#I feel so lonely and unwanted and I’m sure I could be doing more but at some point so much time passes that it feels like I can’t

[deityofhearts]

It’s just like, I know I have the capacity to be happy and be loved but I don’t feel loved and as long as I don’t feel loved I can’t be happy

[arctrooper69]

Mine

Here's my piece for the wonderful @isaidonyourknees for the @cloneficgiftexchange! So sorry it's a day and a half late! 😂😅

Warnings: Suggestive spice (nothing explicit), unwanted advances, jealousy, angst

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"Leave me alone, Crosshair." The order meant to be snappish slipped out instead with a tired sigh.

"No," came the reply.

You sighed again as you felt him shift and sit down a few feet away. No more words were exchanged - the silence felt both peaceful, yet suffocating.

"Why are you up here pouting?" He finally spoke.

You glanced at him sharply. "I'm not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not!"

He huffed dryly. "Sure looks like it to me."

"Hunter benched me!"

Crosshair shifted and sighed, "It's for your own good."

You scoffed, "And how would you know what's good for me?"

"You're exhausted. You're off your game."

"I'm fine. I feel fine."

He sighed again and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes. "That constant tapping of your foot and the way you're shaking tells me you're trying to run on stims and caf."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "And how would you know?"

He was silent. "Because I've done the same thing."

"So that makes you think you're better than me?"

"No."

You crossed your arms, turning away from him. “I’m still not pouting.”

“Sure.”

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just go away.” This time the words did deliver the sharp edge you’d wanted before, but now you weren’t sure it was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted.

“Fine, came the equally snappish response. Crosshair stood and headed back down the wooded trail. A sudden disappointment threatened to overtake you and a heat burned in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it back.

“Crosshair wait…” you called out, turning to face him as he paused and turned back.

“What?”

“I…” You stopped. No. Crosshair had better things to do than to deal with emotions that you yourself couldn’t even decipher. “Nevermind.”

For a second he paused, almost as if waiting for you to once again change your mind. He shook his head and turned around once again, disappearing into the woods, leaving you on your own.

Fine. It’s fine. You’d asked for privacy and that’s exactly what he gave you. Yet, it felt lonely nonetheless.

Crosshair was confusing to say the least. One moment it felt like he was trying to make an emotional connection, and the next he acted like he wanted nothing to do with you.

The roar of engines echoed through the trees from the base of the hill as the Marauder soared into the sky and disappeared into the atmosphere.

***

It seemed like forever ago that you'd met the surly sniper on a job. It was forever ago. So much had changed since a heated exchange of angry words led to a moment of heedless passion. One night. A romance ignited by the very intensity that divided you. The same fingers that rested pompously on the trigger of a rifle soon pulled through tangled hair and moved with purpose against your warmth. Tongues once sharp and taunting, now slotted through parted lips with desperate pleas for more.

And then it was over. Back to the cold realities of war. No words were spoken, only awkward avoidances and inverted eyes.

Talk to me, you'd wanted to say. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.

Perhaps that's all it was to him. Maybe you'd given him everything he wanted in that moment. Maybe that's all you were to him - a distraction - a soldier's relief from the stress of a never ending war.

You'd wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. Then the galaxy changed and as the Republic fell, so did your hopes.

And now after so long, he was back.

***

It was nearing dusk before you finally pushed yourself from the ground and headed back down the path.

Fueled by a growing sense of hunger and the need to be around others, you found yourself walking towards the local cantina.

The music blared from somewhere above, pumping a bass that rattled your bones.

Despite the club-like atmosphere the lighting was dim, illuminating the same bar scene that haunted almost every planet in the galaxy.

The air was thick with the scent of spice and the sound of raucous laughter. You sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Despite the bustle, it still felt lonely.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

Fingers ran across your back as you spun around to face the unfamiliar voice.

A large nikto smiled drunkenly over at you as he leaned against the bar.

“You look lonely. You here alone?”

His breath reeked of alcohol. “You're real pretty,” he slurred, reaching out to grab your arm.

You jerked away, shooting him a glare. "Back off," you growled, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

The nikto persisted, his grip tightening. "Come on, don't be like that.”

“Dude,” you rolled your eyes, “leave me alone.”

He sighed, seemingly annoyed at your refusal.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this. Let me at least walk you home, baby.”

“Don't call me that,” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grip.

His jaw stiffened as he stood up straighter.

“You should be more grateful that I'm even giving you the time of day, bitch!”

Now it was your turn to stand. The nikto grabbed your arm again. Your fingers curling into a fist, ready to strike the stupid smirk from his drunken face.

"She's not yours to touch."

A familiar voice growled from behind as the nikto’s hand was wrenched from your arm with a cry of pain.

Crosshair.

What was he doing back already? You turned to face him standing behind you, expression dark and dangerous. His hand rested on the blaster at his hip, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

The nikto's eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, asshole?”

Crosshair glowered, taking a menacing step forward. “I'm the guy who's going to put an extra hole in you if you don't leave immediately.”

The nikto paused, unsure if he was bluffing or not.

Crosshair clicked the safety off, loosening the blaster from its holster.

"I'm not gonna ask you again," he said, voice low and threatening.

The nikto had enough. “Geez, okay fine! I'm leaving!”

Without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood silently watching as Crosshair stepped forward, his practiced eyes scanning every inch of you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You let out a shaky breath, “No,” you murmured, “I'm fine.” A smile flitted across your face as you looked up.

Honey brown eyes stared sharp, pierced with concern and something else.

Jealousy?

“Good.” He replied. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the courage to do so.

But this time something rose within your own chest, warm and encouraging.

“Crosshair?” The words came timidly despite their bold intent.

He looked sharply, “What?”

“What did you mean by that? ‘She's not yours to touch’?” You asked. His hand, still on your arm, gripped a bit tighter, pulling you close. Something flashed in his eyes. It wasn't the hardness you'd come to expect from him.

“It means you're mine. You've always been mine.”

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[sunny-speaks]

Nerd (RIVAL!DACTED x Reader)

First Ren Fic of the new year let's go guys!

Lol, life's been pretty busy and I haven't had as much time to write as I wanted but I guess I have a new aspiration for 2024! Enjoy the fic!

Characters: [REDACTED]/[RIVAL-DACTED] from @14dayswithyou x reader !!

Quick summary: library date??? with [RIVAL-DACTED]??? even though hes a pain to you??? more likely than you would think-

--

You groaned into your hand, head starting to slump into the crook of your arm.

You loved academic validation and you were all for getting good grades and all, but…

Studying?

Always found a way to bore you somehow.

You were painfully poring over the midterm research that your postsecondary teacher and lecturer had assigned for your ‘Psychology in Modern Media’ course.

Sure, it was fun and all. But the exams were sooo boring and the prep material?

God awfully boring.

You took a sip from the drink that you got from the nearby coffee store, twirling the near-empty cup in your hand as you wistfully sighed.

High school was something you’d taken for granted, huh… Man, you'd kill to do those stupid assigned readings right now.

You could feel some form of fatigue taking over your body riiight before… “Angel? What are you doing here~?”

That cotton candy bastard showed up.

Ugh! You couldn’t get enough of him! (In a negative sense! In a negative sense!)

He was everywhere!

You spotted his annoyingly attractive face in that dumb coffee shop earlier when he winked at you and five people behind you nearly fainted.

That ridiculously hot face of his was giving you unwanted and unwarranted troubles! You wanted him gone.

He pulled up in that ridiculously tight black bodysuit and that white slasher hoodie of his with too many belts and buckles to keep track of. The same unfortunately went for his pants.

It’s like he was trying to show himself off! Ugh, he knew he was hot shit, didn’t he?!

You glared at him, frustration seeping through, “What do you want now, [REDACTED]? If it’s not your head on a spike, I’m good.”

He raised his arms in mock surrender, “Woah, what’s got you so worked up, Angel? Is it lonely at the top?” He’d let you top him in anything if you wanted… In class, in bed, whatever…

He looked so stupidly attractive with the way his hair framed his face, the way his grin sat perfectly on all his features, the little way his eyebrows creas—

“Ugh, just, shut up, will you?” You scoffed out at him then winced at your volume.

That was rude. Even for you.

You sighed, exasperated, slight guilt remnants on your face. “I- My bad… Just the… exam prep is confusing. And I don’t get it.”

He gave an inquisitive tilt of his head, “Which questions?” He slid into the seat beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of black coffee lingering on your clothes from your previous encounter. You tried to erase that ugly feeling when you saw him smile at a pair of girls from earlier.

(…Does he always smile like that to others?)

(Ha, yeah. Not like you’re anyone special…)

He smiled softly to himself as his breaths got deeper, trying to intake as much of your natural scent as he could. That was something he would always want more of...

(Those pathetic leeches from earlier left their stupid perfume lingering on his clothes… the only way to rid him of it was to sit closer to youuu <3)

Somehow, you were too preoccupied with your stupidly annoying questions to even berate his presence this time.

And if you were a little distracted by how close he was, that was no one else's business.

They’d been giving you way too much trouble for the past… half-hour or so.

You picked up the question sheet and pointed at the parts you didn’t understand, “So, I got what a sociopath should look like and covert signs in that dumb show I had to watch, and I know the ways to find sociopathic responses in someone, but how does that correlate with these random non-associated symptoms portrayed by this character?!”

You involuntarily leaned closer to him as you stabbed the piece of paper with an accusatory finger, frustrated. “I swear! The teacher hates me or something!”

[REDACTED] wouldn’t let it slide if the teacher actually hated you though… He’d ruin her reputation amongst colleagues while keeping her isolated from social media. They’d make all family members repulsed of her and willing to not contact her. And then they’d get her fired from her job. If she ever tried to get another job, he could easily fabricate a couple pieces of incriminating evidence from one of his crime scenes…

But he knew you would find it hot that he's confident in himself and that he's witty. So he wouldn't explain his plan just like that.

He grinned, a condescending quip on the tip of his tongue. “Maybe it’s just because I’m a hotter student.”

You spluttered in indignance, bewildered how he even thought of that. Was he insinuating he was hotter than you?! He might be right then... “Wh-What?! Asshole! Ugh!” Just as you were about to get up, he added onto his comment.

“Also, the answer’s right there.” He twirled a pen with his fingers, softly whistling to himself.

“Huh?!” You couldn’t believe it.

But he was right...?

You read the part he had underlined and circled and… the answer was there. That's... weird.

You didn’t have a clue on how you missed it! It drove you insane for so long, and for what?! For that stupidly sexy jerk to find it in one go?

You groaned reluctantly at the help. Maybe he wasn’t just… y’know, a piece of ass all the time... or a jerk. Maybe he was… kinda smart and nice. “Fine. Good job, I guess, asshat… Why’re you even here, god knows you don’t need to study. Like. Ever.” You eye up and down at his visible muscles that his outfit strains to keep compressed.

He pouts a little at the accusation. “Mm, even I study, angel. Might be hard to believe with a physique as good as mine, but I do take time to work on my studies.”

“Sure. And it was totally by chance that we saw each other at the coffee shop down the street. And that you study at the same library as me.” You drawled on, naming one coincidence after the other until [REDACTED] was subjected to some form of abject embarrassment. "What're you, a copycat?"

You paid that much attention to him? No one else… Just him?

Ooh, his heartbeat practically played hopscotch in his chest at the revelation! But no! He must remain calm and mean! Only for you!

They grinned slyly at you. “Angel, please. I would never even try to copy you. So it must’ve been your idea to imitate me, huh? Bet you stalk me or something,” He lied through their teeth, in the pathological way they were used to. They’d be lying if it wasn’t incredibly ironic.

“Hah, you wish.” Your nose twitched in annoyance. God, he was far too good at riling you up. “Whatever, what’s the answer to…”

And the two of you spent the rest of the day, bickering over answers.

Maybe [REDACTED] had earned a bit, a fraction, of your gratitude.

Maybe you were starting to like them a bit more.

But he’d never know that, it’s not like he reads your phone notes or messages or has cameras in your house.

…Right?

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hiii, just dropping a request<3

There's nothing I adore more than a good, old, sweet betrayal so pls make the villain offer a lot of money to superhero just to turn the hero in and have them all by themselves. Make the superhero and the league betray hero, drug them and take them to villain. For whatever reason. May that be to take their time to break them or due to possessiveness. It's one of my really loved tropes so I'd love it a lot if you wrote it. Make it extra angsty for us pls

That's all, thank you for providing us with your amazing work but make sure to rest well and stay hydrated. Much love to you sweetheart 🩶🩵

“I’ve missed you,” the villain said softly, their hands landing on the hero’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Their hands ran down the hero’s throat and with one finger, they lifted their chin. Despite their raw nature, the hero was much too tired to fight it. The drug had exhausted them.

“Look at me,” the villain said. “It’s such a pleasure to have you here.”

And the hero did meet their eyes. Lingering longer than they wanted. It wasn’t easy to escape the villain but that one moment of hope when they’d gone back home a month ago, was insignificant now.

They realised, they couldn’t win. The villain would do anything to possess them. They’d break their knees (they’d done it before), they would drug them (had also happened), they would break into their apartment (more than twice, actually) and do absolutely anything in their power to have them.

And they’d gotten their wish.

“You know I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Living with the villain sounded like a secure future. They’d take care of anything, literally anything but the hero also knew how lonely it was.

There was the villain and nothing but the villain. No friends, no family. The villain was greedy and stupidly in love.

So, the hero’s fingers curled around their nemesis’ hand. It was a fake kind of security but, god, they preferred it over whatever had happened to them. Where had friends led them? Right back to the start, right back to zero. It was a cycle, an endless one.

“Am I really that replaceable?” they whispered, staring in horror at the security footage the villain was showing them. The villain raised their hand to kiss the hero’s.

“Sweetheart, you know you’re not. Everybody knows,” they said.

