing the content as equations. One page, he recognized, was Schrödinger's equation. These were quantum equations.

The unsub was messing with the very science that brought you here.

"Kid, get a load of this." Morgan called. Spencer turned around, following Morgan's beam of light. He illuminated a generator and a dark impression next to it on the floor, as if a large object had once sat there. The shape of it made a circle in the middle with a square border. Like a platform with a cylinder in the center. There was no way the unsub could have brought you here, it was too far from Spencer's home. You would've put up enough of a fight to get noticed by someone, or even escaped, yourself, knowing how headstrong you were.

"The dust hasn't settled yet, all of this is recent." Spencer observed, directing his light all around the dingy basement.

"What the hell was this guy up to?" Morgan wondered out loud.

Spencer had a vague idea.

************************************************************************

Pictures and evidence were collected and brought back to the BAU. Spencer hung all of it up and Hotch called everyone into the roundtable room. Spencer, as usual, tried his best not to look for you sitting in your usual chair every time he turned around.

"So let me get this straight, this guy is some mad-scientist who has somehow managed to run a scientific lab under an abandoned house without anyone's knowledge, for months?" JJ asked.

"Correct," Spencer answered.

"These papers we found, they're all full of equations?" Morgan flipped through the photocopies.

"Actually, it's technically all one big equation. I've been able to single out a few sections that are well-known quantum equations. Our unsub is an advanced physicist, probably someone who has studied it his entire life. Judging by this equation, he was testing something. I'm talking Nobel prize-winning mechanic knowledge here," Spencer explained.

"I'll have Garcia check the university databases for anyone with the unsub's description who has studied or taught advanced quantum mechanics classes," Hotch stated. 

"So he does science experiments in dingy houses. What I don't get is why would he want to kidnap Y/N?" Rossi asked.

"Maybe our initial profile still checks out. Maybe he has an unhealthy obsession and he acted out through stalking and kidnapping," Morgan remarked.

"What we need to find," Spencer pointed to the photo of the mark on the floor. "Is where this machine is located."

"Probably wherever Y/N and our unsub are," JJ suggested.

"Is this machine dangerous?" Hotch asked.

"We don't know yet." Spencer fiddled with his pencil.

"And we still have no sign of Y/N," JJ held up the last picture they had of you, it was all of you in the bullpen; a group photo.

"No. We don't," Spencer sighed.

Hotch dialed Garcia, she picked up right away. He recited the unsub's profile and asked her to check the university databases. She agreed, getting right to work on it.

Spencer stared at the floor, looking defeated.

"Don't worry, pretty boy, we'll find her." Morgan tried to give him hope.

"It's been 2 months, 8 hours, 3 minutes, and 25 seconds since I last saw her. I've worked on enough cases to know that, if we do find her, she won't be found alive," Spencer mumbled.

"Don't think that kid, she wouldn't want you shutting down like this." Rossi tried.

"We don't know that. We wouldn't know what she'd want because she's not here. She's not here and it's all my fault." Spencer gathered the case file papers, holding them to his chest. "I'll get started on solving the missing parts of the equation."

************************************************************************

Y/N (1 week after the BAU's new lead on your case)

"Thank you Jim, always nice seeing you." You smiled, though it never quite reached your eyes nowadays.

You marked Jim's order on a coffee cup and handed it over to your co-worker. You were on the cash register today, and that meant putting on a smiling face and pleasing customers.

You still didn't feel ready to be working again.

Somehow, in the weeks you had been gone, no one noticed your absence. It was as if you just never existed in those 4 weeks. When you came back, suddenly, it was as if you never left. Everyday you felt that aching in your chest. You knew eventually, Spencer would want you to move on, but you were sure that would take a millennia.

Your life had returned to its normal routine. You knew without a routine, you would fall into some form of depression and shut yourself in. Spencer wouldn't want that.

You wondered if he was going through something similar. It pained you to think of how he reacted to Maeve's death; did he blame himself? When he woke up from your perfect night together, did he call out for you to an empty apartment? Did he think about you as much as you still thought about him?

At least he had Morgan and the rest of his team to help him get through it. You had no one. Your co-workers were too young for you to get along with and you never had time to go out and meet new people when you were booking auditions.

Your Criminal Minds audition had long since passed. You still couldn't bring yourself to watch the show since that first day back. The memories with Spencer were still too fresh, too painful; even after 2 months. You wondered when it would get easier. You wondered when you would stop seeing him in every similar-looking man that walked into the coffee shop.

"Hello?" A hand waved in front of your face, bringing you back to reality, or at least partly.

You blinked. You were staring at someone who looked exactly like Spencer, although his hair was slightly longer.

"Spencer?" You breathed, wide eyed. It couldn't be, how did he find you?

"Umm yeah. Are you a fan of Criminal Minds?" He smiled.

Your jaw dropped. Holy shit. It couldn't be- It wasn't-

"I-I am, yeah. I missed out on my audition nearly 3 months ago. It-It's nice to meet you Matthew." You held out your hand. He shook it politely. It was almost too much like your Spencer's.

"It's nice to meet you too. That's too bad! I'm sorry that happened. You have a very distinct look. I think it'd be awesome to have you on the show." He replied, politely.

"I haven't heard about any casting calls, unfortunately."

"I can take your number and give it to casting if you'd like. I honestly think you'd be perfect for this upcoming part."

"Yeah! That would be great actually, thank you." You answered without thinking.

"No problem."

You wrote your number down on a sticky note and handed it to him. He folded it and put it in his pocket.

"So, what kind of coffee would you like Mr. Gubler?" You smiled, this time a little more genuine because he had your Spencer's face.

************************************************************************

Spencer (2 weeks later) Spencer found himself ignoring his friends, his BAU family. He shut himself off. His desk was filled with papers of scribbled down equations. Piles of physics books were stacked on his desk. He was constantly drinking coffee for his drooping eyes and headaches.

He was able to organize the papers they found at the scene; to determine which part of the equation went where. He just couldn't decipher the missing pieces, the burnt and stained pages.

