#I guess it's a case of. I can't imagine a haunted eye or arm.

[hajihiko]

Your tag saying Mikan is gonna have it rough has me worried. She’s already been through enough! I mean they all have but especially her! I don’t even want to imagine what her haunting is like!

there's no metric for suffering so it's not like she literally has more bad than the boys. I just mean that, to me, things pertaining to childbirth and the menstrual cycle is horror in itself so it hits harder

[mac-lilly]

"Can't I come with you?" || "You know you can't"

platonic pairing of choice?

Thank you. Your prompt gave me the idea to write a companion piece to Just one more night. Now it's Reggie's time to shine.

Read full version on AO3

Tomorrow

Reggie is running late. And that’s bad. So he hurries, scuttling around his room, gathering his belongings, and stuffing them into a black backpack. Yet, despite his hurry, Reggie pauses by his mirror. He can’t help it. He has to admire his perfectly coiffed hair. Yup. He has absolutely nailed his look today.

Reggie puts on a charming smile, winking suggestively at his own reflection. “Ladies!”

“Are you flirting with yourself?”

Reggie shrieks and leaps into the air, twisting his body like a cat to get a look at the intruder. His little brother is standing in the doorway.

“Stevie,” Reggie gasps. “Why didn’t you knock?”

With his round face and sandy hair, Steve Peters takes more after their mother. However, they share the same pale eyes, and like his brother, freckles are splattered across Stevie’s nose and cheeks.

“I did,” Stevie says, shrugging nonchalantly before, all of a sudden, he averts his eyes. Reggie thinks that’s odd. Stevie isn’t a bubbly kind of person. He’s never been. But the way he’s shifting his weight from one foot to another, arms behind his back, haunted eyes roaming around the room … He looks uncomfortable in his own home.

Then Reggie hears it. Hears them. Their parents’ raised voices are booming through the house. Reggie flinches. He doesn’t need to ask how long this has been going on. He can guess. From the number of insults they’re hurling at each other, they’ve been fighting for at least half an hour. In his rush to hunt down his stuff for their gig, he had been too preoccupied to notice them.

Plastering on a big, bright smile, he spreads his arms in a welcoming gesture.

“Be my guest.”

Stevie huffs and rolls his eyes. But he accepts the invitation anyway. The door falls shut behind him, muffling their parents’ voices. He’s halfway into the room when he spots Reggie’s half-packed rucksack and his bass sitting in its case. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Where’re you going?” he asks. He blinks slowly while he pieces the bigger picture together. At once, his entire face lights up. “Are you having a show?”

Reggie can’t help it. A big grin stretches his face, and he puffs out his chest.

“Yep.”

In one swift movement, Reggie jumps on his desk chair. For a moment, he’s swaying, arms flailing as he struggles to regain his balance on the swiveling chair. Stevie snorts. He isn’t a cheerful soul. But even he can’t conceal his excitement. He’s looking up at his brother, eyes alight with curiosity.

Reggie’s heart swells with pride. He isn’t going to disappoint him.

Reggie isn’t good at stuff – he knows that. He likes school. But his grades suck. He also likes his job at Trader Joe’s. He likes wheeling the cart around. It’s fun. But yesterday, he got a bit too excited, crashing half a dozen carts into a lamp post. Again. So, yeah, he isn’t good at that either.

The one thing he is really good at is playing his bass. Damn good. He knows that. And so does his little brother.

So, that’s what Reggie does.

He plays Now or Never on an air bass. As he does, he closes his eyes, imagining a huge crowd in front of him. He imagines a vast sea of people, growing ecstatic as they play their anthem. They scream. They shout. Their arms are in the air, swaying along to the beat. The atmosphere is electric. Behind him, Alex is wailing on his drums. To his left, Bobby focuses on his guitar, supporting Luke as best as he can. Luke, who is stage and center, working his magic. His music. The energy that’s … that’s just contagious. You can’t escape Luke’s spell. Not that Reggie wants to.

Music has always helped him. It has always been there. Music is a source of comfort as well as a way to block out his parents’ endless fights. Reggie can’t imagine a life without it.

He’s hitting the final notes, and the melody slowly rings out. There’s a moment of silence. Then, the crowd starts chanting their names, frantic. Reggie feels like he’s floating. It’s the best feeling ever.