“Why did they give up on me? I don’t understand, I don’t…” The hero looked at their nemesis, searching for an answer, searching for something. A moment of clarity, a moment of complete and utter clearness. But everything was blurry, everything was falling apart. They were unwanted, unloved.

They didn’t feel like a person anymore. The villain wanted them in a shallow way, they didn’t care about them. Not really.

Bleeding out like a sacrificial lamb.

The villain’s fingers traced the hero’s spine, all the way down and the hero was quite aware that they admired them. Wanting and deserving are two very different things.

“What does it feel like?” the villain whispered. “Knowing that you’re with me again?”

“Like I’m back in hell,” the hero answered. They swallowed and let themselves sink into the villain’s office chair, rubbing their face with the palm of their hand.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.” Again, the villain’s hand was on them, touching their throat and going down to their collarbone. They weren’t scandalous, never tried more than that. As if they wanted an actual relationship with consent and love. But the hero knew that this would never happen, that they would never break to become a pawn.

“It is, I resent you.”

“I saved you. I showed you what these people did to you. They don’t care about you. They knocked you out of their heaven, so they could live more luxuriously. These people love money more than company. I don’t,” the villain said, angry now. “The word became flesh.”

The hero looked at them, frowning.

“Are you religious?”

“Not in the slightest,” they answered. “But when I look at you, I sometimes believe that I am.”

The hero hated that answer more than anything.

[kimbap-r0ll]

Can you do a TWST imagine (Dorm Leaders+Jamil), In which reader’s parents are one of the great seven? (So like Malleus with reader who’s mother is Maleficent)

Hi, thank you for the ask! I think that this is a large amount of characters and because it's not just the dorm leaders (which I leave as an exception from my five-character limit), I'm just going to choose four random dorm leaders and Jamil.

Edit: For those wondering, I don’t headcanon Malleus and Maleficent being related, if someone has the chapter where this is mentioned let me know tho! As of now in twst it’s not confirmed. It was not my intention on making this seem like they were, so I’m sorry if this upset anyone

Malleus, Azul, Idia, Jamil, Vil with a reader whose parent is a Great Seven

Malleus

He's surprised, as that would mean you're also a fae. The two of you probably had a lot of similarities in terms of magical abilities and it made sense why you were living in Briar Valley. He just didn't know that you were related to a Great Seven, let alone the Thorn Fairy herself!

He doesn't consider it too much however, as he's just happy to be with you. He looks at you for who you are, rather than your reputation as Maleficent's daughter. He'll just say that it is an honor to be with you but that's as far as it will go.

Sebek on the other hand is freaking out that there's two super famous people on campus and that they're both in the same dorm as he is haha. Malleus will make sure that you don't get too much unwanted attention from curious students though as sometimes it can be overwhelming

Overall he's glad to be with you because of who you are, more than you being related to the Great Seven. Perhaps you should introduce him to your mother at some point, the two might have a lot in common

Azul

He knew you were from the sea but he didn't think you would be an octopoid like he was. He was super happy when you said that you were, since it made him feel less lonely.

But you shocked him even more when you said you were related to the Benevolent Sea Witch. Like, the person he looks up to? WHAT?!

He doesn't think he has the honor to be with you, but he fell in love with you because of who you were as a person to begin with. You were smart, talented, brave, and you looked at him as more than the head of Octavinelle or the "scary dorm leader in charge of the lounge."

He will ask to go to Corral Sea with you on some occasions, perhaps he's curious to see your mer form. But if you ask him, he'll be shy about it but with some convincing and lots of hugs he might cave in haha. Azul won't mind too much about your relation to Ursula, though he might be a bit nervous to meet her in person.

Idia

No way you were actually related to the King of the Underworld. No way, he's pressing x for doubt. But you said that it was true, and that you could show him and he was like "...no thanks I like my room."

He likes you for who you are as well, since you were the first one to geek out with him about video games and you were the first one to stand up for him when some students tried to gang up on the poor dorm leader. He admires your charisma but also your fearless personality.

If you do show him your father, expect Idia to hide behind you for most of the event. His hair might go red too, which you might point out is eerily similar to your dad's

Overall, he likes you because of who you are, and he won't worry about your connection to a Great Seven. If anyone tries to overwhelm you because of this information however, he might get upset

Jamil

He thought there was a reason you were so good at magic! Not to mention you would constantly talk about a talking parrot that was eerily similar to the tales of the Sorcerer of the Sands.

He thinks you're too good for him. Jamil's a vice dorm leader, let alone a servant to the Al Asim family, so he has no idea how someone so prestigious (at least in his opinion) would want to be with him. But you tell him that family names and such doesn't matter to you, and he feels the same way.

He might be a bit hesitant to show up in front of your father soon, so for now he might just ask you questions about him. How is it like to be related to him? Is the parrot really annoying? Stuff like that haha

Just remember that Jamil's there for you! He loves you because of who you are! Also, if you do end up showing him your father, expect him to be a bit flustered because he's anxious but the two of them will likely be on very good terms since they're kinda similar in your opinion.

Vil

Yeah you were beautiful, he knew that. But what he didn't know was that you were related to the Beautiful Queen, you know, the person Pomefiore's based off of.

He loves you because of who you are as well. He doesn't consider your parentage very important when he loves you. He won't tolerate people harassing you about your mother though.

He wouldn't mind meeting your mother though, since he has confidence in himself to look good. But once the two of them meet, the two of them realize that they're really similar haha.

He really doesn't care that much that you're related to the Great Seven, though he considers it an honor to be with you. Vil won't think much after that, but other Pomefiore students might be a bit scared of you haha.

[gtraccoon]

honestly feeling angsty at work so

a g/t trope: /unwanted/, but not really (and the names im using are just some of my favorite ocs :))

Vivina sat with her legs crossed, head leaned up against Otto’s neck. She loved them, and they loved her—she knew that for a fact—but there is a problem. There’s always a problem with her.

Otto is a human. Vivina was a borrower. She says was, because she doesn’t really borrow anymore—and that eats her alive. There’s nothing in the world she hated more than being useless, not being able to give back—yet Otto feeds her, helps her get around, houses her, all for free. For nothing.

It’s fair—at 4 inches tall, there’s not much you can do to help your human, and yet here she is, praying and hoping and wishing, doing everything she can.

Otto was ranting on about something, probably the Military again. They’d wanted to join since they were young, but they couldn’t: they never told Vivina why, either. It’s not like it mattered, that’s what they said.

“Otto?” Vivina asked suddenly, interrupting them in the middle of a rant about the Navy. “Oh, sorry—“

“No worries. What’s up?” They talk so softly, clicking onto a new tab on their computer.

“Er, so, uh, you want to join the Navy, right?”

«Да.» (yes)

“Why don’t you?” She sat up a little straighter, and they just hummed.

Otto paused, tilting their own head slightly. “Oh, I dunno. I wouldn’t want to leave you here by yourself,” they replied, clicking a few words into the search bar. Some Russian stuff.

“…Otto, am I holding you back?” They stopped again, pulling their hand back from the computer and lifting Vivina off of their shoulder, holding her in cupped hands infront of them.

“Vi, you know you don’t. It’s just a personal decision. I’d rather be here with you.”

“Are you sure? God, I just…” She trailed off, and they waited. Fuck. They always waited, patient, gentle, careful. “I just don’t want to be a liability.”

They furrowed their brows, avoiding eye contact for a moment. “You are far from a liability.”

“But I don’t help you. I’m not even noticeable.”

They frowned. “Vi…”

“I can’t do anything. I just… I don’t know, I sit here, and I watch what you do. Why do you even love me?” She felt her head ache, forcing back tears. “You could be so much more. You could do so much more; you’ll always be more than me.”

“Physically, yes,” they muttered, hoping for their partner to stop degrading herself. “And you are small. But that’s fine—you are my whole world, and that makes you way more important than just your body. I cannot express to you enough how perfect you are, everything about you.” They smiled weakly. “You do help me. You just don’t know it.”

“I love you, but how do I help you. At all?” She took light notice of their partner’s Russian accent, which was slipping through a bit. It tended to happen when they spoke quickly.

“When you came to me I was nothing, you know. I didn’t have family to go back to. I couldn’t enlist because I wasn’t old enough; I couldn’t go back to school because I didn’t have any money. I didn’t think I deserved a chance—“ They paused, momentarily, before tightening their hold ever so slightly on their girlfriend. “—but here you are.”

She couldn’t help but smile. She hated being proven wrong, but yet when it came from Otto it just… it was okay.

“Thanks.”

“If anything, I should be thanking you—you stay with me through everything.” Before she could reply, they continued, pressing their thumb softly against Vi’s side. “You are everything.”

—

there r prolly some fucking spelling mistakes but i’m a lonely queer guy like i just need to write some romance ok 😞

[xoxothesubwayfugitive]

Be Careful of the Curse Chapter 43: Harry

“Poor Regulus. He was the baby of all of us, and he did so admire Lucius, I think. He was far too young when he started. It upset me.”

“I told Andromeda about it, but I guess she wasn’t around when it happened either. Of course she cares now, but it wasn’t a big deal to her. Sirius always seemed like he just accepted it, too.”

“It is strange,” she finally said after considering it longer. “He had the wrong people mourning him all this time. He should have been blasted off the tapestry for that.”

“I was surprised she never put Sirius back. I thought everyone thought he was in Voldemort’s pocket all along.”

"She believed that, for a time. But no one who really knew…Voldemort…thought it made sense. I think the idea of it helped her save face with her friends a bit, but he had already been disloyal to her for so long, and she surely noticed that no one else – no one who ever was in his pocket, I mean –" she said with bitter smile, “ever bought into the idea. I never saw him again after my wedding.”

“I’m surprised he even went to that.”

“Under duress, I believe. We hadn’t been particularly close for some time. There were some…differences of opinion at school.”

“About Professor Snape.”

“Mostly that, yes, although we had both chosen our sides anyway.”

“He was awful to Snape. And he didn’t really stop when they were grown up.”

“Severus was a difficult person too.”

“But not to you.”

“Well, no.” This was the door she had told herself not to hope he would open, and she felt her shoulders relax slightly at the prospect of someone wanting to listen. “Maybe this is an old-fashioned thing to say, but I think he needed a woman in his life. He let me mother him, and then he would escort me to parties and things if Lucius couldn’t go. And I believe he liked it when I asked him for help. Maybe you know this, but I asked him to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco, to do what Voldemort asked of him if he couldn’t, and I think it pleased him to be asked. I know now that there was more to it than anyone knew, but he did try to help Draco. He was always watching him, and I think he was doing it for me, specifically, because he saw how I worried.”

Harry considered this. “It bothers me that the “good guys”, my dad and his friends, couldn’t see that he was so…sad. I mean, he was kind of like me. If everyone wasn’t so interested in me already, I could have gotten to Hogwarts exactly like him, dressed wrong and skinny and awkward. And maybe my only friends would have been Death Eaters, and they’d blame me for it when I was just trying to fit in.”

He was still lonely, Narcissa thought. Thankfully he had a home full of people who loved him now, and he would never be friendless or indeed anything less than a hero in his life, but nothing had ever been stable before now. Draco’s life, however awful it had come to be, had at least always spun on the axis of someone eagerly waiting at the train station to take him back to the same house where he had grown up as a prince. Harry would always feel, intrinsically, a sore kinship with the unwanted boys.

“I’m sure your parents, and Sirius, and everyone, regretted it in later life. It was schoolboy teasing. It was ugly, but that doesn’t change the paths we all took later. It doesn’t make – it doesn’t mean we were better. Severus was one person, compared to everything that…” She had to trail off at that. No point in relitigating the terrible crimes.

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Twenty One - Shiny

Word Count: 1046 (I had them talk too much 👀)

Warnings: Javier Peña’s introspection featuring bad jokes (not even Javier Peña is safe from Nerdie’s “brand” of comedy - might be offensive to call a brand lol)

Notes: I didn’t mean to try and make this funny. I was going for cute, and I don’t know how to make Javier Peña cute because he smolders too much so this is where we are today.

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenges

The lake had become Javier’s refuge. A place of quiet reflection before work early in the morning, midday for a lunch break and in the evenings. The days were getting longer so now he could watch the sun cast the hues of the sky so the water could reflect them. Occasionally, his deputy would stop by at first, but he feels like he intimidated them with his presence when he didn’t intend to. Now they do not anymore.

Javier Peña finds himself in a curious situation. He’s either attracting unwanted attention from some women he has previously said no to or those he knew were just a bad idea or he couldn’t quite get the hang of the inner office workings of the sheriff’s department. Used to being able to find a place for himself within even dire circumstances was a skill that had served him well since childhood. Feeling like an outsider in a place he called home was eating away at him. He wasn’t exactly sure how to fix it.

It was a clear spring afternoon and he was contemplating this issue once again on his drive out to the lake. He happened to see another vehicle, a small red box of a car, parked near the lone tree he normally did when he came here. At first he didn’t see anyone when he got out, so maybe they were just sitting in the car or something, but he heard the person before seeing them. The light jangle was a sound he didn’t expect to hear outside of the courthouse. Getting out of his truck, he spied a familiar silhouette with a black pencil skirt and a white blouse. Upon hearing the crunch of the dress under his feet, the woman turned and waved. Surprised but friendly like always, the shiny charms from the bracelet on her left arm shimmering as the sun hit it.

“Good afternoon. Didn’t expect to see you here sheriff. How are you?”

“Alright, how about yourself? I didn’t peg you for an outdoors type. Especially in your work clothes.” That earned a light chuckle as she turned back to face the water.

“I pass by this place on the way home from work. Thought I’d actually get out of the car and look at it for once. Doesn’t hurt to do that from time to time.”

“No it doesn’t.”

A few minutes pass as they both look at the water feeling the breeze as it skirts the surface of the lake.