Sometimes he would stay at work late into the night and his body would force him to sleep for 1 or 2 hours at a time.

Hotch would order him to take a break and work on another case soon. He couldn't let this precious work time go to waste. A thought repeated in his mind, that if he solved this equation he would be one step closer to finding out what happened to you. Even if it couldn't possibly bring you back, he had to know that you were safe.

Plenty of families never get that closure when a loved one goes missing. Sometimes they say they wish their loved one had passed on by now because that eases their pain of not knowing.

But it was Spencer's job to catch these unsubs and find these missing people. It was his job and still he couldn't do shit all to help you, like he should have.

Spencer stood up from the desk and harshly knocked over the pile of books he had just read. Luckily no one was in the bullpen to see his major depressive episode.

He was known as a genius he had the IQ and degrees to prove it. Yet he couldn't solve this equation. He was letting you down all over again.

Next Chapter

[poptod]

hi i wanted to know if you wrote for webb porter? if u do, can u do a webb x reader where the reader is his psychiatrist? not fluff but not angst either. something in between perhaps. surprise me with the plot! you always do anyways. thanks and i love your little elliot drawings!

notes: okay 1. thank u im glad u enjoyed the sketches, 2. i hadn't watched alcatraz before but i just watched it so i could write him and I gotta say, it really freaked me out how many similarities there were between me and him (except for the whole being a murderer thing and stringing bows with the hair of his victims). this is my first time writing psychopath characters. anyway, thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy it!

WC: 1.7k

+

It was a bit of an honor, really – none of your friends would agree with you, but working with something so strange, so new, and so, so interesting was always an honor. It wasn't like your friends said anything. Probably because they didn't know, since the Incident was 'top secret'.

The prison, in all its steep, sharp majesty, stood before you. Its height nearly blocked out the grey sky. The men leading you said nothing, and you followed when they opened the door inside. From outside one of the doors you saw the cells, all stuck together, kept in a sterile, white room. You swallowed thick and turned back forward, hand clenching around your bag as you mentally prepared yourself.

You didn't say much. Neither did he, so for the first five or six minutes, you watched him. His behaviorisms, the tics stuck in his restless limbs. Pushing against the floor, flexing fingers, uneven, hurried blinking. Classic signs of discomfort. You couldn't blame him.

"I've read a lot about you," you said in a soft, humming voice that had his eyes flickering to you before landing on the closed notebook in your hands. "I know what they think of you. Do you want to clarify anything?"

He said nothing, returning to his fidgets.

"I also heard you enjoy music," you continued, pushing your hand into the bag sitting on the floor beside you. He watched with curious eyes as you pulled out padded headphones, setting them on the table beside you, before pulling out an older iPod. "I know you've got your violin, but sometimes I find it's nice to listen without having to play. Lets me study."

"How does it work?" He asked, his voice cracked and soft. It was hard to make him out.

"Bluetooth. Connects without a wire," you answered with a half-smile, proceeding to explain the rest of the technology. The guards wouldn't just let you waltz in and give a prisoner a wire, after all, and the extra cost didn't hurt you too terribly.

He didn't really start talking till around the third appointment, which for a patient of his type wasn't all that bad. Even then he kept that soft tone – so low, so smooth, almost like the music he so avidly listened to. You could feel your fingers tightening over your arm rest when he spoke.

"I just wanted to play for people," he mumbled, pinching at the skin of his jaw. "Do you know what that's like?"

"Yes, actually," you said, earning the mild, held-back interest of the prisoner. He stared at you, and with a deep breath, you explained yourself. "I wanted to dance for people. Then I was diagnosed with Meniere's disease, and now it's a struggle to stand. I know what it's like to want something and never be able reach it."

He stared at you with wide eyes. You were starting to get accustomed to the sight of that.

"I also know it's good to start something you can do. Something achievable that can benefit yourself, maybe some friends, maybe groups of people. Some find that comfort in writing, or baking. Things like that," you said, knowing full well he wouldn't take your advice. Still, it was best to suggest something anyway.

The seventh week of sessions with him, appointments twice a week and each an hour or so long. That's how long he let you stay. If it were up to you or the warden, the sessions would be around an hour and a half, but if you tried to push it he would fall silent and listen to none of your words.

"I know this seems a rather foolish exercise," you said as you held out a drawing pad and a pencil, "but it does help some people. It doesn't have to help you, but I think you should give it a try. Just draw anything you want."

Hesitantly he took them from you, holding them in his lap as the eraser edge of the pencil tapped against his cheekbone. Folding your hands neatly on your own lap, you waited patiently for him to begin, a keen sense of curiosity keeping your attention. His head twitched to the side twice before he got sick of it, shaking his head to clear it out. Only then did he begin.

He kept the pad angled so you couldn't see his drawing. For about ten or so minutes he stuck to that activity, beginning to enjoy it about halfway through. When he leaned back, he examined the drawing, drawing a shaky breath as he handed the pad and pencil back to you.

Full body sketches, filled with lines and shadows that didn't quite connect. It looked as though he'd drawn it seven times and erased it six, but as the shapes came to fruition, you found the actual image he had drawn.

Himself in a suit. Nothing too grand, a plain one with one button on the blazer. You were more interested in the second figure beside him – a seated one sitting in front of a grand piano, their eyes closed and hands poised delicately over keys you couldn't see. At the other end of the piano was where Webb stood, his eyes closed as well as he danced to the music humming from his violin.

"You're a pianist, aren't you?" He asked, his voice still low and soft. You paused, looking up at him.

"Yes," you answered quietly. You hadn't ever told him that. "How did you know?"

"Fingers," he said. "You don't tap rhythms. You play them, and your fingers are stretched. You've been playing since you were a kid."

"Also correct," you said as you tried desperately not to give away your discomfort and amazement.

Two appointments later and he started to tell you about yourself. You reminded him gently that these sessions were for him, not you, but the words seemed to not have processed in his head. He just kept listing things about you – things you never told him, things not obvious about you, things your friends and family didn't even know.