And then he opens his eyes again, and the clamoring fans evaporate – except for one. Stevie is still

there. And he’s beaming up at him, and Reggie has to correct himself. This is the best feeling ever.  

He mirrors his brother’s grin – his smile so wide, his cheeks hurt.   

Aside from playing the bass, there’s one more thing that Reggie’s really good at. Being an older brother. Or, well, he’s trying, at least. Dad’s often away for work – he’s attending business meetings all around the globe. With his dad frequently absent, his mom has devoted herself to philanthropy. She’s hosting all sorts of charity events. So, with both parents being immersed in their projects, it’s mostly been Reggie who’s been left looking out for Stevie. It’s Reggie who takes his brother on trips to the zoo or the amusement park. He’s the one who helps Stevie pick a birthday gift for a friend when he’s invited to a party. And so far, he’s never missed one of Stevie’s Little League Baseball games.

And Reggie usually doesn’t mind doing it. It loves his brother. (Sometimes, though, he wishes their parents would see them. Both of them.)

Anyway … music, his friends, and his baby brother – these are the things Reggie truly loves. (And puppies, of course. And hamsters. And pizza.)

Then, his gaze falls on his digital alarm clock. His smile falters; his eyes bug comically. It’s 6:48 pm. The bus leaves at 7.

“Oh, shoot! I’m late.” He’s totally lost track of time. He jumps off the chair and scrambles to grab his bag and bass. As he shoulders his bass, he catches a glimpse of Stevie. His shoulders are slumped, and his head is hanging low. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his Alvin and the Chipmunks t-shirt, twisting the material between his fingers. Reggie has a terrible sinking feeling.

“Can’t I … Can’t I come with you?”

Stevie’s voice is small.

Reggie’s heart plunges. “You know you can’t.”

Stevie sniffles, and he’s biting his lip – probably to stop the tears from flowing down his face. Reggie’s heart breaks. He hates it.

He really does. He doesn’t want to leave Stevie behind. He doesn’t deserve to be stuck in a place like this – with parents who are more invested in their own drama than their kids. (They haven’t cooled off yet. Reggie can still hear them hurling accusations at each other.)

But Reggie has a gig. A mega important, life-changing gig. And as much as he loves his brother, he can’t take him along. If it wasn’t for their fake IDs, they wouldn’t be allowed to enter – let alone play – the venue. Bringing an elementary schooler along for the ride? Yeah, they’d kick them out immediately. And Reggie can’t risk that. He can’t do that to the band. The band is his second family.

Still, seeing his brother dejected like this … Reggie can’t stand it. Guilt churned inside him.    

“Hey, tell you what,” Reggie says, big, goofy smile back in place. “Tomorrow, we do whatever you want.”

Stevie perks up. He wrinkles his freckled nose. “Anything?”

“Sure. We can go to the arcade. Oh, or the zoo. Or the movies!” Honestly, Reggie doesn’t mind. He likes the arcade. And the zoo. And the movies. They made a sequel to Free Willy. Reggie can’t wait to watch it.  

Stevie hums, deliberating his options. “Can you …” He hesitates. He’s biting his lip, unsure. “Can you show me how to play?” He points at the bass strapped to Reggie’s shoulder.

Reggie almost topples over. “You want to learn how to play bass?”

Stevie shrugs. He’s not meeting Reggie’s eye when he says, “It looks kinda cool.”

Scratch his earlier emotional high. Right now, Reggie is feeling like he’s soaring among the stars.  

“It is very cool,” Reggie says, nodding meaningfully. And suddenly, he’s got a new idea. He rips his bag open and rummages through it. Eventually, he produces a CD case and a white t-shirt from its depths. He shows Stevie the CD.

“That’s our demo,” Reggie explains. Then he unfolds the t-shirt so Stevie can see its front. The Sunset Curve logo is printed across the chest. Stevie’s eyes bug.

“Rad, isn’t it? And you know what? You are the very first person to own one. Grabbed them this morning.”

He hands both items to his brother. Then he snatches the Diskman his dad got him from his last business trip to Japan from the bedside table. He puts it, along with a pair of headphones, on top of the small stack in his brother’s arms.

“So how about you put it on and listen to the best band in the universe for a while. And tomorrow, I’ll give you your first bass lesson.” 