“You’re not going to ask me why I’m out here Thalia? I thought you would.”

“I’m curious but it’s your business Javier. Your admirers shouldn’t come out this far.” Peña was the one to laugh this time, his hands graced his hips with a smirk to match.

“Please don’t tell me that’s what you think of me too. I’m a lot more than just that.” Thalia looked up at Javier and removed his yellow aviators he often wore when out and about. Matched his light and dark brown uniform well.

“You sure that’s not what you think of yourself? You seem to be in hiding. Well not only from those crazed horny ladies, but from other things.” She folded the and tucked them into one of his shirt pockets on his chest, patting it. “The sheriff I know isn’t afraid of much, maybe his dad and pickles.”

“That’s a low blow Thalia. And I just dislike them. Not afraid. I’m not hiding from anything or anyone I just…” Javier’s voice trailed off, was it just the office stuff bothering him? The adjustment from being home or everything else? Could be anything, nothing he wanted to think or talk about right now. He peered at her bracelet then noticed something on her sleeve. “What is that? Are you the one in hiding with that red stain? I’m not going to need to take you in am I?” His head tilted and with an eyebrow raised, Peña’s question made Thalia sigh.

“Not unless you’re going to book a broken jar of strawberry jam.”

“I was going to be shocked if you didn’t mention some sort of spill or mishap. You need one of those gown or smock things.” His hands waved up and down his torso and arms. Her eye rolled as she shook her head.

“Thanks for the empathy Javier.”

“Anytime cariño (dear). Call me Javi.”

“Should I? I not sure about that. What will the people say?” Placing a hand on her chest, Thalia gave a fake exasperated look. “Such a scandal!”

“Whatever you say, I’m no stranger to them. You’re not as funny as you think Thalia.” Javier crossed his arms, listening to the trees rustle. When was the last time he just joked around with someone? Not since Steve and Connie in Florida.

“I don’t need to make anyone else laugh but myself and since I have an audience of one, my jokes always hit.” Thalia’s smile softened as she watched Javier, his shoulders seemed relaxed. Whenever she’d seen him he was usually on edge, this was a good look for him. She rocked on the balls of her feet for a few minutes, then worked up the nerve to ask. “You wanna get some something to eat? Like some barbecue? I’m in the mood for ribs.”

“I don’t know. Is your blouse going to be safe from the sauce? Maybe a burger and fries? You’ll still need a smock either way.” Thalia pinched his arm and Javier grabbed it, making his arm go limp. “You’ve assaulted an officer of the law!”

“I’ll pay for dinner for the wounded sheriff. I’m getting in the car, you’re welcome to work yourself back over to your truck. Come by Big Sal’s if you wanna eat.” Walking toward her car, Peña followed her and opened her door after she unlocked it. She hopped in with a grin, Javi close her door and started back to his truck. She kept an eye on him to make sure he got in the truck alright - another joke she told herself. Starting up her car, she pulled off as Javier followed.

Maybe he did manage to connect with someone else since being back home, it just wasn’t who he thought it would be.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Twelve: Reunion

More plans revealed. Love reunites. A test is passed with flying colors.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER TWELVE: REUNION

Martin was not prepared.

He’d thought he was prepared, ready to face off against giant tentacle monsters, to grab Jon and cliff-dive or whatever they had to do to get away.

He wasn’t prepared to plunge right into the Lonely as if it had been waiting for him.

Maybe it had. Funny enough, it saved their lives.

They landed in full sight of the King and Jon, in full sight of the threat, but they also landed in the mist, in the isolation, in the invisible, and like riding a bicycle, Martin adjusted at once to keep them unseen.

Arthur froze as if in carbonite. Martin had no desire to risk detection through proximity, and so dragged him back and out of the way.

Then came a horrifying conversation, and Martin was furious.

Jon was… being empathetic to that thing?

It somehow wasn’t surprising (he’d defended Simon Fairchild, for the love of fuck), but still! Now? After torture? During his own rescue operation?

Did Jon have to pack-bond with every damn thing that didn’t actively try to eat him?

Martin tried to focus. He followed Arthur’s unseen talking compass. Kept them in the Lonely, cold, unseen.

And then Kayne appeared and took Arthur away like plucking a flea off a dog, so that worked out just great.

Martin isn’t shivering anymore. He’s adjusted very quickly.

But it’s not like the eyepocalypse. Not like being swallowed. He knows who he is, whom he loves, that he is loved. He cares enough to be concerned that Arthur was taken by Kayne so suddenly, presumably for whatever distraction he had planned.

Martin is himself. He’s okay. He doesn’t have to fight to remember things. So though it’s worse, it’s okay. The Lonely isn’t capturing him like it had at the end of the world.

But it sure is lipping all over the back of his neck like some unwanted creep.

Alone, he walks.

Alone, he walks, and pushes back against the fear that every step is drawing him deeper.

He hadn’t been prepared at all for how familiar it would feel.

Like tailored clothes. No—

Like an old mattress, dipping in the center to his exact shape. No—

Like a home he knows so well he could navigate in the dark. No—

“Like a voice you could follow to the end of the world?” says Kayne.

And Martin can’t feel him, can’t sense the invasion, and it’s like watching a rock fall into water and leaving no ripples.

But it’s Kayne, and Martin doesn’t like him, and instinctively pulls away.

Which means further in, and the palace around him fades.

He hadn’t meant to do that.

“Shit!” Martin says—except no, he didn’t.

“Shit,” Martin actually says, quietly, not a whisper, but hardly a shout.

Calmly, he does a self-check.

He knows who he is.

Knows who loves him.

Knows whom he loves.

He can still find Jon. And like this, he thinks, he might be better able. After all, in here, the edge of panic has gone soft and insubstantial, worry for Arthur has disappeared, and even finding Jon doesn’t seem terribly urgent.

He’s still going to do it, of course. He starts to walk.

He sees where Jon is. A blur of light, a weird greenness, distant, yet clear. Looking at it creates afterimages.

How does that work? He has no idea, and can’t bring himself to care.

“I’m coming, Jon,” he says, just to make a sound, because he doesn’t want to fall into silence and go further in.

The Lonely doesn’t feel exactly the same as before, though.

There’s eagerness in it. It’s no longer inert, waiting as if never to take a breath; it’s still that horrible peace, but it’s… different.

“I’m sure there’s a logical reason,” he says quietly, and then he stops caring about it entirely.

All the world is gray, and soft, and sad; welcoming, lovely, like the dampness after tears.

And it hurts; it does. There is a weight to this sorrow, deep in his heart, like rejection, but lacking its sting.

It’s so familiar. 

“Hey, great news,” says Kayne, dancing in front of him and blocking his view. “I got tricked! We’re not all doomed to some looping human nightmare, after all!”

Kayne doesn’t matter—but Martin stops walking.

Hm. That’s not right.

He frowns. He’s unmoored from the mess of emotions that had swallowed him since Jon was taken, but that brings him back to his earlier thought: why does it feel different in here?

Well, the Beholding changed, so why not the Lonely?

But why would it change? Martin hadn’t been in it. There was no one in it. Was there?

Was it changing in response to Jon, too? Jon is marked, if not as deeply.

More importantly, does it matter whether it makes sense or not?

“It absolutely does not matter,” says Kayne. “They’re all more aware, thanks to your boyfriend.”

Maybe he was being overwrought.

“Yep!”

He’s sitting. He doesn’t remember doing that.

“Good move.”

His cheeks sort of itch, and he reaches up and realizes he’s crying.

He stares at the wetness on his fingers as if he’s never seen his hands before.

That isn’t right.

Is it?

It’s not so bad.

Better, actually.

Feels…

It doesn’t feel.

It’s nice. To not feel.

The next blink, he happens to look up, and he sees where Jon is again, that green flame in the distance.

Martin realizes he’s walking, and doesn’t remember doing it.

That’s all right. There’s Jon out there. He has to reach him.

“Even though it’s going to hurt?” says Kayne, who doesn’t matter.

“Yes,” says Martin, who won’t look away from that green flame again. There’s some reason he shouldn’t. It probably doesn’t matter, but, well, his mother always told him he was too bullheaded for his own good.

“What’s up with the reference?” says Kayne. “You don’t even miss her!”

“I don’t,” says Martin. “I don’t miss anybody.”

“Mm, true, true,” says Kayne, keeping pace. “Hey, lookit here!” He claps his hand in front of Martin’s face, hard and sharp.

Martin startles. Blinks.

Stops walking.

Kayne peers at him, not intrusive, though he should be—he’s practically in Martin’s face.

Martin can’t feel him. The Lonely doesn’t care about Kayne. So that’s fine.

It’s all fine.

“Useful,” murmurs Kayne. “Freaking reset button.”

There’s Jon’s green flame.

Martin is moving again.

“Okay, let’s try this,” says Kayne, and spins him around.

Kayne’s grip is terrible. It’s hot, and hard, and completely out of sync with everything else Martin feels (or doesn’t), and it is such a relief when Kayne lets go that Martin falls to his knees, gasping.

Though it… isn’t as upsetting as it was a moment ago.

Good. That was awful. Feeling that was bad.

It’s better here. Even the pain is gentle here.

But—

(There’s no but.)

Yes, there is. There’s a but.

“Haha, you said butt,” says Kayne, who doesn’t matter.

Martin is looking at his hands.

Strong hands.

Rough hands.

“Gonna need to fix that, you know,” says Kayne. “Certain presidential types won’t take you seriously with sandpaper fingers.”

Martin ignores him completely.

Jon has never minded his rough, rough hands.

Jon’s skin is… well. It’s not particularly cared for, but it is soft. Softer than Jon thinks.

Martin has had one (1) scary dream in which his hands tore Jon’s skin like tissue.

“Ooh,” says Kayne. “That’s a fun one. We’re gonna use that.”

But Jon never minded.

Where is Jon?

“Not here. It’s better that he’s not here,” says Kayne.

That’s true. It…

Wasn’t, though.

No.

“No,” says Martin to nobody, and stands, and remembers.

Behind him.

He turns, spots the green flame, and begins walking.

Kayne makes a sound like a sigh and a train engine and a failing dam. “Well, it was nice to hope. Fine, fine, we’ll work around it.” He’s pacing Martin again. “You know, you’re so damn close to perfect. If not for this stupidity.” He waves his hand in Jon’s direction.

Martin doesn’t answer because Kayne doesn’t matter.

“Hey. Why are you chasing after him?” His lips touch Martin’s ear. “Why are you following him?”

Martin has to answer. He doesn't know why, nor does he care; it’s like Kayne reached into his brain and pushed the talk button. “Because I love him.”

“But, you don’t. Right? You don’t feel anything.”

“Sure,” says Martin.

“Sure, what? Great answer, by the way, but I’m not looking for easily misinterpreted right now.”

“I love him.”

“You don’t feel a fucking thing.”

It’s hard to say this, to explain, but whatever Kayne did ensured he can’t not do it. “Love isn’t just a feeling. It’s completion. It’s when that person means everything, and even if you’re mad at them, you still want to be with them.” He’s able to finish, barely. “Even if you don’t feel anything, you still want them.”

“Gross,” Kayne says. “Hey, I was thinking of having you try that tissue-skin-tearing-sexy-times idea. Think he cries pretty? I can teach you to think he cries pretty. That’ll be fun, won't it? Sure it will. You’ll have a grand time.”

Martin ignores him because Kayne doesn’t matter.

“Do you have any idea how many layers of you are involved in this little obsession of yours?” says Kayne, and snaps his fingers.

Then there are more of him. Multiple Martins, standing to the sides like an honor guard, watching him follow that flame.

Martin ignores them.

They don’t ignore him. “Jon, do something,” says one. “I just want you to fix everything and stop being vulnerable.”

“Ouch,” says Kayne.

“I want him to do what I think is best, not what he thinks is best,” says a second.

“Eh, everybody wants that,” Kayne comments. “Boring.”

“Why can’t we just be left alone?” says a third. “We love each other so much. We’ve paid our dues. Why can’t it just be us, no monsters or gods or even other people?”

“What?” drawls Kayne. “You want him here, in the Lonely, with you? Hahaha! That only completely defeats the point of the place, and I have to wonder just how the universe would react if we pulled that off.” He considers. “Not well! Pretty sure we’d go cracking reality again. Might just have to do that on a Sunday afternoon.”

“I want to have the power for once,” says a fourth Martin, watching him walk by. “Maybe I should. Jon would let me. He’d let me do whatever I want.”

“True, true,” says Kayne, nodding wisely. “It is that way, you know. Even if he violates his conscience, he’ll give you what you want. Is that particularly healthy, do you think?”

“Maybe I should’ve just gone for Annabelle’s offer,” says Martin number five. “I could have stopped him from killing Jonah. I could just fix things now, just change him a little bit, fix what Jonah did, and then everything would be fine.”

“You'll have that ability with me, old buddy, old pal. But ooh, you really hate that he’s depressed, don’t you?” Kayne says with eerie joy. “Crikey, you’re giving me ammo, here, kid.”

“I just need to get to him,” says Martin number six. “I can fix this. I can love him enough. I know I’m his reason.”

Kayne makes a gagging sound.

“I don’t care if he can be fixed or not,” says Martin number seven. “I love him. Life’s messy, and so are we, and that’s okay. I don’t want perfect. I just want him.”

“You’re gonna make me hurl, for real,” says Kayne.

“I made sure he loves me,” says Martin number eight. “I made sure he always will.”

Kayne cackles. “Oh, now that’s just sad. Two seconds ago, you wished you had more influence over him, and here you are, thinking you have too much.”

Martin says nothing.

“Wanna know why this matters?” Kayne waves his hand, and the rows of Martins disappear, vanishing into the mist. “Because you absolutely believe each of these completely all the time at the same time. It’s fucking amazing. With a little guidance,you could cause so much chaos, even among those lucky folks who can see your soul. The things you can do, the people you can fool—you are one magnificent little cupcake, do you know that?”