"How long did you play bass for?" He asked one afternoon, his finger set against his lip.

"Orchestra in middle school through high school," you said despite not wanting to answer. "I was never any good at it, though."

"Too big?"

"... yeah. Mr. Porter, this isn't -"

"Where's your tattoo?"

You froze.

"I don't think it's appropriate for me to answer that question. How about you tell me about the people here? Do you get along with them?"

"They like my music," he murmured, his eyes directed at your own but staring through you.

"It's nice to have that," you said with a small nod.

Your home was a place of comfort with few windows and double locks on the doors. The only weak spot was the backyard, which was walled in. It'd be easy to break the glass of the wall into your living room, but you made the expense for 'unbreakable' glass, and in the evenings you felt thankful for that decision. You could sip at your tea without worry, turning on the TV and surfing through the many shows.

Despite being curled up for an evening of relaxation, your notebook sat beside you, open to the page of your most recent patient. A pencil sat in the dip of the binding. On commercial breaks you set aside your cup and picked up the notebook, flipping through the pages and trying to figure out exercises that would be good for each person. For Webb you made the special effort to think beyond your specialty. There were a number of things you wanted him to try – painting, stories, baking – just some senseless, harmless activities. Alongside that were a couple tests you could give him once he was ready.

"Even got your piano right," you heard a voice from behind the couch, making you shoot straight up and whirl around, the blanket around your shoulders falling forgotten on the floor. Webb stood in your open living room, his fingers tracing over your black grand piano seated in front of the wide open windows.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a surprisingly firm voice, broken only by your concentration to get your phone out from between the couch cushions.

"I needed to see you," he spoke softly, almost airy in his tone as he stared at you with empty, grey eyes. When you moved he took a step forward. "I know you're going to tell them," he said, looking you up and down, "but I can't let you do that."

You ran. The front door was so close to you anyway – you assumed you could reach it before he could reach you, but your legs were weak. You'd always been weak, and now he reached for you, grabbing you by the ankle and dragging you across the wood while you did your best not to cry. You did shout, though – hopefully your neighbors would hear, but halfway through your second scream he tore his sleeve, tying it around your mouth.

Writhing on the floor, you felt him push your chest down, swinging his legs so he straddled you. As you began to hyperventilate he pulled rope out – your rope – and tied your hands together.

"It's so easy," he breathed out, and you assumed he was talking to himself. You tried to speak, but with the gag, nothing came out but whines and moans. "You're so easy to... hurt," he murmured as he leaned in, his breath coasting against your cheek, highlighting the tears that fell unwillingly.

"You'll be good for me, right?" He asked of you, caressing your face with his hand, the other dug into your stomach's pressure point to keep you from moving.

You almost sobbed, but instead you tried to form words. Again, nothing but mumbles and cries came out.

"Shhh," he said in a soft, almost comforting voice. A shiver ran through your body, convulsing in your anxious muscles, trying to kick with the legs he sat on. "I won't hurt you," he murmured, leaning even closer to you, till his face rested in the crook of your neck, pressing gentle, fluttering kisses along your skin.

His hand reached from your cheek to your hair, tugging on it so harsh you let out a choked cry.

"We'll make beautiful music," he mumbled. "My violin, your piano, and you can sing... we'll be beautiful."

[celosiaa]

the truth is like blood underneath your fingernails (chapter 2 - end)

Summary: Love, Hunger, pain, anxiety.

Jon feels it all at once in the wake of statement withdrawal, and can hardly bear it.

(Chapter 1 here)

CW: panic attacks, use of exercise as a form of self injury, self-hatred, language

(Jon’s thoughts are formatted in italics.  The Eye speaks in glitched text.)

tag list: @urbanpineapplefarmer @transcendentalbf

7am.

The morning sun begins to creep into their room, spilling over their blankets and onto the floorboards in a stark white glow. Though the birds begin to wake up at the sight, the frost on the window tells Jon that they will soon fly south for the winter, if the majority haven’t already. He hadn’t managed to sleep at all last night—he had cradled Martin into the early hours of the morning, long after his tears had subsided into snores. Eventually, though, the sensation simply grew too much for his overwrought nerves. Now, as he sits against the headboard in the cold daylight, even the blanket is beginning to grate on him.

God, this is miserable.

Looking over at Martin, Jon can tell he’s still going to be dead asleep for quite some time, perhaps even hungover when he does awaken. The now-familiar twinge of guilt grips him as his eyes pass over the puffiness of his face, the lids of his eyes still reddened with the tears of the night before. Shaking his head in rising fury at himself, he wants nothing more than to have what they did in their first few weeks of living at the cottage—just to hold him, effortlessly, lovingly as the day passes by in a quiet warmth.

But now Jon is starting to think that this trembling through his body will never stop. Everything in him is screaming at him to get up, to move move move just to get the cursed buzz of the static down to something manageable. It’s too much—it’s all too much, and the gnawing hunger begins to eat away at him, threatening to reach out for Martin’s sadness, for his pain—

I’ve got to move.

I’ve got to run run run run

When his breathing begins to pick up speed, Jon knows he can’t risk staying here any longer. He glances apologetically at Martin before rising as carefully as possible from the bed, taking extra care not to jostle him or to step on the creaking floorboards as he makes his exit. Descending to the main floor, his movements pick up urgency as he pulls on his running clothes, knee brace, and trainers—hands trembling almost too violently to tie the laces. He nearly bolts from the room as he finishes at last, anxiety pulsing and swelling into some nightmarish thing, before he thinks to write a note to Martin, in case he wakes up and finds him gone.

He cannot risk Martin thinking that he’s left him.

Can’t imagine anything worse than that.

Scribbling quickly onto an old receipt, he slides it across the table and makes a break for the door.

---

Exhilarating and excruciating: that’s how Jon would describe this general sensation. At this point, he finds himself beginning to revel in the pain that shoots down his leg with every step, knowing he’s deserving of it, knowing it will distract him for as long as he can just keep going.

And that, well…that he can do.