“Promise?” asks Stevie, cradling his new possessions like a precious treasure. His eyes are wide and pleading and full of hope.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Reggie vows.

When he arrives downtown, he’s still late. But thankfully not too late. After a rainy summer day, Sunset Boulevard is now packed with people enjoying a late evening stroll. Reggie has to weave his way through the milling crowd to make it to the venue in time. Eventually, the familiar sign comes into view, and he slows down. The neon lights of The Orpheum are like a beacon. Its electric buzz fills the air, and Reggie skids to a halt right under the neon-blue sign. He’s out of breath. Leaning over onto his knees, he needs a moment to catch his breath. As he waits for his racing heart to slow down, he notices the crowd for the very first time. A bunch of people have gathered in front of the entrance, waiting for the doors that won’t open for another hour or two.

His heart leaps with joy. They have fans. Real fans! Fans who are willing to wait for hours to see them. Wow! Suddenly, he’s feeling dizzy. His head’s spinning, and he takes a staggering step back to take in the whole picture. There’s a dozen of them – mostly girls, as he does not fail to notice – and–

A figure, half obscured by shadows, is lurking in a dark alleyway, hands shoved into the pockets of his oversized flannel.

Reggie blinks hard.

“Luke?”

Luke jumps and whirls around. In the diffuse streetlight, his face looks gaunt, and his eyes are puffy.

“Bro, you’re alright?”

Luke sniffles. “Yeah.” His voice is raw, and he hastily wipes his face with the sleeve of his flannel.

Listen, Reggie might be slow on the uptake at times. But he can read his friends like an open book. He knows what’s going on. Unfortunately, it’s a delicate subject, and like always, Luke is being stubbornly evasive about it. He’ll never admit it. Instead, his friend tilts his head back, chin pointing at something above the entrance.

Reggie cranes his neck. He spies the marquee. His jaw drops.

He’s been so distracted by the fans – the prospect of having fans – he hasn’t paid the marquee any attention. Now he does.  

SUNSET CURVE SHOWCASE – SOLD OUT

“That’s us!” Reggie laughs in disbelief. He’s feeling exhilarated. Delirious, even. They did it. They fucking did it!

“It is,” Luke confirms, a big grin stretching his face. His eyes are still glassy. “And tomorrow, we’ll be legends.”

Reggie pumps a fist into the air, then slings an arm around Luke’s shoulder, drawing him in. Luke staggers and bumps into his side, and they both laugh. A moment later, Luke’s arm is wrapped around him, pulling him into a half hug.

Together, they stumble towards the back doors of The Orpheum. Towards their future.

Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of their lives. 

And he can’t wait to tell Stevie about it.

[your-divine-ribs]

Red Part 9

Words: 2.5k

Y/N is trying so hard to stay away from Van but she can’t avoid him forever… no warnings for this part ❤️

Red Masterlist Main Masterlist

You can't go on like this... you have to end things with Van...

You repeat the same few lines over and over in your head like a mantra over the following two weeks, almost like it's a sacred incantation that might somehow ward off these feelings that haunt you. It doesn't work though, your heart lurching every time your phone vibrates with a text message. Van's insistent, that's for sure. His texts start out flirty with plenty of innuendoes, but by the third day of you blanking him they take on a more serious tone.

Van: This won't go away just because you're avoiding me. I need to see you.

Van: We need to talk. You can't just keep ignoring me.

Van: I miss you x

The last one just rips into your heart brutally, and from that point on you hit delete quickly every time his name flashes up on your phone screen, trying not to read the contents of the messages. It's safer that way.

Of course ignoring Van doesn't mean that you automatically stop thinking about him though. He lingers there in your mind frustratingly, refusing to budge. He's the first image that pops into your head on waking and the last thought intruding on your mind as you battle with sleep. His whispered seductions in your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck, the plushness of his lips as they press feverishly against yours... and those eyes... captivating and impossibly blue in the sunlight, drawing you in.

You've stayed away from Larry's ever since the day after the party, feigning a mystery illness, even going as far as insisting that Larry steers clear of your house too in case you infect him. He argues at first, but you insist. After all you are sick. Sick with guilt.

For the first time in all the years that you've been together you find yourself imagining a scenario where you two break up, playing the scene in your head like a movie. Larry shocked and disbelieving, pleading for you to reconsider through his tears. Van there waiting in the wings to move in and claim you, the duplicitous victor who steals you right out of his best friend's arms. No matter which way you play it, the outcome is always the same. Heartbreak for all involved.