Martin doesn’t care. He can’t even be annoyed; that would involve investment, and he isn’t invested in anything Kayne does.

He needs to get to Jon.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kayne whistles, hands in his pockets, still pacing. “We’re going so many places. So many wars to kindle. So many stupid family quarrels to restart—ooh, some of them have been quit for, like, a thousand years, but we’re gonna get ‘em going again. There is gonna be so much….” He inhales dramatically. “Drama. Tears and blood, blood and tears. We’re even gonna start new religions.”

Martin doesn’t answer.

“In the history books, they’ll wonder at the perfect storm of circumstances. And you?” His cackle is cutting, dark, and cruel. “You’ll do it all with smiles and shrugs and awkward stammerings.”

Martin’s cheeks itch, and he discovers they’re wet again.

Weird.

Unimportant?

He keeps walking.

“Aw, there, there. I’ll let you keep your pet Archivist. I mean, he’s a gun you can point. Of course we’ll keep him. Maybe without his eyes, though? No, no, that won’t work. I’ll think of something.”

Martin ignores him.

“It may be a good reset button, but you know what? You’re kinda boring like this.”

Martin could not care less.

“Literally, am I right?” Kayne flails like a toddler. “Uuughh. Fine. I shouldn’t help you. I really should just leave you here. Cold storage. But everything is going my way, and I’m in such a good mood that I think I’ll let you owe me, instead.”

Martin doesn’t answer because Kayne doesn’t matter.

“Cheese and crackers, that’s gotten old,” he says. “Okay. We’re done. Time for act three.” Kayne stops Martin, hands on both shoulders.

That feels horrible.

And is blocking his view of Jon.

And is… frightening.

Martin tries to pull away, deeper into the Lonely.

And Kayne won’t let him.

There’s pain now, searing, deep and hot in his soul, something that cannot be numbed and cannot be ignored and cannot be escaped in mist and loneliness, and Martin cries out.

“I think you’re primed and ready,” says Kayne, studying him closely with eyes like event horizons, pulling Martin in, threatening to shred him like wet paper. “I know that hurt, bub. I just guaranteed old Hastur can’t read your mind so well.”

It feels like something got cauterized.

A tiny part of Martin is so upset. The Lonely isn’t supposed to hurt like this, sharp and clear and colorful.

“Aww.” Kayne pats his head. “Let’s see how well you do, shall we? Trial run!”

Martin suddenly finds himself scooped up like a bride and carried forward.

#

He doesn’t care, of course.

At first.

Kayne just steps across a gap that wasn’t there, and it feels (unreal bad impossible) strange, and the next thing he knows, it all comes back.

All of it. They’re out of the Lonely, he is flooded, and he is being carried as if to his honeymoon.

It is the most absurd, ridiculous, humiliating… “Wh— leggo!” Martin says with a flail.

So of course, he’s dropped, and Kayne disappears.

Martin lands on hard stone with an oof and finds himself beside a bed dressed in white.

In front of him is a closed door. Next to that, a dresser.

Next to that, another door, this one open—bright with light and steam as if from a shower or bath.

From it comes a low, grumpy mutter, the epitome of verbally processed disgruntlement.

Could it be? Martin surges to his feet.

There is Jon.

Jon, just stepping out of the bath. Jon, his hair tied up in a messy knot. Jon, dripping wet and scowling.

Until he looks up, and his eyes widen. “Martin?” He sounds like he thinks he’s dreaming.

Martin breaks first. “Jon!” He lunges.

Which is good, because Jon lunges, too—and immediately slips on his own bathwater and falls.

Martin catches him like a dance partner, dipped.

They stare at each other. Then they laugh.

Jon clings to him, and Martin straightens, getting soaking wet and beyond caring, and then they’re kissing, clutching, half-crying and half-laughing and then just crying.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” Jon keeps saying.

Martin can’t talk, can’t answer, wasn’t prepared for how vulnerable he feels after the Lonely, after everything that happened (and all those things Kayne says his heart says, and whether or not it’s true, that can’t be all there is). His breath keeps hitching like a child’s, catching in his throat.

Like he was flayed open, and the anesthetic is wearing off.

Somehow, they end up back in the bedroom on the floor, Martin’s back to the bed, Jon curled in his lap, and they’re both clutching so tightly it’s like they’re trying to squeeze the sorrow out of one another.

His heart is pounding.

“How?” Jon is saying, peppering his face with kisses, running his hands through Martin’s hair. “How are you here?”

Through the sacrifice of someone I completely forgot about for the past hour, Martin thinks, but cannot bring himself to say. “Kayne. I don’t… I don’t know how long I have. I don’t even know how this works anymore.”

Jon whispers brokenly, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Don’t say that.” Martin clutches him. They’re both touching, just running their hands over each other, and Martin suddenly grins. “You’re slippery when wet.”

They laugh again, and it still sounds like crying, and they kiss, and Martin is afraid.

He feels the Lonely, calling him, beckoning, sweetly asking him to return and no longer feel flayed.

He’s only begun to feel what happened in there, that dismantling, that (please be a lie) sample of how Kayne sees him and what he intends to do, but (that’s not all there is to him that wasn’t fair that wasn’t kind) other things are far more important right now.

“We have to go,” says Martin, because he wants to run, because he’s ready to cliff-dive.

“Go where?” Jon pulls back enough to look him in the eye. He’s shivering.

Martin reaches behind him and pulls the blanket off the bed, wrapping it around him. “Away.”

Jon cups his face. “Anywhere I go, the Fears will follow.”

Oh, Martin does not like that. “I don’t care.”

“Martin!”

“I mean it, Jon. Besides, you said they’re stuck.”

Jon sighs. “This is where they’re stuck, but it’s like pushing up against a net—they’re not trapped, they’re just… tugging in my direction. The Dreamlands are an interstitial space, like a filter between realities. This place is the reason we weren’t still in the apocalypse when we landed Somewhere Else. They didn’t reset. Annabelle was wrong, and we were lucky. If I leave, they’ll follow, and won’t be stuck anymore. I can’t assume we’ll get this lucky again.”

Martin doesn’t want to be angry at Jon, not after everything, not now.

(And who is he mad at, really, because he knows Jon doesn’t want to inflict the Fears on anyone else, but Martin is scared to find he genuinely does not care whose face the apocalypse lands on right now).

He’s still pretty mad. “Jon!”

“Martin, I can’t.”

“Maybe I think it’s worth it. At least in the apocalypse, you weren’t getting tortured for a week at a time.”

Jon’s look…

It’s a gaping wound. It’s as naked as he is, and absolutely terrified. “You’re right. I was only being tortured constantly, along with the entire world, day and night, and I was forced to enjoy it. Is that better?”

Martin feels like he’s been slapped. He also feels like maybe he deserved it. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Jon’s thumb slides over Martin’s lips. “Don’t be. I’m sorry. I never… I never made it clear.I’m sorry, Martin.”

“You did, though.” He had. He had. I guess we’re doing this now, he thinks. “You tried. I didn’t listen.”

Jon’s kiss is slow and melting. He’s on his knees, straddling Martin’s lap. He sighs against Martin’s mouth. “If you want to try to leave, we will.”

I guess we’re not doing this now, after all, thinks Martin, and, he’ll do it if I push, and, is this really okay? “You’re sure they’d follow?”

“Yes.”

His heart sinks. “I’m not leaving you here. I say we try, Jon. We’ve got to try. We’re still alone. Maybe he’s still being distracted.”

“Distracted how?” says Jon, and kisses his neck.

“There’s this guy… okay, it’s complicated.”

“Our life, complicated? Stuff and nonsense.”

Martin’s hands slide over his skin. “That’s me. Nonsense all over.”

“Ha.” Another kiss.

Martin shivers. “So it’s sort of Doctor Who rules, I guess? We’re in some kind of alternate timeline. And, uh. The King in Yellow got… cut in half, somehow? And the other half died. So Kayne brought the other half from a different timeline here to distract him. I’m not making sense.”

Jon goes still.

“Jon?”

“His other half.”

“Yeah?”

Jon stares at him. “Was the half housed in a human?”

Martin blinks. “How did you know that?”

“Arthur.”

Martin’s eyes go wide, too. “Yeah? He… I saw what the King did to him. Torture. Starvation. I….”

“He brought Arthur here. But the wrong Arthur.” Jon’s face twists. “Oh, gods.”

“Yeah.” Martin’s face is hot. “I know, but I won’t take it back. It was his choice, and it got me to you.”

“He’s so cruel,” Jon whispers, sounding awed.

That’s a frightening reaction. Martin swallows. “Kayne promised them an exit, and he better have meant it, because if I sent Arthur back into that torture….”

Jon studies him. “Kayne didn’t tell you.”

No, he was too busy flaying me open. “Tell me what?”

“This King isn’t the half that tortured Arthur. I don’t know where that is. This is the half that lived in Arthur, and loved him—for whatever value of that word to a thing like this—and lost him centuries ago.”

Martin inhales. “So that means… this is John Doe?”

“I don’t—” Jon’s face does the thing it does when information is dropped into his head. “He called himself that then, yes. He goes by Hastur now.”

John’s person, taken away and then dangled in front of him, but the wrong one.

One already attached to another John Doe.

Martin cannot imagine how this would feel, if it had been done to him with another Jon, out of reach.

Cruel doesn’t begin to cover it.

“Kayne—” His voice breaks, and Martin clears his throat and tries again. “Kayne promised them an exit. And a new body for this other John.”

“Separation?” Jon frowns. “Damn it. I’m going to have to… this isn’t his Arthur. Even if he knows, he’s got to be tempted to keep him, or something. I’ve got to talk him out of it.”

Martin blinks, and has to take a moment to compose himself. “To talk… the big sadistic tentacle monster out of it.”

Jon is wearing his stubborn-yet-guilty look. “I can try.”

“Right.” His grip tightens. “Right. So it’s Stockholm Syndrome, is it?”

“No. Listen. Because of Arthur—his original Arthur—the King isn’t… he can be influenced.”

“Uh-huh,” says Martin (and some tiny, awful part of himself is absolutely furious that anyone else should manipulate his Jon, and Martin dares not look at that too closely). “Sure he can.”

Jon scowls. “I’m not just saying that.”

“Sure. I saw him hurt you.”

“He… how? Kayne. He made you watch that.” Jon’s face is red. “He’s so cruel. I didn’t want you to see… Listen, it’s not that simple.”

Martin has no idea how to feel about the fact that Jon didn’t want him to see. “Yeah, it is that simple.” He holds tighter. “He’s a monster, and he tortured you like nothing I’ve ever seen, and I’m not having compassion on his squiddy ass.”

“I understand him, Martin. If I lost you,” Jon says, stroking his cheek, “I would become truly monstrous.”

That’s… different.

Jon means it.

Pieces fall together in Martin’s head. Pieces he wishes he didn’t see, but can’t unsee, not anymore.

They’d only been in the safehouse, only together, for twenty-three days when Jonah tricked Jon into ending the world.

When Jonah sent reminders of all Jon had lost, as if to pound nails into the coffin he’d put Jon’s heart in.

Martin had known even then, on some level, that if he hadn’t been there, Jon would have just… stayed down.

There’d be no reason for him. No anchor. Jon would have been subsumed.

But something had changed between then and now. Jon is still depressed; but they’ve been together longer, truly together, more in love by the day, fitting together more and more perfectly until they’re practically soldered.

This Jon wouldn’t stay down without Martin.

This Jon would do something… rash.

And Martin is horrified to discover that he wants to know what that rash thing would be—and if he could get Jon to do it anyway, while he’s still around.

“We have to try,” Martin says again.

Jon exhales slowly and rests his forehead against Martin’s. “All right.” He kisses once, then awkwardly, he stands, legs on either side of Martin, and tosses the blanket back to the bed.

Martin grins up at him, and can’t resist. He leans in and plants one naughty little kiss.

“Martin!” says Jon in positively Edwardian shock. Then he laughs.

Martin laughs, too, and knows he would do anything in the world to keep Jon smiling like that, eyes crinkling, briefly freed from it all, if only for a second.

Jon turns to the bureau and opens the top drawer. Then he sighs. “You’ve got to be kidding.” What he pulls out is a skimpy and ridiculous belly-dancer thing, all gauze and silky straps.

“What the actual hell is that?” Martin says.

“A joke, I’m fairly sure. He thinks he’s funny,” says Jon, and swallows. “Though that could mean… oh, no.” Jon pales. He replaces the “outfit” and closes the drawer. “Come on, stop being an arse.” He opens the drawer again.

The outfit is gone. In its place is a single pair of fuzzy socks.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Jon snaps.

Martin feels like he’s stumbled onto an inside joke.

There shouldn’t be an inside joke.

“Jon,” he says, evenly.

Jon closes the drawer and takes a deep breath. Against the bureau, his hands are shaking, and not from cold. “He damn well knows you’re here.”

Martin’s spine goes cold. “What?”

“He’s not going to let us leave.” Jon sinks down, like his legs no longer support him. “I’m sure of it. Give me a moment. I… I need a moment.”

Martin scrambles over and pulls Jon against him. “He’s not distracted anymore?”

Jon is shivering again. “Maybe there’s another way. Maybe Annabelle was wrong about the inevitability of it all.”

“Annabelle can go to hell,” Martin says sharply. “We’re leaving. You already agreed.”

Jon turns and wraps around him. “He knows you’re here.”

So it’s too late. Because Martin spent too long in the Lonely.

Martin closes his eyes tightly and holds him, amazed, as always, at how well they fit.

They fit better than anyone Martin’s ever held. They fit better than his own bones.

It is messy, and so are they, and it’s worth it.

Jon is worth it. They’ll figure this out.

Jon is still pressed against him, head to his shoulder, arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry.”