He runs until his feet grow numb, until his chest no longer feels like a gaping wound, until his mind is utterly clear and for once—for once—the Eye closes. Unable to hold back the elation this brings him, he allows an awful screeching laughter to burst from his throat, smile wide and clenched tight as he keeps running—far further than he’s ever run from their cottage, unwilling to face the terrible truth that no amount of distance he runs could ever be far enough to satisfy him. For now, for these few moments—Jon revels in a freedom he hasn’t felt since this entire nightmare began.

But of course, all things good and free must come to an end—this time, it comes in the form of a rainstorm. The first drop that hits Jon’s arm sends a spark of lightning through him, his cursed skin so sensitive to any disturbance now that the steadily falling droplets feel like being pelted with small stones. Spilling over him in a deluge, the magnitude of abuse he’s just put his body through drags his feet to a stop—limbs trembling so violently that he barely remains upright as he does so.

Damn it all damn it all

Jon knows in this moment, gasping desperately in the downpour, that if does not keep moving, he will be unable to start again—and god knows if anyone would ever find him out here.

S̚t̂oͣp̾ͥ ̩̿m͉̹o̫̍̿v̘̫ͤi͙̳̍n̻ͬ̎ġ̞̩ͦ ̯̯̞͍a̫͙͗͛ṅ͍̽ͭḋ̥͉͛ ̱͔ͧ̎y͚͉͛ͦō̟̋̚ȕ̩̗̭'̝̔͗ͩlͦͤ͋̾l̳͖͈̒ ̘͆̔̔s͋̉͑͌ț̹̌͆o͙ͦͩ͌p͈̫̯ ̠̺̐b̟̌͋r̳̋ͨė̪a͓͗tͦ̚h͔̄i̗nͭg͌,, some cruel and terrifying voice from within him says with glee.

Everything in him screams at him to collapse as he picks up one shaking foot, instead jogging himself back into a run in the direction of home, the light shower quickly becoming a storm.

---

Jon will never know exactly how, but he makes it back to the cottage, forced to take the last half-mile or so at a miserable limping pace. Breaths heaving with an audible wheeze, his vision comes in and out of focus as he trudges up this final hill, drenched to the bone and aching aching aching. Through the grey rain-curtains, he can just barely see the outline of Martin sitting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for him to come home. At the sight, Jon can’t help but let out a cry of relief, thoughts flooded with nothing but Martin Martin Martin.

He must have heard Jon’s shout, for as soon as he walks a bit closer, Martin jumps to his feet—blanket falling free of his shoulders as his eyes widen in horror.

“Christ, Jon,” he yells, running out into the rain towards him.

Jon wants to cry out, tell him to turn back, he’ll get soaked—

Then everything begins to swirl sickeningly around him, and he can no longer tell which way is up.

“Oh, Christ,” he hears from somewhere far, far away—and he is suddenly encased in strong, warm arms.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, can you walk?” Martin says, barely audible above Jon’s own panicked breathing.

He tries to support himself for a brief moment, limbs shaking, before a violent pulse of static blacks out his vision and buckles his knees. With dim awareness, he feels himself being swept up into Martin’s arms near effortlessly, feels the rain hitting his face and neck and it hurts, God it hurts—

When he opens his eyes again, he’s being laid gently on the sofa, Martin muttering to him all the while.

“Alright, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he repeats, voice thick and trembling as his eyes begin to scan Jon’s body for the source of the injury.

S̗̋e͓̹͋e̖͗̋̒ ̞͙̱̇ͫẅ͔̘̰͔̌̍h̳̙̙̯̋ͧ̿ȁ̟͔͖͕̱̌͌ť̹͓͍̝͕̗͂͗ ̦̫͈̽ͫ̄͊̍̚y͉̥̼̼̦͓̙ͤͬǒ͕͓̥̄ͣͥ̿ͅū͓̫͙̠ͭ̓ͯ'̬̮̤ͫ̓̒ͩ̅v̦͓͔͂͐͆̚e͕̝̤̬͓̮ ̥͙̍̐̉d̩͇̳͎o̻̗̽n͆e?

Static once more bursts through Jon’s mind, the Eye overwhelming his senses—head spinning, ears ringing, breaths picking back up into short and shallow gasps—

“Jon? Hey, are you with me? Are you hurt?”

Martin’s voice reaches him as though through many thick sheets of glass, nearly drowned out by the explosion currently taking place in Jon’s mind. As best as he can, he grabs hold of it, feels the weight of Martin’s hand on his arm, willing it to pull him from the depths—

The sounds of the cottage around him come back in a rush, the pounding rain echoing through his mind. Bending over him with eyes as wide as saucers is Martin, rain-soaked fringe hanging down over his panicked face.

God, look what I’ve done.

This is all you’re meant for

To hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt

“Jon? Are you with me, love?” he says shakily, brushing his damp hair away from his face with gentle hands.

Why do you love me why do you love me

It’s too much; it’s all too much. His wrenching breaths choke off quickly into sobs, an arm reaching up to drape over his eyes.

“Oh god, what’s happened, Jon? Where does it hurt?”

“I’m sorry, Martin—I’m s-so sorry—I ca—” he breaks off to gasp desperately for air, the oxygen in the room suddenly not enough to sustain him.

For a moment, Martin freezes—hands hovering above him in shock before he jumps into action.

“Okay, okay—J-Jon, you’re hyperventilating. It’s alright, just…just try to breathe with me, sweetheart, I’m right here with you. Let’s sit up, okay? Come on—” he soothes with a forced calm, gently pulling Jon up by the shoulders to sit with his feet on the floor.

“Head down by your knees, that’s it,” he continues, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, grounding him with a sturdy grip on his upper arms.

Jon reaches out to clutch at his shirt like it’s his only lifeline.

“That’s right, I’m right here,” Martin encourages, not letting up on his grip. “Just listen to my voice, and follow me back, okay?”

I don’t deserve him I don’t deserve him I don’t deserve him

Even with this panicked train of thought, the gentle music of Martin’s voice gives him something on which to focus—something warm, and loving, and home. His breaths begin to gradually slow; his pounding heart no longer audible in his ears—though he is left trembling and cold and so hungry.