You just can't do it.

"You can't still be ill, surely?"

Larry's tone is disbelieving and you're glad that you're on the phone and not face to face where he could see your flushed cheeks and guilt-ridden expression.

"Honestly, I've never felt so bad in all my life. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"But Sophie says she saw you in town yesterday, you were just coming out of that cafe on the High Street. You can't be that bad if you're out and about."

Sophie.

So she's still on the scene. It surprises you and that familiar jealousy comes flooding back, but you remind yourself that you have no business feeling it. If you don't want Van you're going to have to get used to seeing him with other girls. It's actually a good thing.

It doesn't feel good though.

"Errr... well, I guess I am starting to feel a little better." You flounder at being caught out. "I only popped out for a moment."

But Larry doesn't seem concerned that your excuses could be lies, he's got no reason to think that you'd be so devious in trying to avoid him. He just sounds happy, his voice raising up in excitement.

"Ah great, if you're starting to feel better then you'll be okay to come to the gig on Friday night."

"Gig? What gig?"

"You know... the lids are playing the O2 Academy. It's gonna be great. Tickets sold out in about 5 minutes."

"Oh..."

You're struck with anxiety at the thought of seeing Van again, but you know that you can't hide away forever. Sooner or later you're going to have to face him so it might as well be sooner. And he'll be up on stage for most of the night which should make staying out of his way even easier.

"Yeah... yeah. I should be alright. I'll come. Should be a good night."

You try to inject some form of enthusiasm into your voice but it's strained, not that Larry seems to notice. He's off on an excited rant, enthusing about what a good opportunity this is for the band and his best friend. It twists your heart to hear how proud he is of Van, and this just confirms to you that you're making the right decision by ending things.

"Ahh yeah it's gonna be class, and Dan the manager reckons this is just the start of it. He's just in talks with some of the major festivals and there's a good chance they'll be booking loads over the summer. They're really going places, I can feel it. Next year is gonna be immense! And Van's writing some quality tunes at the moment... proper anthems. Hopefully he might play one of the new ones on Friday."

You find yourself zoning out, Larry's words becoming indistinct until you hear something that makes your ears prick up.

"I'm just hoping this gig'll sort him out. Honestly I don't know what's got into him at the moment, he's been moping around with a face like thunder, ignoring Bondy's texts, shutting himself away in his room... he's been a bloody nightmare. Sophie says he's been snapping at her too..."

You close your eyes and screw up your face, your gut twisting as you listen to Larry's account of Van's mysterious uncharacteristic behaviour. What the fuck have you two been playing at? You're not just risking messing up your own lives, but also dragging other people into this whole sordid mess.

You need to rid yourself of this notion that you're somehow falling for Van. It's lust, that's all it is. Plain and simple. And you can soon put a stop to that. You just need to control your urges and see Van for who he really is. It wasn't so long ago that you were disgusted as he paraded a string of lovestruck girls into his bed. He's only on his best behaviour right now because he's on a mission to bed you. And that's never going to happen. Never. Never in a million years. It's over.

Gig nights are always accompanied by a mixture of emotions. Bob and Benji are a bag of nerves even though Benji tries to play it down, a contrast to Bondy's quiet, chilled confidence. Van's always hyper and tonight's no different. He's pacing back and forth in the back room of the venue, practically bouncing off the walls. At least the excitement is overshadowing the awkward moment that you two first clapped eyes on each other. Your train of thought had been utterly derailed and you were rendered speechless as you'd pushed through the door and seen him standing there, your breath catching in your throat as he'd greeted you with a rush of words which sounded very much like relief.

"Y/N! You made it. I really didn't think you'd come but here you are!"

"Here I am," you echo weakly when your power of speech returns, immediately dropping your head down to study the floor to hide your red cheeks. Thankfully everyone's so caught up in the pre-gig excitement that they don't appear to notice Van's eyes lingering on you and your obvious discomfort, but you announce that you're going to the bar nevertheless, keen to be released from Van's stifling gaze.

You turn quickly on your heel, head still down, making for the doorway that you've just come through. Various cries sound out from the lads, placing their orders, but you don't turn around. You just carry on walking, through into the corridor where you stop, taking a deep breath and leaning up against the wall, tipping your head back and closing your eyes.