“None of this is your fault. All right? He’s manipulating you.”

“I know.”

“No, you obviously don’t.” He has no idea how to fix this, how to undo it. Everybody keeps telling him he’s this amazing manipulator, but when it comes down to brass tacks, he’s got nothing.

He tries to keep the focus on them. “Hey, you know something?” he says, and nuzzles Jon’s head. “This is the longest we’ve been apart since we got together.”

Jon laughs weakly. “Yeah. Can’t say I enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, it was definitely not poggers,” Martin says dryly, and runs his hands down Jon’s back, feeling his spine, feeling the unexpected softness where he lost ribs.

And there comes a knock at the door.

They both freeze.

Martin is terrified his time is done. “Let’s go. Out the window.”

“We can’t. We’d be destroyed.”

Damn it. “Can you… can you walk through a wall again?”

“Probably, but what good it would do? He’ll just follow.”

The knock comes again.

“Go away!” shouts Martin like a child.

Oh, sure, that’ll work, says Kayne in his head.

Martin snarls at him.

“Please,” says Jon to the door. “Don’t make him leave. Please.”

There’s a pause. “In ten seconds, I am coming in,” vows the voice both deep and terrible, and even through a door, it’s powerful, fearsome, intimidating.

There’s no time to do anything but grab the blanket back off the bed and wrap Jon in it, so Martin does.

As promised, the door opens, and somehow, the King squirms inside.

He must not have any bones, the way he fits through that opening, expanding as he fills the front portion of the room, cowled head all the way to the ceiling, and they all stare at each other in silence.

The King looks serene, tentacles waving slightly as though hovering in water.

His presence feels so awful. Martin is braced, holding Jon tightly, body turned so he is between them. “What do you want?”

“Curious, how often I’ve been asked that today,” says the King in Yellow. “Hello, Mister Blackwood. Regrettably, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I won’t. I fucking won’t,” Martin says.

And then Jon makes everything worse by peeking around Martin and saying, “Are you all right?”

Silence.

Even all the limbs have gone still.

Martin had thought compassion for Breekon was enough to drive him crazy. Well, this is worse. “I’m not going,” he says, just to say something.

“Please,” says Jon. “He’s my heart. Please. There has to be a way.”

“He is literally an agent of my enemy,” says Hastur, gently.

“I am not,” says Martin through clenched teeth.

Not yet, Kayne says, and it feels for all the world like the god just licked him.

Martin flinches.

“Please,” says Jon. It’s nearly a whisper, and Martin can’t handle it anymore.

“Just leave,” says Martin. “I know you can’t hurt me. I’m not leaving him. You don’t like it? You don’t have to stick around and watch.”

“Mister Blackwood,” says the King, voice too even, just slightly subdued. “Do you accept my hospitality?”

Martin stares at him. “What?”

Jon clutches his arm. “Does it keep him from Kayne?”

“No,” says the King. “Nothing I do can accomplish that. However, a guest has… certain privileges, due to the old rites of hospitality. It would delay any consequences for a time. I fear it is the best I can do.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” says Martin.

“How long?” says Jon.

“I believe I can stretch it to three weeks.”

Oh, they were not doing this. “Will you stop?” says Martin. “What the hell is this? What are you saying?”

“Mister Blackwood, I am trying to offer Jon a respite,” says the King. “As there seem to be few ways of convincing your lover that I am sincere, this seemed like a good step forward.”

“Sincere? Sincere about what?” Martin scoffs. It’s not as good a scoff as Jon’s, but he learned from Jon, and it’s decently provocatory. “You think I’m going to believe you about anything?”

“Martin,” whispers Jon.

Martin ignores him. “I saw what you did to him. I saw him scream. I saw him on the floor, curled like a shrimp, so hurt he was seizing, and you think I’m going to believe a single damn thing you say?”

Martin is breathing hard.

And the King in Yellow says, “I believed that was what he wanted, Mister Blackwood.”

“Oh, bullshit,” says Martin.

The King waves his limbs, and suddenly, there’s Jon.

Diaphanous, slightly too small, but Jon—summoned, perhaps, from memory. “Look, let’s just cut through the filler, shall we? I felt the suffering of seven and a half billion people. I know their fear, sorrow, horror. I felt it all, every scream, every terror. I know what can be done to the human body and mind, and I know what’s coming, and I’d rather just get on with it, if it’s all the same to you!”

“Wh… but….” Martin starts, and the memory changes.

It’s the waiting that’s worse, thinks Memory-Jon in an audible voice, standing there in the weirdest yellow outfit Martin has ever seen. Waiting for this play-acted niceness to be over with so hope has no chance to bloom, and I can lose myself in the torment. Well, I can do something about that.

“Oh, what the fuck,” mutters Martin.

Memory-Jon, sitting at a table laden with fruit and cheese and some kind of golden drink, and thinking loudly, If I’m good at anything, it’s eroding social situations. This mockery of pleasantries won’t last much longer.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers against Martin’s neck, barely audible.

And Memory-Jon, challenging: “We both know you’re going to torture me, anyway. I see no point in pretending.”

“Stop it,” says Martin.

The King in Yellow vanishes the image. “He wants to be punished. Didn’t you know?”

He might as well have punched Martin in the chest.

Jon feels very small behind him right now.

And in Martin’s head, clear as a bell, is Kayne’s laugh. Have fun with that one, sugarpuff.

Martin is so angry he shakes.

So he’s got Kayne Radio playing, apparently, and the King has Jon convinced he asked to be tortured.

Fuck the Web. I need Desolation for this, he thinks, and holds Jon tighter.

“I believed he wanted to be hurt—at least, until I peeled back his Ceaseless Watcher’s protections to see what was truly in his head. Now, I believe he doesn’t; he simply expects it, and believes it is deserved. That is why I hurt him, and that is why I stopped, Mister Blackwood.”

Oh, he’s good, thinks Martin, because he knows this is absolute bullshit, knows it’s couture manipulation. He swallows. “And now you’re offering us a little treat, is that it? Because you’re such a good guy.”

“I wasn’t going to,” says the King, and somehow gives the impression of a shrug. “I fully intended to boot you out. Do you think I am unaware that this is interference?”

“Interference!” says Martin.

“Yes. You are Kayne’s. He has left some mark in your mind—I can’t see past it without hurting you, which I have no desire to do. Kayne wants to win our bet, and I am completely certain he’s sent you in here loaded with traps, ready to go off.”

Matin trembles. “He didn’t.” He did. Though what the traps were, he can’t guess.

“Martin?” says Jon, concerned.

“It is curious, though,” says the King, as if to himself. “I seem to be working against myself, at the moment.”

Jon clings tighter to Martin’s arm. “How? In what way?”

“I should just order Kayne to take you. This delays Jon’s obedience; in fact, I suspect it may even regress some of his progress. Still. I have made my decision. You may stay, for a time, if you accept my hospitality.”

Jon’s hands loosen, like he’s in shock.

This sounds so reasonable; it shows the depth of the King’s understanding of Jon, and the reluctance makes him seem like the tyrant with a heart of gold.

Martin hates him. “No,” Martin says. “No, you don’t just… you wouldn’t just do that.”

“No? I have no reason to lie,” says the King, gratingly magnanimous. “I hold all the cards here, Mister Blackwood.”

So damn good at this, thinks Martin, baring his teeth. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m certain you do. After all, Kayne chose you for that precise understanding,” says the King.

Ice water seems to flush down Martin’s spine because that is terrifying, that opens a can of worms he is not ready to upend, and he tries to keep the focus where it belongs. “So you admit it.”

“Admit to trying to get my way? Is that somehow not what you thought I was doing?” The King chortles. It is a dark, terrible, awful sound, a repeated buzzing Martin can feel in his toes.

Judging by the way Jon clings again, it feels pretty damned bad in bare feet.

“So let me see if I understand you,” says Martin. “I’m loaded with traps, and you think I’ll get in the way of whatever you’re doing to Jon, but you’re being kind today for some reason, because you’re changeable and really the good guy, and oh, I get to stay with Jon for some kind of… of conjugal visit out of the kindness of your heart?”

“No,” says the King. “Because Kayne’s little joke has left me aching for the part of myself that is gone and can never be recovered, and as I have grown to like your prickly lover, I do not care to watch him share that grief.”

Well, Martin hadn’t expected that.

The King wields honesty like an Olympic fencer, and Martin is amazed. “Where is Arthur?” he demands.

“Still here,” says the King. “Wandering around. I do not plan to see him again.” The tone is flat. Careful. So stripped of emotion that it reveals more than if he’d sobbed it.

It’s too good. Lines up too neatly with what they were saying before. That fucker was listening in, he thinks—and grudgingly, he has to respect it. “Annabelle would have loved you,” he says.

“Annabelle? Oh—the spider-woman. Yes. She died.”

Jon chokes. “What? She was here?”

“Quite a few of your companions were here,” says the King. “They did not live long.”

“Wh- you murdered them?” blurts Martin.

“No. I had no interest in them whatsoever. Your lover had, and has, my full attention, Mister Blackwood. No, they were… simply unwise in the ways they attempted to integrate with my world.” He waves his tentacles, undulating. “They fell afoul of my underlings, or tried to reach for power no longer available to them and devoured themselves like stars, or simply starved to death. The world as I have made it does not lend itself to your kind.”

“I know it doesn’t,” says Jon so tightly that Martin suddenly realizes Jon is likely one of those devouring himself, or starving to death, and oh, that is not okay, and oh, that is going on the backburner for things to talk about soon. “So she was here,” whispers Jon. “She was in London.”

“She was.”

“What happened to her?” says Jon, breathless.

“We’re getting off-topic,” says Martin.

“I need to know,” Jon says, and his tone is sharp.

Martin is not letting the King spoon-feed drugs to Jon right in front of his face. “Right. This is done. Get out. I accept your hospitality, now get out.”

“Wait!” says Jon.

“I will tell you in time, Jon, don’t worry,” says the King in Yellow so damn soothingly. “Enjoy your visit.” And he leaves, squeezing back through the door, arms flourishing.

The door clicks closed.

Martin pulls back and grips Jon’s shoulders to look at him, to really look at him.

Jon looks back, and it is a wild moment. He’s naked, but not just physically. Stripped, in a way he wasn’t before he’d been taken.

Martin can see it.

He wishes he’d seen it earlier. Would’ve done, if he’d been thinking clearly enough to look. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” he whispers.

“Nothing I didn’t ask for, it seems,” says Jon.

“No, Jon, that’s an abuser technique. It’s practically textbook. He made you think you asked for it, but you didn’t.”

“Except when I literally did,” says Jon.

“Only an idiot would’ve thought you wanted to be hurt,” says Martin. “Expected it? Sure. Feared it? Absolutely. But that Hastur, John Doe, whoever, is not stupid. In fact, he’s scary smart.”

For one moment, he wonders if Arthur is going to be safe with that inside him.

Jon’s quiet brand of stubborn is back on its bullshit again. He clearly doesn’t believe what Martin is saying. He’s making that face, the one that Martin wants to shake and/or kiss off him immediately.

“What am I going to do with you?” Martin says, softly.

“As long as you don’t throw me away, I don’t care,” says Jon.

“Yeah, we’re healthy,” Martin quips, and pulls him close.

The Lonely is still calling him, still surging under his skin. Distracting. Invasive.

Constant.

Is this what Jon feels, all the time, but with all fourteen? Fuck.

“Are you all right?” Jon cups his face.

Martin can’t quite answer.

“The Lonely?” says Jon, making a guess. “We’re so close… you must be feeling it for the first time since we left Earth.”

Except that isn’t true, and Martin can feel his face twisting, can feel his eyes welling up, and he doesn’t want to do this, and he can’t unpack that, he can’t explain. “Yes.” And then he’s sobbing.

They’re back on the floor again, Jon wrapped around him like a particularly bony blanket, as if he plans to keep Martin from flying apart.

Maybe he is. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Martin clings, knows he’s probably leaving marks on Jon’s skin, can’t make himself let go. This isn’t just being in the Lonely. It isn’t just the last week, the uncertainty, or the weirdness of hosting a wrecked human being and his eldritch tenant. It isn’t even what Kayne showed him about himself, or the horror of Kayne’s cruel, looming plans for him.

It’s all of it.

That’s what I should have told him, he thinks, when he asked what love was. Love is the person you can ugly-cry with, even if they’re not okay themselves.

Martin buries his face against Jon’s shoulder and cries for what feels like a very long time.

(part thirteen)

NOTES

Martin is in trouble.

[rhielizabethj]

You’ve perfected your act, you’re charming and dreamy. You’re compliments sublime while painting the dream you know I want to hear. Carefully you’ve crafted this perfect man. Kind, understanding, patient, loving. Could never hurt a fly let alone yell at a woman. You’ve painted me a picture of the man you wanted to be and the man I thought I was falling in love with.

Little bits at a time you chipped away at me so barely detectable at first. Jokes about my quirks, a mean name but nothing horrible, a little snide remark or face. This came easy to you, after all you were getting comfortable letting the facade go the more you knew how much I loved you.

You made me feel dirty, you made me feel unwanted. Someone’s throw aways just discarded. I was lucky to have you, you were wanted by many! You made sure to let me know any time we were out, the smug obnoxious looking in the mirror rather than engaging in conversation. A crumb of attention from any female and you laped it up as if you were starving.

You broke me down, your words were calculated weapons. Knowing exactly where to strike, each hit killing something little by little inside me. Your comments about our sex life “im so vanilla, boring, mediocre, addicted to my toy”. I was begging you for attention, sending you teases, trying to engage, it seems like maybe vanilla is better than wasted. You never had enough in you once you took those sips.

You weren’t a monster hiding in plain sight anymore, you were staring right back at me and I stupidly wanted more. More punishment, more cruelness, conditional love. For those glimpse of the man you want to be were like fucking light in a hopeless tunnel. You have no idea how much I clung to those enduring your projections of whatever was causing you pain.