“What’s happened, Jon? Is it your leg?”

I wish that more than anything.

Everything is still too much too much too much, and Jon buries his face in his hands, sniffling in the wake of his tears and shaking his head. Martin remains silent for a few moments, and Jon can feel his gaze boring into him—can feel him carefully considering what to do next.

Is he…afraid of me?

God.

“Hold on, I’ll get you a towel,” he murmurs at last, standing and walking quickly toward the bathroom.

As soon as he leaves the room, tears sting at Jon’s eyes again, and he’s too exhausted to do anything but let them roll freely down his cheeks. It’s been weeks since he’s felt himself able to cry, too distanced from his own emotions—but they feel neither relieving nor cathartic, the hot trails of them merely seeming to pull all his pain from within to the outside. Martin returns after a few moments, a glass of water and a bath towel in hand.

“Oh, darling,” he sighs tremulously, and Jon can hear at once that Martin is coming close to tears himself—the incredible strength of his own empathy drawing Jon’s pain onto himself.

He refuses to give in, however, seeming to steel himself for Jon’s sake as he begins to gently rub the towel over his sopping hair, his chest, his back—taking extra care over his unbelievably swollen leg before tossing it to the side. Job done as well as he can for now, he returns to sitting on the coffee table in front of Jon, their legs bumping together slightly.

“You’ve got to tell me what’s happened, Jon. You’re scaring me.”

Jon Knows it’s true, knows he has to tell him—but the words feel so heavy in his throat. After a few more moments of sitting in silence, Jon continuing to tremble in front of him, Martin pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Jon’s shoulders. He then grips the edges of it lightly, leaning in to try to catch Jon’s gaze.

“Please, Jon. I’m begging you. Please tell me,” he murmurs desperately.

I’ve got to tell him.

He’s frightened, and I’ve got to tell him.

“You’ll hate me for it,” Jon warns in a whisper, head still drooping toward the floor.

At this, Martin sputters briefly, seemingly hurt by the very suggestion.

“Sweetheart, I—I very much doubt that,” he soothes gently, running his hands up and down Jon’s upper arms to warm him up.

You’re too good you’re too good you’re too good

Words spill from him in a rush, biting through the shame.

“I just…I-I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I…I can’t do anything because I’m so…” he chokes, breaking off with a sniff.

“…I’m so hungry, and I hate it,” he confesses at last, voice whittled down to a mere whisper.

“Hungry…?” Martin questions, head tilting in confusion for a moment before understanding dawns on him. “Oh, hungry. Right.”

Hearing the words in Martin mouth renews Jon’s shame at once, and the sobs bubble up in his chest once again.

“Hey hey hey, listen, Jon,” Martin says softly, keeping a gentle hold on his biceps. “When’s the last time you read one?”

At once, the shame becomes a hot knife, anger flaring like a beacon as he raises his voice.

“I don’t want it Martin, I can’t—”

“Jon—”

“I can’t bring anymore nightmares into the world. I just can’t. I-I won’t,” he shouts, bracing his hands against the couch cushions as he tries to stand—

And immediately goes down again, vision spinning and greying out, leaving him winded and silent.

The weight of what he’s just done comes crashing down on him, and he lifts one hand to cover his eyes—as if that could do anything to cover the magnitude of it.

God, what is wrong with me?

“Alright, just…just try to stay calm, okay? Here—” Martin says, ever patient, holding out the glass of water toward him.

When Jon takes it and brings it up to his lips, his hands shake so badly that Martin is forced to keep a hold on it as well.

“Christ, Jon,” he mutters under his breath, brow furrowing deeper with worry.

They sit in silence for a few moments after that, Martin placing a grounding hand on Jon’s good knee, just watching his heaving breaths which show no sign of easing. Jon can nearly hear the thoughts turning over in Martin’s mind, as he frantically considers what to do under an exterior of forced calm.

“Let me read you one,” he says at last, voice leaving little room for argument.

“No, I-I can’t—”

“You have to. You have to, Jon—just look at yourself.”

Jon drops his head again, staring at his knees as he can feel the tremors wracking his entire body.

“You’re ill, and this is the only way to treat it for now. I know you hate it, and I know how guilty it makes you feel but…if this is what it takes to keep you alive, then I will do it if you won’t. Because I love you, and I refuse to see you hurt.”

Tears begin to flow anew halfway through his words, the shaking growing even more violent with the awful realization that Martin is right. Jon does not reply, cannot make himself voice it—but does not try to stop him when he stands from the coffee table, collecting a statement from the folder sitting in the drawer of the end table. When he returns, he sits on the end of the sofa, reaching his arms out toward Jon’s shoulders.

“Here, lie down, love—just lie here, and I’ll read.”

Jon cannot find it in himself to refuse, slowly tilting his body to rest his head on Martin’s thigh. Pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, Martin cards a hand through Jon’s hair as he begins to read—sobs wracking his rail-thin frame even as he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries desperately not to hear it, tries not to See—but the Eye is relentless now, drinking in this stranger’s account of terror with elation. When Martin’s voice comes to a halt at last, he sets the statement down on the arm of the sofa, looking down toward Jon.

“I’m sorry, darling, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, bending over to plant a kiss on Jon’s forehead, resuming stroking his hair afterwards.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jon can feel his insides beginning to knit back together. The godawful static is barely audible now, where it had roared in his ears just moments ago, and his stomach no longer feels like a hollowed-out cavern. Even so, he is disgusted with himself—for needing this, for feeling better afterwards—and most of all, for the nervousness he can still detect in Martin’s gentle ministrations.

He’s still frightened.

And I caused it.

Because that’s who I am, now.

…I’ve got to make this right.

He opens his eyes—warm hazel meeting aberrant green.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he starts, voice hoarse and thick. “For all of this. I…I know I’ve hurt you, and it’s not right.”

Martin’s hands come to a stop, one coming to rest on his chest, the other cupping his face.