Fuck... you hadn't been expecting the strength of emotions that had come crashing down on you when you'd seen Van. It had hit you like a ten-tonne truck, a wave of longing and craving and pent-up desire, a rush that made you feel weak, your head still spinning as you curse inwardly, trying to compose yourself.

"Are you okay Y/N?"

The female voice catches you by surprise and your eyes flick open quickly to see Sophie standing there, eyes wide and brimming with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine... good... really good actually. I just felt a little... I don't know... faint I guess. It's so hot in there." You fan yourself with a hand, glad to have an excuse for your scarlet cheeks.

"Larry said you'd not been very well so I thought I'd come and check on you. It's not like any of the lads would think to… am I right?"

She rolls her eyes and grins, linking an arm through yours, friendly and conspiratorial. You smile back, pushing your body off the wall, letting her turn you both in the direction of the venue foyer and bar.

"Yeah, guys are shit like that aren't they? Completely wrapped up in themselves."

"Totally! Oh god, especially Van. Sometimes I wonder whether he notices that I'm even there at all!"

You can't help the satisfaction that floods you at her words and you hate yourself for it, pushing it away and playing the understanding confidante, glancing over at Sophie as you walk along.

"Oh, well that's Van for you, he's so easily distracted. So... are things not... errr... going that well with you two then?"

Sophie lets out an audible sigh as you arrive at the bar, both leaning on it with your elbows. "I don't know. He's so moody at the moment, and it's like his mind's always somewhere else entirely when we're together."

Your mind goes to the frequent text messages you've been receiving. You dig in your bag for your purse, ordering pints for everyone. "You do realise that the band always comes first don't you?"

Sophie shrugs, shaking her head slightly, her glossy brunette locks falling perfectly to frame her face. She really is gorgeous, Van must be crazy.

"I know that... and I mean I know we've not been together long, but sometimes I wonder whether he's just stringing me along. You know, until something better comes along."

"Well I don't know about that..." you begin, but Sophie talks over you, eager to tell you her woes, reaching for the first freshly poured pint.

"I mean you did warn me didn't you? About what Van was like? Maybe I should've listened... but I keep finding myself going back for more. He's just so bloody gorgeous it's like I can't help myself. D'ya know what I mean?"

You almost mumble out an agreement before you stop yourself, dipping your head to take a sip of your own pint instead. Sophie's not waiting for an answer anyway, she's on a roll.  And what she says next shocks you.

"It's funny really, I've fancied Van for so long. I tried to catch his eye for ages, turned up to all his gigs, went to all the same parties, then after months he finally noticed me. I thought it was like a dream come true, but now I'm not so sure. I'm beginning to think that maybe Van's not the real catch here... maybe it's your Larry instead!"

You splutter in surprise, nearly spraying her in a mouthful of lager, swallowing it too quickly and making yourself cough. "Larry?" You croak, wiping the drink that's dripping down your chin.

She throws her head back with a hearty laugh, a hand reaching out for your arm. "Oh my god Y/N! You should see your face! Yes Larry... your Larry! There's not many Larry's around here last time I checked!"

You crack an awkward smile, setting your drink back down on the bar. "Yeah, I guess he's a good one."

"The best!" Sophie giggles. "Honestly, he's such a sweetheart. When I got upset over how Van was acting the other day he was so lovely. And he's hilarious too, he had me in stitches telling me stories of what the guys all get up to when they're touring."

Her eyes are all lit up as she speaks and you suppose you should feel threatened that this gorgeous girl's so taken with your boyfriend, but you don't. You just listen on, smiling and sipping your drink as she tells you a story of Larry picking her up from a party when she'd had too much to drink as Van wouldn't answer his phone. You hadn't realised how close they'd become in such a short space of time.

Suddenly she stops mid-sentence, eyes wide and cautious. "Oh bloody hell, listen to me going off on one! I hope I'm not over-stepping the mark. You do know that Larry adores you right? I really don't think that he'd even so much as look at another girl. Ahh shit I feel bad now! Me and my big mouth!"

"No, no it's fine," you assure her. "Larry's one of the good guys, nothing's too much trouble for him. He's like everyone's best mate."