Some would say you accept the love you think you deserve, but you made sure of that breaking down any spark in me. You burnt me to the ground and would question why I was cold, checked out, tried, crying in a washroom. You called our relationship healthy and yet you broke my so badly I wanted it all to end. I started searching things it makes me cry to write this. But you broke me to my lowest and I’ve survived rape twice. You’re a monster, you take what you want, you yell, you abuse you shit on everything good and everyone around you.

You take good things and taint them, use them past their expiry and get mad when we spoil. You except so much from everyone around you but give very little to offer. Grand gestures, half assed promises, you’re an amazing artist you really do paint the most beautiful of pictures but the follow through is not there. It’s gets lonely waiting for a man to show up that never was really there.

I left, I’m free you will not longer have access to me. I’m a privileged, I’m fucking radiant, you were lucky to of met me. I’m glad I could fill your cup as you drained mine. I’ll only have to learn this lesson once, you’re not one of a kind. You might be a special breed but there’s plenty more from where you came from. Men who are resentful, men who need validation from any walking thing, men who are petrified to be alone. The small men, who compensate with abuse. Oh yes I’ve met a few of you. You might be the worst, the leader of the crew. You’ve deluded your self so much into thinking you mean well, that you know how to love, that you’re healthy, and hopefully for you one day that can but true.

I wish you nothing but karmic retribution, what you put out is what you’ll get. Choose to get help or continue that’s your fate to choose. To me you’re just the monster in one very bad dream, that I’ll soon begin to forget.

[graceful-stranded-thoughts]

Just Another Weekend

I should wake up. It’s well past noon and the sun is peeking through that small gap in the curtains that will not go away, no matter how many times I’ve moved the damn fabric. I’m not really asleep per say, just laying here in a mass of blankets and warm lighting. My body overheats and I have to kick off the covers, but then I get too cold and have to retreat underneath my solitude of gratuitous sadness again. It’s a vicious cycle, though I should be grateful as currently it’s the only thing keeping my attention away from the self-pity that swarms inside my chest. 

There’s no reason I should be so depressed, is there? I’m not sure anymore. It’s like some weird monster that’s found its home within my throat. It keeps quiet for the most part, but it likes to jump out to remind me its still living within my bones. Not that I’d be likely to forget at anytime. You don’t just forget something that makes your stomach dry and your brain to become fuddled in darkness. Is fuddled a word? Sounds British. Maybe a shortened version of befuddled. That was probably a better word to use. Ah well…not like I majored in English…or writing…anyway. Depression! Whoo! 

Interesting what triggers such an annoying mental block. It’s a slippery slope really and I don’t have any snow shoes. Though I always enjoyed sliding down a snowy hill. There’s something freeing about giving up control and possibly smacking into a tree. Maybe the force of impact will jolt the monster out of me. 

But the sun on snow can be too bright for my eyes. I squint and turn away and when I open my eyes again…somehow I’m back in bed. Back to sleeping in until 3pm and then hating myself because I wasted a whole day. I should be more productive than this. I can be more productive than this. I do it every weekday. I actually do shit that helps and isn’t useless and pointless. But being awake means I have to leave my dreams, which are almost always better than real life. I don’t have to worry about getting a job or feeling as though I will never amount to anything. Ugh, let’s not go down that rabbit hole just yet. 

No, I enjoy sleep because it gives my over active, anxious brain a break. I can finally get everything to shut the fuck up and I can create my own little self-insert fanfic within my head. There’s been a few cute romances lately…though that’s another rabbit hole there. I swear it’s a fucking maze at this point. Cause romance leads to wondering why these moments never happened to me, but of course they can’t happen if you don’t leave your fucking bed you idiot. But what if you’ll never be loved because you’re so afraid of being hurt? The pain of being alone is a lot easier to deal with than the pain of being unwanted…though one could argue those go hand in hand. Also, is that what you really want or are you just lonely and depressed? Also you’re not lonely, moron you have people who care about you. Really cool people you make you feel valued and important. Then again, what if they’re just being nice and polite and don’t want to tell you to go away? You could just be an annoying nuisance who doesn’t really add anything. No, shut up! We’re not doing this. 

Man I have to pee. I should get out of bed. It’s really not that hard. First you have to pull off the covers…but I’m in the stage of too cold now. I’ll get up in five minutes. I can hold it until then. Just five more minutes…hold out until then…and then another five…and maybe one more.

[teklarn]

𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲'𝓶 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 - 𝓲. 𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓲𝔂𝓪

character(s): izuku midoriya x gn!reader 

a/n: lol no i didn’t get this idea listening to i bet on losing dogs i totally did not . i’m also trying to add more diversity to the characters i write for—so far it’s pretty much bakugou and deku so please please feel free to submit a request for any character from any of the anime’s listed on this masterlist !! 

𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 !!

summary: izuku and you can’t get away from the unwanted, unspoken feelings lingering between you two. the number one hero is about to get married to someone that’s not you, and unfortunately, you just have to be okay with that. 

genre: angst 

warnings: cheating (not on reader), cursing, suggestive themes, prohero!au, very brief mention of drugs (NOT EDITED.) 

- - - 

“that tickles,” izuku said, his voice nearly dead. 

you traced the freckles on his cheeks, which numbered many. “i’m making constellations.” 

“making or finding?” 

“both,” you deadpanned. 

the sheets covering the two of your were the only means of separation between your bare bodies. 

it was always like this, after the two of you spent a few hours loving each other. you two were engulfed in three types of silences: the comfortable kind, the awkward kind, and the kind where neither of you knew you were indulging in it because you were both fast asleep in each other’s arms. 

right now, it was the awkward kind of silence, which you were trying to change to the comfortable kind with a romantic act, however it was failing miserably. 

although he wasn’t actively trying to pull your hands from his cheeks, his eyes were focused on you, and in moments like these, you could never tell what he was thinking. 

that scared you, in a way. perhaps he was thinking of uraraka and their upcoming wedding. he’d proposed months ago. perhaps five, and the two of you started this ugly affair three months ago. 

it shouldn’t scare you if he was thinking of his soon to be wife. he should be fawning over her, adoring her, cherishing her every moment. 

it was hard for him to lie. not because uraraka and him worked at the same agency, but because he was izuku midoriya. the hero with a heart of gold. 

the hero with a heart of gold for two lovers. 

you felt disgusted with yourself whenever you saw uraraka with him. she was so happy and his eyes were dead sea green. 

izuku was a gentle lover, however an unkind spouse. more than that, you felt disgusted with yourself after every encounter. you knew everything you were doing was wrong. there was no way to justify it. izuku simply wasn’t happy in his marriage and you had decided to go along with it. 

it was an addiction. like shooting a drug up your veins, telling yourself it’s only a little bit. how bad could one kiss hurt someone? 

the worst part was, you knew izuku didn’t love you. even worse than the worst part, however, you weren’t sure you loved him. this was for nothing, on both parts, yet you wanted him all the time. you wanted him despite not knowing if you loved him or not. it was worth nothing, and you couldn’t say you’d be lonely if you stopped your affairs. 

however there was some sense of longing left in your chest after the two of you departed. depending on the night, the feeling was more aggressive than before. 

some nights you were left with him on your mind until you passed into the early morning. but there were just enough nights without him plaguing your mind to make up for those ones. 

there were a thousand reasons you should stop doing this. a million more stacked upon that list every night he showed up at your doorstep. 

izuku pushed himself off your bed, rolling his shoulders back. he was beautiful. but no matter how many nights he stayed in your room, he would never truly be yours. 

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Heyo Astra, may I request an emergency request with Law? I've been struggling with my BPD and loneliness, I just don't want to feel this way anymore. Can I request Law comforting a S/O who feels lonely and unwanted in the world?

Thank you <3

Warnings: depression/BPD, dark-ish thoughts, Law fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1040

Of course you can, you always can, my emergency requests are always open. I’m sorry your BPD is getting to you, I love you, you’re an amazing person and my world has been made all the better with your friendship.

Why did it always feel like you were unwanted? Unwanted and unneeded. Sure, you had your job aboard the Polar Tang, but they’d be fine without you. Everyone said how much they loved you, cared about you, needed you around, but did they really? What if they were lying or weren’t seeing the real you? It wasn’t that you were hiding who you were, just that they might not truly know you. Sitting in your room, your legs were pulled up to your chest as you sat in a corner. You were all alone, just like you’d always been, always so alone. A hand on your arm jolted you out of your thoughts, looking up to see the concerned look of your boyfriend. He often felt like the one bright, shining light in a dark world, the only one to ever see you. But eventually he’d leave you too and you’d be alone and unwanted once more. Already, he could see what you were thinking in your eyes, in the dried tears that stained your cheeks. He quickly made himself comfortable on the floor next to you before pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapped around you as he held you close.

“I’m right here, it’s alright.” he whispered, his arms tight around your waist. Even if you wanted to, there was no struggling against him, no escaping. You didn’t want to though, you wanted to feel loved, wanted to feel needed, “Tell me what it is this time? Let me help.” he whispered. Law, the ever good doctor that he was, knew that it often changed from episode to episode. There were constants, sure, but for each thing that was consistent, there was another that was different. It took a moment for you to work up the ability to say anything, to do something other than cling to the front of his shirt.

“Do… Do you want me here?” you asked quietly, Law’s brow furrowing in concern.

“Yes, I don’t just want you here though, I need you here.” Law said without hesitation, taking a deep breath, he tried to calm his own emotions, “I need you like I need to breathe, I need you by my side, in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” he said. It wasn’t often he told you these things, the stoic young man often terrible with expressing himself. It was only behind closed doors that he was ever open with you, trying his best to be open and honest with you. He tried to be more open with you in public once but he’d looked so terribly uncomfortable that you’d laughed and told him to just be himself, that it was okay if he didn’t show his affections like most people did. That being said, he did change a few things for you while you were in public. When you stopped at islands, he never left your side unless he had to, he would ask to make sure if you were okay if you looked upset, and would immediately lead you back himself if you weren’t, even if he was in the middle of something. 

“Will you… stay with me?” you squeaked out, trying not to cry again, trying to stop the flow of tears.

“Always. I’ll never leave you, I’ll always be one ‘room’ away. All you have to do is call for me and I’ll be by your side.” he promised. Pulling something out of his pocket, he pressed it into your hands, the metal cold against your skin. Opening your hands you looked at the heart shaped whistle in confusion.

“If you ever need me for any reason, if you’re in danger, if you’re scared, even if you’re just lonely, blow on his and I’ll be by your side.” he said, kissing your forehead. It would help him be there for you no matter what. Faster than a den den mushi, easily within the range of his ‘room’, and would temporarily deafen anyone trying to hurt you. Looking at the whistle, you couldn’t help but start crying, wrapping your arms around him. Did he even know how much this meant to you? It wasn’t just a way to call him if you were in danger, it was a way for him to always be with you, even when he couldn’t be standing next to you. You’d never be truly alone because he’d just be one whistle away. The fact that he gave it to you, that he told you to blow it even if you were lonely, it meant that he wanted to be near you, even if he was busy. He knew he couldn’t just drag you around with him all day or vice versa, but giving you this meant that he wanted to be by your side at all times. Even as the voice in the back of your mind tried to tell you that it was all a lie, that he didn’t want you, that he’d leave you, you couldn’t stop the happiness and love that swelled in your heart, there was no denying how much he loved you with the heart shaped piece in your hands. His words, his meanings, drowned out the dark thoughts of your inner turmoil, his love and care for you washed away the pain as his arms wrapped back around you, placing one hand on the back of your head, pulling you against his chest. Neither of you knew how long you sat there, Law holding you close and comforting you, just that he was here for you, and that he loved you. He was terrible at showing affection, but yet he still managed to drive your darkest thoughts away with ease, or at least so it seemed. Some days were worse than others, took longer to care for, some episodes hit harder or struck a particular chord, but even those, he did away with, as if they were just another enemy. Perhaps they were, in some sense, an enemy to your eternal happiness, an adversary that he’d drive away time and again to bring a smile back to your face. You weren’t alone or unwanted, even in the unlikely chance that nobody else wanted you, Law wanted you.

[aperrywilliams]

Not Alone (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif)

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (platonic?)

Summary: Reader‘s life goes smoothly until she discovers about her pregnancy. Spencer is the one with who she confides the news and her thoughts about it. His advice could help her to make a decision.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings (please, keep in mind this before reading): Unwanted pregnancy. Discussion about continuing or not the pregnancy. If anything about this topic could cause you discomfort, I recommend not to keep reading.

A/N: This could be a very open one-shot or the first part of a mini-series. I don’t know yet. Thoughts?

------------------

When I was a little girl, my mom always told me that I needed to be an independent woman. She always encouraged me to face whatever challenge life put in front of me. ‘You can do it. You don’t need anyone to help you. You’re enough.’

Maybe it was a biased point of view. But I couldn't blame her.

My dad left when I was six. I have only a few memories of him—nothing else.

My mom took care of me. Working 24/7, she gave me the chance to finish school, and she paid my college fee.

For years our family was the two of us.

And it was enough.

When I told her I wanted to join the FBI after I graduated from Behavioral Sciences, she didn't argue, but I could feel her disappointed look. She thought I would move to the medical field and make a lot of money.

Things were far from that, and in the end, she understood. She knew better the girl she raised, and principles prevailed over success and money.

Three years later, I ended up in Agent Hotchner’s team at the BAU. It was a dream position for me, although everyone said it was a rough and demanding job. I didn't care. I was ready to do it. I knew I could do it.

And I did it.

I had luck that my mom could see me as a grown-up woman before she passed away.

On her death bed, she told me she was proud of me and that I should never forget that I could accomplish whatever I wanted and that I didn't need the help of anyone.