“This is why you’ve been running, isn’t it? And why we had the row yesterday—you were hungry?”

“It’s still my fault,” Jon corrects him quickly. “I won’t…I won’t try to deny that.”

Martin sighs, looking away for a moment to swallow down the bitter memory.

“Alright, but…I’m sure it didn’t help.”

“…no, it didn’t,” Jon is forced to admit in a whisper.

A few minutes pass by in silence, Martin resuming his gentle brushing through Jon’s hair as Jon holds his other hand close to his chest, willing the warmth to seep back into his bones. In—out, in—out—his breathing at last breaks even, his heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks. At last, Jon moves to sit up, bracing heavily on his arms and tipping his head on Martin’s shoulder with a groan.

“Still dizzy?” Martin asks quietly.

Jon hums his assent, allowing his eyes to flutter closed against it.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten? Actual food, I mean,” Martin continues, turning to face him with a start.

“Hmm. Not sure,” Jon mutters, burrowing into his shoulder.

Martin sighs, looking upwards briefly to shake his head before pulling Jon closer, wrapping his arms firmly around him.

“We’ll have to work on that,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into his hair before resting his chin on top.

In response, Jon turns his head slightly toward whatever bit of Martin is nearest him and presses a kiss upon it—drawing a soft huff of laughter from him, before he pulls Jon even closer and continues.

“I’m sorry this is so hard on you, darling. I know I can’t…I can’t truly understand. But from an outside perspective, you reading these statements to stay alive is just doing the best you can in an impossible situation, you know? And if everything goes right, if…if we can figure out how to end this, maybe the nightmares will be gone. Maybe you won’t have to do this anymore.”

Everything in him wants to rail against this optimism, this hopefulness—out of sheer terror that it couldn’t possibly be true. Nevertheless, without the static pulsing through him, he is able to bite his tongue—choosing instead to picture the future he knows is in Martin’s mind: one where they’re together, where they’re safe, where they can spend all their energy and time learning to love each other well.

A ghost of a smile passes over his face, and he turns to kiss Martin’s shoulder.

“I really hope you’re right,” he whispers.

“…you don’t think I am, though,” Martin replies, sorrow evident in his tone.

Oh, Martin.

It never ceases to amaze Jon how well Martin can read him—somehow able to infer his thoughts with no powers at all, without even looking at him.

“I’m…I’m trying to learn to hope,” Jon admits with all the honesty he can stomach, lifting his head to gaze into the warm depth of Martin’s eyes.

He’s sure there is no sight more gorgeous than the one right in front of him.

“You…you are my hope, Martin,” he murmurs, cupping his face with his hands. “You, and nothing else.”

The blush and sunny smile he draws onto Martin’s cheeks sparks a joy in his heart he has not felt for weeks.

“Cheesy,” Martin giggles, and Jon is done for.

He pulls him into a gentle kiss, slow and languid, cherishing Martin’s soft noise of pleasure when he strokes a hand through his faded curls. Though his battered body shakes with the effort of it, Jon pushes forward—wanting nothing more than to shower him with all the love he has to give. Seeming to sense his exhaustion, however, Martin breaks it off, tilting Jon’s forehead to rest against his own.

“I love you, you know. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you. Please…please tell me next time it’s getting bad, okay? So I can understand, and I can help you before you hurt yourself like this,” he chokes off, closing his eyes against rising tears. “It breaks my heart.”

“I know. I know, Martin, and I’m so sorry,” Jon replies, brushing their lips together briefly before returning to press their foreheads back together. “I’m sorry for everything—for not explaining, the yelling, the hurt, just—just all of it. I-I love you, and you deserve better than that—you deserve my best, and I haven’t given it to you, and I am so, so sorry.”

His voice trembles and breaks and fades into a whisper by the end, tears threatening to spill over once again—and they do when Martin plants a lingering kiss on his forehead, then pulls him to rest against his chest.

I love him I love him I love him

“You’re forgiven, Jon. You’re already forgiven.”

The weight that lifts from his chest at these words allows Jon to breathe for what feels like the first time in months. Curling up against the warmth of his body, both still shivering in the damp, they listen to the thunder outside—both fearing that the worst is yet to come, but strengthened in the knowledge that they will be together when it does.

[chaotic-snowglobe]

Bakugo was losing his mind, three different days, three different nightmares. After learning about what Deku had to go through to get OFA and the struggles he’s face because of it, is starting to make Bakugo sick to his stomach.

Three different days, three different nightmares, all including Deku’s death. The first being Deku taking his stupid and mean and ignorant “suggestion” of taking a swan dive off the roof. Bakugo regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. But middle school Bakugo didn’t apologize, he had better things to do, but that didn’t lessen his guilt at all. And if Bakugo went home that night and worked out to the point of exhaustion, ran until his lungs felt like collapsing, hitting a punching bag until his wrists gave out, well, that’d be between him and the gym.

But he still can’t believe that he said something so heartless. And he’s never apologized, he’s never addressed the shitty person that he was. And watching that dream where Deku was standing on the roof of the school, and he stood by, completely frozen with fear as he watched Deku take that swan dive, had him waking up violently at 2:00 in the morning. Panting, sweating, small singe markings on his sheets, all reminding him that he needs to fix this, and fast.

After tossing and turning and being unable to sleep, Bakugo resounds himself to the fact that he’s better off trying to do something to take his mind off it. Nothing he can do in the middle of the night. After a too long shower and changing his sheets, he’s about to head downstairs to make a pot of coffee, (a ridiculously strong pot, let’s be honest), but his feet take him to Deku’s room.

Knowing that the damn nerd is too trusting of his classmates, the door is unlocked. Bakugo cracks the door open wide enough to see Deku asleep in bed. Bakugo doesn’t leave the doorway, just stands there long enough to confirm Deku’s breathing and waits for him to roll over before finally heading downstairs.