Sophie's wariness evaporates instantly. "Yes! That's just it!"

"Alright ladies?"

You feel an arm on your shoulder as you hear the familiar voice in your ear and you whip your head up to see Larry's wide grin. He's got his other arm curled over Sophie's shoulder and she shrieks excitedly on seeing him.

"Larry! Oh my god, we've literally just been talking about you! Bet your ears were burning!"

"Hope it was all good," he grins, giving you a kiss on the cheek, murmuring a quiet "hiya love".

There's a flurry of greetings and hugs, and again you marvel at how seeing Sophie obviously so close to Larry isn't setting off alarm bells in your head. Maybe it's because you're so secure in the knowledge that he'd never stray. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe the spark really has gone from your relationship, that giddy breathless feeling that Van gives you, so addictive that you're always left craving more.

As Larry picks up the pints that you and Sophie can't manage and you all turn back towards the green room, thoughts are thundering through your head like a hurricane. You know damn well that you'd be foolish to think that the rush of excitement from a new relationship can be sustained, and the comfortable companionship that usually ensues is really the ultimate goal, but you still can't shake that disquieting feeling that your relationship with Larry has run its course.

But this isn't the movies. There won't be some dramatic scene accompanied by emotional turmoil that ends up in life lessons and everyone living happily ever after. The fact remains that not only are you a dishonest cheat, you've done the unthinkable and embarked on a illicit affair with your boyfriend's best friend.

Again the words ring through your head, and a quiet determination blooms inside you.

You can't go on like this... you have to end things with Van...

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime — Fourteen // Wanda Maximoff

chapter thirteen | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | epilogue

author’s note: the last chapter is finally here! i hope you like it 😊

There were many times when I'd get distracted by thoughts of Wanda.

I could be going for a walk and remember that time she tripped over the flat pavement, almost bringing me down with her. I could be shopping for stationary and remember that time she almost bought the whole shop in one visit. I could be sitting by the water fountain and remember that time she tried to make a wish, only to drop her whole purse in it.

This time, I'd just woken up to the sun streaming through my curtains. I rolled over to an empty bed, hand brushing against the cold sheets as they expected more. For some reason, my subconscious decided to taunt me with a memory taking place just after we'd first made love in her room...

"I love you so much," Wanda told me with an enchanting smile.

I turned to face her, one arm comfortable under the pillow as the other rested outside the duvet, covering my bare chest. She raised her hand, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear before resting her hand there. I smiled at the contact and felt a warmth spreading all over me at the affectionate gaze she sent my way.

"I know, love, you only said it several times," I teased lightly, making her chuckle. "I love you, too, though, in case you didn't know."

She sighed contently, eyes closing. I admired how beautiful she looked with her hair sprawled over her bare shoulders, smile on her lips and freckles dusting her skin. Her touch still ghosted my body, taste still embedded between my lips, scent still wavering in my nose. She was permanent and I was certain she'd never leave.

"We should probably get up in case somebody comes to check on us," she said, interrupting my moment of admiration.

Her eyes flickered open slowly, blue with golden flecks glistening right back at me. Suddenly, anything that happened after this didn't matter to me. For once, I appreciated where we were, what we had and nothing more or less. No wedding, no future... just now.

"We should," I agreed regretfully, though her leg moved closer to mine and made me wish we could stay here longer. "I wish we didn't have to."

She smiled halfheartedly, hand moving down my cheek, caressing the skin, before they rested at my chin. She outlined my lips with her thumb before leaning forward and stealing a kiss.

"Can't we have a few more minutes?" she asked, lips brushing mine as she spoke.

She was making it very hard to deny her and judging from the playful smirk on her lips, she knew that.

"I guess we can," I agreed quietly, making her smile with satisfaction.

She rolled on top of me, capturing my lips in a kiss as her bare chest pressed to mine and my hand found her waist for support. As usual, the effect she had on me was indescribable and I couldn't imagine us ever leaving the bed. I knew for sure that I'd never been happier than I was in that moment.

It was such a perfect moment, but it haunted me. Nothing felt right without her. She'd overwhelmed all of my senses and remained, even when I didn't have her by me in person. The wedding was literally in a few weeks, but I hadn't managed to get over her.

How could I be her maid of honour when I could barely speak to her? Not without wanting to curl in a ball and cry afterwards. Every thing I did seemed to be filled with memories of her. She was inescapable.