I always followed her advice, even if that made me a bit of a lonely person.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m socially functional. I can interact with others pretty well and do all the things that a person my age would do: have a job, have a place to live, pay my bills, go out for drinks, take vacation time out of the town, hang out with friends, and even date.

Although having dates means only that: things don’t move far from one or two dinners or a casual hookup.

I never had a long romantic relationship. It's not that I needed one, though. My job is demanding enough to have time for something like that.

I’m okay with some dates from time to time. Only not to lose the rhythm, if you know what I mean.

People who have known me for a bit longer say that I’m incapable of having a romantic relationship for more than three months. And they are right. But in my years of existence, I didn't need a partner to survive. I was just fine.

Or maybe I thought I was?

The things about I was so sure since I had six years old started to crumble when I turned twenty-six.

-

It was a long and exhausting case. Not that we never got those, but this time, the outcome was far from good, and the spirit was crushed to the ground. So bad that everyone silently agreed that the mood wasn’t even for a drink to drown the sorrow.

I felt so uneasy that my apartment seemed suffocating for me. That is why I ended up in a bar not far from my place. That's why my hands promptly found comfort in a glass of whisky. And maybe, that's why I flirted with a guy in whose bed I ended that night.

After that, things continued their path as usual. Cases kept coming and that feeling of powerless faded with the weeks.

What didn’t fade was the fetus that I was carrying inside of me and only noticed a month after.

Throwing up my entire being every morning for a week should have be enough to notice the red flags. But it didn't. JJ had to say something so that I could do the math.

“Could it be that you’re pregnant?” She asked cautiously.

And after a moment of thinking about it, I only can mutter a painful ‘Fuck.’

Rushing to the nearby drugstore, I grabbed three different brand tests and ran to my apartment. I secluded in my bathroom, hoping that all of it ended as a false alarm.

It didn't end.

It was the start.

I was pregnant.

My head spun, and I felt dizzy. I looked my reflection in the mirror and I swore that the woman I saw there wasn’t me. This wasn't supposed to happen.

I couldn't remember pretty well what happened next. I guess at some point, I reached my bed, crying my eyes out, and fell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, the morning sickness hit me hard. I ended curled up on the tile of my bathroom floor, crying again.

When I got to the bullpen my mind was in somewhere else. It was real, and I had to do something. Anything. But I was afraid of going to the doctor because I didn't know what to do.

Why suddenly did I feel the urge to talk to someone about this?

I pushed that thought to the back of my brain all day. JJ saw me, and I knew she wanted to ask, but I didn't give her a chance. I wasn't prepared to say it aloud.

I spent the whole day lost in thinking. Fortunately, we didn't have a case, so it was only paperwork. But I didn't realize when everyone left the bullpen.

“Are you okay?” A worried Spencer asked me.

It was nearly nine pm, and there was only me... and Spencer Reid.

Spencer was a special guy. You could say it was distant at the beginning. I didn't blame him, though. I joined the team when Emily Prentiss ‘died.’ People in the BAU weren’t keen on a new agent taking their friend's place. With time everyone loosened up a bit with me, Spencer too.

Our friendship became stronger after Maeve’s death. The entire BAU treated Spencer as a little boy except for me, and he openly thanked me for that months later after what happened.

I understood more about Reid's behavior at that time, and even I started thinking that we were alike somehow.

Maybe he was the person I needed to confide in.

“I don’t think so,” I replied, sighing deeply.

I turned my chair to face him. My lips quivering told him that it was true.

“What’s wrong? Do you need help?” He rushed to ask.

“I - I don’t know. I mean, I know what’s wrong, but I don't know what to do.”

My confession little did help Spencer to understand.

“O-okay. Maybe if you tell me what happened, I could try to help you figure it out?” Spencer tried again.

I looked at him and, between gritted teeth, blurted out the three words that had haunted me since the past afternoon.

“I am pregnant.”

I shut my eyes after the admission. I said it. It was real. It always was, but now I felt it deep down.

I didn't know what expression Spencer's face showed. I didn't dare to look. Did he expect something like that from me? I don’t know. But when I opened my eyes, I only found full attention and understanding.

“Oh. Okay. I don’t want to push, but for your way of saying it, I could figure that it wasn’t planned?”

I nodded.

“Yeah. You’re right. I was not planning it at all. It was a one-night stand. I didn't even remember the guy’s name,” I sighed. Embarrassment. That's what I felt.

I covered my face with both hands, tears pushing to come out.

If my mom could have seen me, she would have been so disappointed.

“(Y/N). Things like this could happen. It doesn't mean you’re a bad person,” Spencer assured me, tentatively using one hand to squeeze my shoulder.

I let out a bitter laugh, uncovering my face and drying my tears.

“Yeah. Not a bad person but a very irresponsible one, for sure.”

“Hey, don’t go so hard on yourself. Yes, it wasn’t what you wanted, but it's done, and it happens. Now you need to focus on what do you want to do.”

Spencer was right. It was real, and now I needed to think about what I would do.

“I’m not up to bringing unplanned babies to the world,” I answered.

“Okay. So you won’t keep it,” he inferred.

“Yeah. I think it’s what I have to do,” I reaffirmed.

Saying what I wanted to do didn't make me feel better—the opposite. Spencer noticed.

“(Y/N), it's your body. It's your decision.”

“I know. Yeah, I know,” I said - more to myself than Spencer.

“Did you get a doctor's appointment?”

“Non yet. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do,” I confessed.

“You’ll need one. Whatever your decision will be. You need to be checked.”

“I - I should...”

My body started to shake at the thought. Would I be capable of doing this?

Spencer dared to lean down to hug me. I accepted his embrace. At that moment, feeling alone wasn’t bearable for me.

“Hey, everything would be okay. I can go with you if you think it's okay. You don't have to do it alone,” he spoke, stroking the back of my head. I sobbed in his chest.

“Thank you. I would really appreciate it. I don't think I can do this alone,” I acknowledged.

And against my mom's belief, there were things that I couldn't face without help.

And I shouldn’t do it either.

I wasn't alone.

------------------

Permanent Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine​

[iwadori]

Hiiii!!!! can you do like when you guys are supposed to meet up and they waited for about an hour or so and kept texting you you but you haven't replied so they thought you ditched them and got mad at you and stuff then they decided to go home and while on their way home not too far from their school they found you unconscious body with a large wound on you back and your head bleeding?.

can you pleaseease do tsukishima, yamaguchi, ushijima, bokuto (I'm sorry if that's a lot)

Haikyu Boys when you get hurt Pt 2 (Ushijima,Bokuto

Part One Part Two Part Three

Word count: 2.6K

Genre: angst, fluff

masterlist

Ushijima

You were having the worst week this week,  from battling a cold and your boss making you do all sorts of extra jobs (that were definitely not under your job description.) As easter was swiftly approaching you and Ushijima had your annual plans of going to the local kids community center and helping them with an easter egg hunt. But you don’t think you can manage it this year.

Ushijima gets home from practice with 4 bags just filled with easter eggs ranging from all different sizes, “woah there Toshi, you’ve got enough there too feed all of england” you laugh  

“I don’t think these eggs will be able to sustain England Y/N” he says seriously making you laugh even harder. As you were laughing, you felt another migraine come along making your cringe in pain. “Toshi, I don’t think I can do the easter egg hunt this year?”  

He sits down next to you alarmed that something is wrong, “why what happened Y/N” he asks

“I’ve been feeling terrible all week, and I even have a migraine right now” you say to him thinking he would understand.

“That’s it?” he questions thinking what you said was a joke “I think you can handle a migraine, remember we’re doing this for the kids”

His words were making you feel slightly guilty since maybe you were being over dramatic. “Y/N if it’s really ‘that bad’, i’ll make you some tea so you can feel better,” he says going into the kitchen to start on your tea. You murmur a quiet “thank you” and you end up falling asleep, hoping that by the time you wake up your head stops pounding.

As you wake up, you realise you slept all the way through the night and over to the next day as when you look at your clock it says 12:32 pm. You look at your nightstand and saw that Ushijima wrote you a note saying:  

Y/N I've left out early to set out the easter egg hunt, I’ve made you breakfast so eat up and get prepared for the event which starts at 4pm. Please don’t forget.

Sincerely – Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You chuckle at the fondness of the note, before realising your pain. Your brain felt like it was having a live concert inside that definitely was not going to end soon but you still got up prepared for the day. You didn’t want to let Ushijima or the kids down.  

When you go to the kitchen , you see the cute breakfast that Ushijima made you consisting of all of your favourite foods and with another simple note of him saying ‘ I love you. ‘ Ushijima has always been a lovely boyfriend, treating you like the queen you are always making sure that you were okay. Of course, his bluntness and his lack of social cues was something to get used to but when you did get accustomed to it, it only made you fall in love with him more.

You got ready, feeling even more sick as the piping hot shower that you usual have, did not help as when you were showering you felt heavily faint. However, you persevered since you did not want to let Ushijima down.

You finally were prepared to leave the house, with the community center being on 15 minutes walk away you were leaving out at 3:50pm since you were planning to take your car anyways. When you leave your home, you realise that you forgot your car keys so you dash up the stairs (a bit too quickly) to go and find them. Scrambling through your draws, your head is pounding harder and harder and the more it pounds the quicker your moving making you even more faint. You eventually find your keys and you’re ready to zoom to the community center but your body gave out and you pass out tumbling down the stairs landing at your front door.

Ushijima was waiting outside of the community center waiting for you to arrive it was 4:05pm and he was wondering where you were (knowing that your place was only a 10 minute drive away) he sent you a few texts asking where you were but when you don’t respond Ushijima becomes slightly annoyed, plastering a fake smile on his face and entering the community center, starting the easter egg hunt.

The easter egg hunt came to a close at 8pm and Ushijima assumed that you would’ve showed up some time in the middle of the event, but you obviously didn’t show. After making sure that all the kids left safely Ushijima decided to call and text you more and when you continuously don’t respond and your calls go to voicemail he says ‘Y/N, im really disappointed with you right now. How could you do this to me? You said you would show up, the kids were really upset, how could you be so selfish?’

He walks to your house knocking on the door, but when you don’t immediately answer he knew something must be up now, since you haven’t responded to any of his texts and calls and didn’t show up he figured there was something deeper then you just ditching the event.

He used his key to open the door, surprised when the door hit something. He tried again hitting the ‘object’ that was laying at the door again. He carefully pushes the door to make enough room for him to fit through the gap. When he entered, he was startled at the sight of you, there you lay completely knocked out with a blood stain next to your head. He knelt down next to you and touched your cheek you were extremely cold, he had to get you to a hospital stat. He called an ambulance, panicked. Worrying about how long you’ve been out for since it would have to be atleast more than 4 hours he assumed.

You woke up in a foreign room, with your head slightly stinging. You place your hand on the back of your head and wince, then you remember you need to be at the easter egg hunt so you bolt up ready to move.  

“I don’t think that’s wise for you to do that Y/N” Ushijima says to you  

“Toshi, what happened?” you ask still in pain

“It seems you fell down the stairs and hit your head” after he said that all your memories come flooding back, and you remember rushing to the community centre, looking for your keys, and then falling down the stairs and everything going black.

“I’m sorry Ushi for missing the easter egg hunt, I really tried to get there,” you say with an apologetic look on your face  

“It’s fine Y/N of course you wouldn’t of been able to get there after falling down the stairs” he says “Also, this is proof of why you shouldn’t run down the stairs”

You eventually get discharged with the doctor telling you all you need to do is rest and stay off your feet. Ushijima took the doctor's orders very seriously, becoming your loyal servant and waiting on you hand and foot, tending to your every need. He did also make you were eating healthy and taking all your medicine so you could have the best recovery possible.  

Also, after realising that this could’ve all been avoided if Ushijima didn’t guilt trip you in the first place for having a migraine, he made sure to never ignore or dismiss when you say you are ill or have anything wrong with you even if it’s a migraine, a lost limb or a simple paper cut.

Bokuto  

The Olympics were coming up and Bokuto couldn’t be any more excited than he already was. Everything he’s talked about for the past month he manages to find a way to relate to the Olympics, and as annoying as it got sometimes you were just as excited for it as much as Bokuto was.  

Bokuto was heavily busy with extra practices so you were bored and lonely, since your boyfriend was at practice all the time so you chose to take up a new hobby. You decided to paint, although you weren’t an award-winning painter you still found joy in it. Being Bokuto’s girlfriend you had some slight unwanted attention on you: the usual fans of Bokuto that just followed you to have an extra aspect of him in their life's, or his fangirls that adored him.  

You didn’t mind the fangirls for the most part since majority of them were pretty tamed and did fawn over your relationship. However, there was the minority of fans that did make it known to you that they DID NOT like you at all. When you started posting your paintings, it seems their hate for you amplified since they always found the need to leave an astray of mean comments on your post. But that didn’t mainly bother you since you thought that they only had that energy behind the screen.

The days went by getting closer to the Olympics, with Bokuto always asking you every day “Y/N you are coming to my games, right?” to which you always replied “Of course Kou, I’m coming” which always made him smile.

When the Olympics came, you’ve went to all the games cheering Bokuto and the team on as they were winning round after round. Whilst this was going on, the group of girls that were sending you horrible messages and making mean posts about you weren’t stopping. At first, you didn’t care for them but it seems their posts only gotten worse making comments about your artwork, your face, your body type ect.  

You didn’t want to tell Bokuto as you felt that it would ruin his Olympic momentum and you thought you could handle it all on your own.  

It was nearing to the final game of the Olympics, and Bokuto was ecstatic he made sure that you promised you’d be there claiming that you was his ‘good luck’ charm.’ You were excited to go too, the feeling of watching Bokuto play was exhilarating seeing him fully in his element was great for you to see.