After pouring his first cup, Bakugo tries to think of ways to subtly address his guilt without having to explicitly say it. Bakugo is notoriously bad at words and feelings. Bakugo decides that small gifts will have to work until he can figure out the right words to say. Quick google search shows there’s a store that sells hero merchandise that opens early enough that he can run there before class and still make it on time.

Cut to Bakugo staring at the shelves trying to decide how outlandish of a gift does he want, he decides on a small set of All-Might themed writing utensils that even come with a small zippered bag to keep them all in. He quickly pays for it and then heads to class.

He’s hoping to get there before Deku, and everyone else, so he can slip it into his desk and not have anyone notice. But sure enough, Iida, Ochaco, and Momo are already there. Damn overachievers. He curses quietly to himself and takes his seat. Slowly the classroom fills with the other students and Bakugo gives up until lunch.

The morning drags on but eventually it’s time to break for lunch, Bakugo takes his time gathering his things and is finally able to slip the gift into Deku’s desk. He drops it off and all but runs from the classroom. When everyone returns to the classroom while Aizawa sensei begins to discuss what hero class would consist of, but all Bakugo hears is the small gasp from Deku behind him play on repeat.

The rest of the day goes by slowly but uneventful. Bakugo turns in earlier than normal, waving off the questions from Kirishima and Mina, and heads to his room. Bakugo gets ready for bed, and stairs at his ceiling hoping that his sleep goes uninterrupted.

No such fucking luck.

Once again, 2:00am rolls around and Bakugo shoots up wide awake, another nightmare about Deku’s death. This time consisting of Deku’s body rejecting OFA. It’s Bakugo showing up at the Midoriya household to wave his U.A. acceptance letter only to have the door open to a teary and puffy eyed Inko.

“Auntie Inko…what happened?”

Inko breaks down into tears and Bakugo knows something happened to Deku. “Come inside Bakugo, I’ll put a pot of tea on, I have a lot to tell you.” Some hour and a half later, after getting the whole breakdown of All Might training him so that his body would be able to withstand the turmoil that comes with inheriting OFA, and being told that Deku’s body was so destroyed that they had no choice but to cremate him.

Bakugo leaves the house with eyes burning with unshed tears and a jaw clenched so tightly that he’s sure he’s chipped a molar or two.  The dream ends with Bakugo finding their old abandoned tree fort in the woods outside of town and collapsing in front of it with his head in his hands, tugging at blonde spikes while tears finally slip down and land on the falling sign of “Fort BakuIzu: Future hero’s only.”

It once again turns into an early morning for Bakugo, same routine as yesterday. Long shower, sheet change, creeping up to Deku’s room, check to make sure he’s alive, strong pot of coffee and a trip to the merch store.

This time he finds a key chain, with the words “Plus Ultra” on one side and “I am here!” on the other. This time he’s fortunate enough to get to class early enough so he doesn’t have to worry about getting caught. He slips the gift into Deku’s desk and waits for everyone to show up. And sure enough, Deku strolls in, friends in tow. Deku take’s his seat and once again, the very soft gasp behind him resonates in Bakugo’s head, he is so preoccupied that he doesn’t write a single note down that day.

In the common room later, Bakugo knows he can’t play off going to bed early two nights in a row. People will start asking questions, and the last thing he needs to hear is “Are you okay?” Bakugo pushes his food from dinner around his plate, not really eating any of it, and manages to sparsely interact with his friends long enough to procrastinate going to bed until his usual time.

Once again, Bakugo is laying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, this time contemplating taking one of the sleeping pills he was prescribed after the League of Villains kidnapping. ‘Taking that medication is not an option. I am not weak, I am not helpless, I’ll be fine.’ But even he knew that wasn’t the case. He eventually falls into a fitful sleep.

And for the third night in a row, his 2:00am routine happens again, but this time the dream he had was truly gut wrenching.

They finally hit pro hero status, they finally graduate, get their licenses and are full-fledged heroes. But a short 6 months after their debut, Bakugo and Deku are called to handle a particularly nasty villain. Whoever this guy was, he was able to maneuver and manipulate concrete. And before back up can arrive, Deku turns his back to try and move some civilians and is crushed to death by concrete. Bakugo races to try and get him before he falls, but he already knows that even if Deku survived, the way his back crumpled, Deku would be paralyzed.

When back up finally arrives, they stumble across and decimated district in town, no villain in site and a deceased Deku cradled in the arms of a sobbing Bakugo. The sobs are blood chilling, and it’s just Bakugo with his face in matted green curls repeating over and over “you can’t leave me.”

Medics eventually try and pull Deku away from him to take care of the body and Bakugo straight up bites one of them. Bakugo picks up Deku’s cold body and cradles it as if he were glass and walks over to the police squad car that’ll take him to the county morgue.

By the time Bakugo makes it to the kitchen and gets his coffee, he’s close to pulling out his hair. He knows that his subconscious will continue to create scenarios until Bakugo finally talks to Deku. But how do you even begin to address an apology that is years overdue.

Dropping temperatures and falling leaves reminds Bakugo that Deku is constantly forgetting appropriate winter wear, so he races to the merch store, buys a winter beanie, All Might themed of course, and manages to snag a gift bag before running back to the dorms.

As he goes to slip the gift back on the door of Deku’s door, it swings open, and there is Deku ready to leave for class.

Bakugo drops the bag and manages to completely disappear. He skips class for the day, spends the first part of his day hyperventilating in his dorm before taking off for a run as if he were training for a marathon.

When everyone gets back to the dorm, Kirishima is the first to get to Bakugo’s room and when he gets a look at Bakugo’s red, flushed, and damp forehead, he tells himself that its just a small fever, silently hands over his notes for the day, and mumbles, “call me if you need me.”

Showered and curled up in bed, Bakugo is just laying there with is thoughts racing and being unable to think about how he’s going to face Deku ever again. Only moments after a fleeting though of changing schools, his door opens and in walks Deku.

Deku silently comes into the room, ‘why did I forget to lock the goddamn door!’ Bakugo silently screams to himself. Wordlessly, Deku pulls up the desk chair to Bakugo’s beside and just takes a seat. Deku has this look in his eyes that Bakugo can’t quite make out.