A groan left my lips as I dragged my hand down my face with frustration. I couldn't let her get to me yet again. I had an interview with the local paper today. The last thing I needed was Wanda as a distraction.

So, with that lovely thought lingering in my mind, I dragged myself out of bed to get ready for the day ahead.

—

Press interviews weren't something I was used to.

Whenever Y/B/N had them with journalists for his books, I wasn't present. The only thing I heard was when he came back and told me how it went, then I proceeded to read about it in the paper the next day.

I was sat in Steve's office at Maximoff Publishing with Steve sat by my side, sending me a supportive smile. A journalist from the local paper sat before us, notebook and pen in hand as he watched on with curious eyes.

"So, Y/N," he began. "I'll start with the obvious, if you don't mind."

I glanced at Steve who nodded encouragingly. Clearing my throat, I looked to the journalist. "Sure thing."

He smiled and glanced at his notebook before asking, "How does it feel to be published? You're Pietro Maximoff's first female author."

"An author who happens to be female," I corrected, hoping I didn't come off as rude. "And that isn't something that should be new, in my opinion. It should be normalised."

He nodded, noting it down in his notebook. "Controversy... I like it."

Swallowing hard, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"I think the readers would like to know how you managed to score a publisher," he began his next question. "How exactly did you get noticed amongst the many authors that look to be published?"

Okay, not so difficult, I could answer that.

"Well, it was actually my–" I paused, Wanda's face flashing to mind. Okay, maybe a little difficult.

"Your...?" the journalist prompted.

I blinked, attempting to find my words.

"Wanda," Steve answered, starting me off.

I looked to him with grateful eyes before looking back to the journalist. "Right. Yes. Wanda."

"Your brother's fiancé, right?" the journalist asked for clarification.

"Yes," I answered, with an accidental clipped tone. "She... she was the one who gave my work to her brother. Asked him to look at it. And the rest is history."

The journalist was making notes as I spoke, nodding and humming in response, before looking to me with raised brows.

"So, the wedding," he said, making me wince subtly. "Are you excited?"

Forcing a smile, I said, "Ecstatic."

"How does it feel to have your two families uniting?" he asked, and I chewed on my lips, unsure how to respond.

"I– er–"

"Are you afraid that Y/B/N marrying Wanda may put him in Pietro's good graces?" he interrupted eagerly, leaning forward in his seat.

I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn't know what to say that wouldn't land me in hot water or make me look like a jealous sibling. Glancing to Steve questioningly, he thankfully noticed my speechlessness and gave the journalist a warning stare.

"Can you stay on topic, please?" he asked the keen journalist. "Y/N is here to talk about her book and nothing more."

"Okay, okay," the journalist gave in, making me exhale slowly. "What's next in store for your readers, Y/N? A sequel, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure," I answered truthfully. "I'm still in awe at the reception from the first one."

He nodded, note taking as he listened. "How many books do you think you'll get out of your career before getting married like your brother?"

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. But I didn't get to answer as he was already moving onto his next question.

"Are you not worried about getting married? You know, men don't like smart women."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I clenched my fists by my side and was very close to strangling him before we were interrupted. A servant whom I recognised from home knocked on the door and earned everyone's attention.

"Oh, tell him to go away," the journalist said dismissively, waving his hand.

Steve looked to me and I plastered a bitter smile on my lips as I glanced at the journalist.

"I'd let him in if I were you," I told Steve, and he seemed to understand that I was about to pummel the journalist if I wasn't distracted, because he nodded and motioned for the servant to enter.

The journalist sighed rudely and I clenched my jaw before looking to the servant with a quirked brow. He looked out of breath, panting for air and face flushed red.

"Did you run here?" I realised, cocking my head to the side with confusion.

He nodded, straightening up and attempting to catch his breath. "Yes, Miss Y/L/N. Very sorry to interrupt, but your mother insisted I hurry."

My eyes widened. "Oh, God, what happened? Is she okay?"

"Kind of," he answered, before clarifying, "The wedding between your brother and Miss Maximoff has been cancelled."

"What?!" everyone in the room asked at the same time.

What did he mean the wedding had been cancelled?! Wanda and Y/B/N weren't going to get married?