On the last game day, Boktuo was already at the stadium since him and the team had to be there earlier to practice and you planned to meet him there just before the game started at 4:30. You went to a florist before the match getting Bokuto the biggest boquet that you could buy.  

On your way to the stadium you here somebody whistle from behind you, you turn around and see a group of girls waiting behind you smirking. “Hi?” you say more like a question then a statement “do you want something from me?”

Some of them laugh, but the one standing at the front who you mentally lable the ‘main one’ steps closer to you and says “We want you to stay away from Bokuto” you realise that these were the girls sending you hate online for these past weeks.

Before you can even blink, the girls jump you, hitting, kicking and clawing at you. You are in pain, screaming and crying for them to stop and leave you alone. You lay there, letting them beat you up thinking that you’ll probably end up dead out of this. All you can think about is Bokuto, you didn’t get to wish him good luck, or give him your flowers (that you spent a fortune on) or even tell him that you loved him one last time.

You think the girls eventually stopped but you couldn’t tell because your body was throbbing and you hurt all over. You tried to get up still wanting to go to the match but you collapse going out cold.

Bokuto was scanning the crowd over and over for you, hoping to spot you there. But he couldn’t, he was wondering where you were getting sadder and sadder by the second since he really believed you were his good luck charm and he probably wouldn’t be able to win without at least seeing your face once.

They didn’t win. Bokuto knew he wasn’t playing at his best, since all his mind was on was thinking about where you were. You’ve never missed one of his games, so he was incredibly worried. After he accepted his second-place medal, he rushed out the stadium to go to your house but he was stopped by some fangirls ‘I guess signing autographs is the least I can do’ he thinks, the fans were being a bit odd today but he didn’t have time to focus on that as his mind was racing thinking about you and your whereabouts.  

One of his fans did give him an alarmingly big boquet of roses which he appreciated ‘these must of cost a fortune’ he thinks. Although it was a probably a long shot, he decided to ask the fan if he saw someone who looked like *whatever you look like* to maybe see if someone else saw you. Which the fan replied “yeah I saw them with some guy at this restaurant whilst we were going to see you!” they exclaimed.

‘A guy’ he thought ‘that most likely wasn’t you.’ Seeing Bokuto’s confusion, the fan followed up with “I'm pretty sure it was her I mean we all know who Bokuto Koutaro’s girlfriend was.” Bokuto didn’t reply just walking away making sure to thank them for the flowers.  

He was rushing towards your house on foot (since all the taxi’s and ubers were fully booked because of the Olympics) whilst running he stumbles across your passed out body all black and bruised with scratch marks and bleeding all over you. “what happened” he whispered, knowing you obviously weren’t going to respond.  

He picked up your near-dead body, and cradled you in his arms taking you back to the stadium (since he knew that getting an ambulance to come here or running to the hospital would basically be impossible.) When he got back to the stadium, he did get odd looks from strangers but he didn’t care, his only agenda was making sure you were okay.

You woke up, and saw Bokuto pacing the room repeatedly you tried to get his attention by saying his name but your throat was damaged. He eventually notices you and runs to your side, stroking your face softly and giving you a gentle hug making sure not to hurt you.  

“Who did this Y/N?” he asks with worry in his eyes  

You ignore his question and look at the silver medal wrapped around his neck making you sad “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the match, I tried I really did try” you said with your voice sounding even worse after you said every word.  

“Don’t be silly, I’m just glad that you’re okay babe, I was really worried about you.” he said

The Medic came in and said that you had multiple broken ribs, but beside that you were fine you just needed to rest your throat and let your bruises heal. You eventually told Bokuto that it was some of his fans, he was upset that you hid this from him for so long but he was just glad that he got to you as soon as he did. He managed to play at the next Olympics and you were there fully present, with your even bigger boquet of flowers watching win gold.

Authors Note: I tried to make it as close to your request as possible, but I hope you enjoy as I really do think this is my favourite work so far.... :3 Comments and feedback appreciated.

[avengerscompound]

Apartment X - Chapter 9

A Hawkeye Fanfic

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS //

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Character pairing:  Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2154

Warnings:  talk of cam work

Synopsis:   You had chosen your apartment for a lot of reasons.  It was quiet.  It had good light.  It was secure.  Your landlord was an Avenger.  It was a good space to live and work and feel safe. When you become friends with your landlord Clint Barton, it also comes with the potential of a pretty special boyfriend.  You’re just not sure how the public will react to finding out that one of the Avengers is dating a Camgirl.

Chapter 9

There was a bubble you could exist in when you were in love.  The world goes on around you, and you deal with it, but nothing can get through into the little bit of bliss you’re sharing with Clint Barton.  Even on days where things did get heavy, or one of you was down, just having the other there for you was enough to lighten the load.  The outside world was soft and muted and all that mattered was how completely head-over-heels in love you were.

Since Clint had first joined in on your session he had decided to join a couple of more times.  Not too often but there were a few occasions when you both felt in the mood.  It was fun - not to mention a complete fucking turn-on.  Not just because of the sex, but knowing how completely Clint supported you in your chosen profession.  He never showed his face - you both agreed that was too risky both for his reputation and drawing unwanted attention to you - but it was still so sexy that he wanted to join in sometimes.

The bubble meant neither of you was taking the time to look at what the outside world was saying about either of you.  Not that either of you ever looked up what people said about you anyway.  For you, at best it was people being pervy or using your photos to catfish people.  Clint had to deal with much worse, everything from people being gross on social media, to articles saying he was the useless Avenger.  It was easier all around to avoid it and live your lives.

That was why the sudden influx of one on one booking requests, you assumed the new content was drawing in more fans, not that some rumors had gotten out about who exactly it was you were dating.

You logged into a private session, dressed in sheer purple lingerie with a series of toys set up on the bed.  The person you were faced with startled you.  It was rare to do shows for other women, but it did happen.  It never happened that they’d be sitting there in a pants suit looking like they were about to conduct a job interview.  The slight shock wore off quickly.  Sometimes people used suits in power play, and there was no reason to think that wasn’t what this was.  You leaned forward and looked up through your lashes.  “Hey there,” you said.  “What can I do for you today?”

“Actually,” she said.  “I was hoping we could talk.”

It was another surprise, but not unheard of.  There were a lot of very horny people who booked your services, but there were also a lot of very lonely people.  If they tried to employ you as your therapist you’d always tell them no, but some needed a little conversation before they got to the show, and that was okay.

“Of course, miss,” you said.  “It’s your money.”

“I just had a few questions,” she said.  “First of all, is there any truth to the rumor you’re dating Hawkeye of the Avengers?”

You were glad you’d gotten good at hiding your reaction to things because it felt like you’d just had the wind knocked out of you.  You raised your eyebrow and sat back. “I don’t talk about my personal life, honey,” you said.  “Who are you exactly?”

“I’m Norah Winters from the DB!” she said.  “So you’re not denying that you’re in a relationship with Clint Barton?”

“Look,” you said, turning serious.  “I’m sorry, but as per the clause you agreed to when you booked me, there’s not talking about my personal life.  You’ve made me uncomfortable and so I’m ending the session.  Because you have wasted my time, you’ve forfeited your payment.”

You disconnected from the steam and logged out, quickly searching up Clint’s name.  The gossip sites were all buzzing with rumors of Clint Barton dating a known cam girl with both your professional name and real name listed in each article along with photos of you in your lingerie and a photo of you and Clint holding hands as you walked down the street with Lucky.

You felt violated.

It was weird given the photos they were using were just from your website, but the fact they had gone into your private life and were using it to hurt Clint felt like a slap in the face.  There had never been a feeling of guilt about your job before, but you felt it now.  All the good feelings of how accepting Clint had been of you were washed away and replaced with guilt over the fact it would now be hurting him.

You canceled all your bookings, shut down your computer, and pulled on a robe.  You weren't even sure if Clint was home right now.  You'd told him you had a lot of bookings and your day would be full.  He could be anywhere.

A quick pass through his apparent found it empty and you sagged against the wall as the weight of all this began to overwhelm you.  If Clint wasn't here, all you could do was text him - and what could you say? ‘Hey, baby.  The press got word that you're dating a sex worker and now your role as a hero is being questioned.  Sorry.’  it wasn't a conversation for a text, and besides, there was no guarantee he'd even get it right away.  He was an Avenger.  He could be anywhere in the world right now.

It was difficult not to start spiraling.  Clint has always been so open and accepting, but was this the thing that tested that?  Would he break up with you because an Avenger shouldn't be seen fraternizing with a sex worker?  You pulled out your phone, and with shaking hands, you typed out a message.

‘Where are you right now? I need you.’

You didn't move from your spot in Clint’s apartment between the kitchen and the front door, the wall holding you up because your legs couldn't seem to do the job on their own anymore.  Time moved slowly as you waited for him to reply.  Even though he would have told you he was going on a mission, there was still the possibility he'd been dragged into a fight and it could be days - weeks even - where he might not be able to get back to you.  That knowledge seemed to make time move slower, so seconds felt like minutes, and minutes like hours.

When your phone finally buzzed in your hand with a message, you nearly dropped it before you were able to open the message.

‘Taking Lucky for a walk. Nearly home.  U ok?’

You answered with the cringe emoji and went and flopped down on Clint’s couch.  The urge to keep checking what the gossip blogs and people on Twitter were saying was a little overwhelming.  It was like a scab you couldn’t stop picking at, and every time you did, it opened the wound again.

Twitter and Facebook were the worst.  You already knew what a toxic pit they could be, and usually, you avoided the comments section of both for topics you knew would upset you, but for this, you couldn’t leave it alone.

By the time Clint was back, and Lucky was nudging your phone out of the way so that you would pet him, your hands were shaking with a mixture of rage and hurt.

You stroked Lucky’s fur and ran his ears through your fingers.  Clint flopped down next to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.  “What’s up, babe?” he asked.  “I thought you had bookings all day.”

“I did.  I canceled them,” you mumbled, cuddling into his side.

He looked down at you with his brows knitted in worry as his arms closed around you in a warm, comforting hug.  “Did something happen?  Did someone threaten you?”

“No - Yes?  I don’t know,” you said.  You took a deep breath and looked up at him.  “You know I love you, right?”

“Babe, you’re really starting to worry me now,” Clint said.  “What’s happened?”

  “I had someone book that ended up being from the Bugle,” you explained.  “They wanted to know if the rumors were true.”

Clint’s face changed from worried to confused.  He pulled back to look at you with his head tilted.  “What rumors?”

“The rumors that I’m dating Hawkeye from the Avengers,” you said.

Clint scowled and you wondered if he was angry at you or them or both.  “What did you say?”

“I said, as per the agreement they checked when they booked my services, I don’t speak about my private life and can end a session if the client is making me feel unsafe.  And then I ended the session. Then I googled us.  The gossip sites are all over it.  There are photos of us out together and photos from my site,” you explained.  “I’m so sorry, Clint.  I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“Oh, babe,” he said, shaking his head and pulling you into his arms.  “I love you and I wasn’t living with the delusion that it wouldn’t get out sometime.  I just wasn’t prepared yet.  I’ve been trying to think of a way to protect you.  I’m worried people are going to use you to try and get to me.  Or do things like screen record and post videos of you just to show what they could get Hawkeye’s girlfriend to do.  I don’t want you exploited like that.”

“What about you?  People are saying you shouldn’t be an Avenger anymore,” you said.

“Lucky for me, saving the world has nothing to do with who I’m dating,” he snarked.  “I don’t care about what people say about me.  I’ve never cared about what people say about me.  I care about keeping people safe.  Especially you.”  He leaned in and kissed you, and as your lips parted and your tongue met his, you began to relax.  You had known he loved you, but you hadn’t realized how serious about the relationship he really was.  This was something he’d thought about, and it still didn’t bother him.  Even with the stress, you were currently under you started to imagine things like weddings and growing old together, something you’d never done with anyone before.

“Tell me what you want to do?” he asked. 

You pulled back and looked up at him.  “I’m kind of scared to log back in,” you admitted.  “I want to give it a chance to die down.  I don’t want them to scare me away from it, but I also don’t want to hurt you and your job.  Being an Avenger is important.  But also - I need to make money.  I can handle a few weeks off, I have savings, but I also have rent and bills to pay.”

“Well, first up,” he said.  “Lucky for you, you’re sleeping with your landlord, so don’t worry about that.”

“I can’t do that to you. This is your income,” you argued.

He scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.  I give people breaks on the rent all the time.  This building is full of people who are doing it tough.  If I can do it for Tito, I can do it for you.”

“Really?” you asked.

“Really,” he agreed.  “And - if you wanted - you could move in with me.”

You stared at him with your mouth hanging open. “What?”

“No pressure,” he said.  “But I’ve been thinking about it. I’d like to wake up with you every day.”

“Really?  Even with this whole mess?” you asked.

“Especially with this whole mess,” Clint said. “Fuck them.  They don’t get to tell me who is and isn’t okay for me to be in love with. They don’t get to tell you how you get to use your own body.  I love you.  Move in.”

You lunged forward and kissed him hard.  He startled at first but quickly eased into it, wrapping his arms around you as he submitted to the kiss.  When you pulled back, your lips tingled, and you were both breathless.  “Is that a yes?” Clint asked.

“Yes.  Yes, it’s a yes.  Fuck… I love you,” you said.

He kissed you again, this time more gentle and tender.  “Okay,” he said with a sharp nod.  “That’s sorted.  Take a little break.  I’ll talk to Steve and let him know what’s going on.  And I’ll talk to Tony and increase your internet security.  Then if and when you’re ready to go back to your work, you can.  It’ll be completely in your control.”

You couldn’t help the huge dopey smile that crossed your face.  What had started out being such a punch to the guts, had ended up leading to something amazing.  You had no idea what you’d done to deserve Clint Barton, but you vowed that you’d keep it up, and make him feel as treasured as you felt now.

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