After seconds, minutes, hours, passed, Deku reaches out and cards one crooked and scarred hand through Bakugo’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp and Bakugo’s eyes immediately food with tears. Deku freezes. He’s gone almost a full decade, without seeing Bakugo showing any signs of vulnerability, and now he’s seen the worst of it twice now, only a few months apart.

Just as Deku opens his mouth, Bakugo moves faster than light and in a blink of any eye, he’s got both hands cradling Deku’s, thumbs strategically placed over his pulse point Bakugo drops his forehead to Deku’s, and takes a minute or two just to simply count Deku’s heartbeats.

“Kacchan…. What’s wrong? What happened? Wha-?”

But before Deku could go on a mumbling rant, Bakugo noses his face into those out of control curls, takes a deep breath of Deku’s floral scented shampoo, drops the smallest and most delicate kiss to Deku’s forehead and the tears just fall.

Deku slowly brings his hands up to Bakugo’s wrists and just waits for him to move. Eventually, the tears stop, and Bakugo begins to pull away, squeezing Deku’s hands as they slip away. Bakugo doesn’t think he’s ever felt so raw, exposed, vulnerable and insufferably cold all at once. He quickly gets up and digs in his closet for the baggiest hoodie he can find.

Finally turning to face Deku, sleeves of the hoodie pull down past his hands, shoulders hunched, he gives Deku a half-hearted shrug and adverts his eyes.

“Kacchan…”

“Deku…”

They start together. Both trying to process this whole interaction. Bakugo’s mouth snaps shut and he silently begs Deku to finish his thought.

“Kacchan, what’s with the gifts? You’re not poking fun at me again, are you?”

“NO! No, please no. I really hope it didn’t come off that way.”

“If it’s not a joke, then w-“

“BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF!”

Bakugo erupts in self directed anger.

“Deku what the fuck am I supposed to with myself!? I’m supposed to be a hero! I’m supposed to save people! What kind of hero would I be if I can’t even save you?”

Deku’s eyes widen, he had no idea this is where the conversation would turn. He waits for Bakugo to continue, hoping that getting this off his chest will be what Bakugo needs.

“I was a bully, Deku! And before you try and tell me that I wasn’t or that you forgive me, it still doesn’t up for the fact that only a year and a half ago I told you to kill yourself!” Bakugo is red faced once again, he’s breathing heavy and he’s got his hands clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles are white and he’s sure he has 8 crescent shaped nicks on his palms.

Deku stands there, unmoving, knowing that moving too fast or speaking too loudly will send Bakugo running away like a skittish alley cat.

“Deku, I have truly slept in three days. I can’t sleep, so I don’t sleep, because when I do sleep, I inevitably wake up and have to face the reality of one of my biggest fears. I have to face the fact that I don’t know what I’d do if you right here, and even more so coming to terms with the fact that I don’t deserve to have you here. You should HATE me, you should want nothing to do with me, I am nothing more than your bully and deserve nothing more than to be cast to the way-side, only to be never acknowledged by you ever again.”

Deku moves slowly and cautiously, eyes constantly asking for permission, and wraps his hand around one of Bakugo’s wrist and pulls him to the bed. The boys end up sitting cross legged and back to back on top of the comforter and Deku breaks the silence.

“I’m not going to force you to say anything. But if you wanted to, I figured this might be easier. I want you to tell me everything on your mind, I want you to get everything off your chest and I want you to tell me what has been keeping you up at night. I won’t force you, but I am asking.”

Bakugo takes a shaky deep breath and just unloads. He talks about the nightmares, the regret, the guilt, the heartbreak that these dreams keep bringing up. Before long, Bakugo is exhausted, his whole body weight is sagged against Deku’s back and his head is laid back on one of Deku’s shoulders.

Deku once again moves slowly and cautiously, a soft whine escaping Bakugo at the lost of the of sturdy presence behind him. He think’s Deku’s leaving, and tenses up as he fears for the worst. But instead of leaving, Deku sets out to start getting Bakugo’s room set up the way that Bakugo likes to sleep.

Window slightly cracked, ceiling fan on just high enough for a gentle hum to soak up some of the silence, room temperature bottle of water at the beside, double checks the alarms and packs up Bakugo’s school back and ensures everything for tomorrow is accounted for.

Deku turns to Bakugo and begins to manhandle Bakugo onto his pillow. Bakugo doesn’t say anything, he just lays there in some sort of exhausted haze eyes following Deku’s movement as he takes his slippers off, pulls his phone charger out of his pocket and crawls into bed next to Bakugo.

Before Deku can fully get himself situated, Bakugo has him pinned to the mattress, face buried in Deku’s abdomen with fingers creasing his sleep shirt and another apology resting on his lips. But before Bakugo even tries to open his mouth, Deku gently places a kiss to Bakugo’s temple and mumbles quietly, “we’re okay, you’re gunna be okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Bakugo smashes himself impossibly closer to Deku and sleeps into a thankfully empty slumber. Bakugo wakes up again at 2:00am but instead of a racing heart and singed sheets, he’s met with a mass of curls and small snores. Taking a deep breath and pulling Deku closer, he falls back asleep.

Both boys wake up to the sound of Bakugo’s alarm, and he’s honestly grateful to hear it, because it meant that he finally got a full night’s rest and doesn’t have to worry about slamming a whole pot of coffee before 6:00am.

They move sluggishly and they untangle from the sheets and each other. And before Deku can leave and before he loses his nerve, Bakugo lurches forward, hands once again cradling Deku’s jaw and pulse points, he drops a kiss and an apology over and over on to Deku’s lips, “I’m sorry” kiss, “I’m so so sorry” kiss kiss, on repeat until the tension releases from Bakugo’s shoulders.

Pulling away with cheeks tinged pink, eyes a little glassy, and lips slightly dry, Deku places his own kiss to Bakugo’s mouth and makes a promise that the boys will grab some hot chocolate after school and take a long walk while they try and unpack what’s happened in the last week.