"I don't know the details," the servant got out quickly. "I just know that your mother sent me to fetch you as soon as possible. She's distraught and requires you home immediately."

I nodded instantly, already making a move to stand up, then I remembered where I was.

"You mustn't publish anything you just heard," I told the journalist with a stern finger, but he seemed over the moon at the news.

"Go, Y/N, your mother needs you," Steve said, resting a hand on my shoulder as he, too, stood up. He side-eyed the journalist as he added, "I'll take care of this tool."

At that, the journalist's eyes widened with fear and judging from the smirk on Steve's lips, I knew things would be okay.

"Thank you," I told him, hugging him quickly, before looking to the servant. "I'll go now. Thank you."

After giving the servant some money to grab a treat and calm him from his breathless state, I got a carriage home with my mind racing a million thoughts a minute.

Why was the wedding off? My mum was distraught, according to the servant, so that could only mean it hadn't been her choice. Was it Y/B/N? Had he broken it off? Or maybe it was Wanda? But no. She'd never do that. She wouldn't hurt her family like that.

I wasn't sure what it was, but I definitely didn't know how to feel. This could either be heavily in my favour or go against me in the worst way possible...

When I arrived home, I found my family in the dining room. My mum was sat down, upset and shaking her head in her hands, tear marks on her face. My dad was sat beside her, rubbing her back soothingly and whispering calming things to her as my brother stood to the side, looking apologetic and uncomfortable.

"It's okay, mum, it'll be okay," he was saying to her from across the table. "It's not a big deal. I can find somebody–"

"Hello...," I began awkwardly, standing in the doorway and hesitant to move forward. "I just got the news from our servant. What happened?"

"Oh, Y/N, you shouldn't have–" my father began regretfully, before my mum slammed her hand on the table and glared at my brother.

"Y/B/N broke off the engagement!" she shouted with frustration.

"There you go...," my dad mumbled before returning his attention to his wife.

"Mum, I–"

"You did what?!" I cut Y/B/N off with raised brows. "You broke off the engagement? You dumped Wanda?"

He looked to me with sad eyes. "Y/N–"

"You idiot!" I shouted, feeling angry as I imagined the effect this must have had on the Maximoff family. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you–?!"

He grabbed my waving arm and dragged me out of the dining room, making me shove him off when we reached the hall.

"Why the hell did you break it off?!" I yelled at him with a glare. "Why would you–"

"I didn't!" he whisper-shouted back, looking down at me with a downcast expression. "She did!"

My anger faded as I realised he was telling the truth. He looked genuinely hurt, eyes glassy and a frown on his lips. Wanda was the one to break it off? What?

"She broke it off with me," he elaborated quietly, so our parents couldn't hear. "She told me this morning. She said she didn't love me and that she couldn't marry me."

I swallowed hard, looking away from him momentarily. "Why did you tell mum and dad that it was you who broke up with her?"

He pinched his forehead with agitation. "Because it looks a lot less foolish if I say it was me rather than her. She doesn't love me, Y/N. She never did."

I risked looking at him, seeing his disheartened expression. Part of me felt guilty because I knew it was my fault this had happened, but I couldn't exactly say that to him, so I stayed quiet. He shook his head once more before walking away, leaving me standing there with shock.

"Er, Miss Y/L/N?"

I spun around when one of our servants approached me.

"I know now isn't the best time," she began, "but a letter came for you earlier. I left it on your desk as you were at work."

Nodding, I offered the servant a halfhearted smile before watching her leave. There was so much to unpack right now...

I headed upstairs and to my room to see what letter was here for me. But I was finding it hard to focus since all that was on my mind was the broken engagement and Y/B/N and Wanda... I needed to see her. What the hell was I doing here?

Planning on going to see Wanda as soon as possible, I grabbed the letter from my desk with the intention of reading it on the way out, but then I recognised the handwriting on the front and paused at my desk.

It was Wanda's handwriting.

I hurried to tear open the envelope, wondering what she had to say. It was no doubt related to the broken engagement.

Dearest Y/N,

I hope that you manage to read this letter before you hear the news, but knowing our families, you'll read it afterwards. In which case, you will know that I have broken off the engagement with Y/B/N.

It was the right thing to do. I chose to do it and I'm sorry if it's caused tension between your brother and your family, but I knew that I couldn't go forward with it when I'm in love with you. I'm not expecting you to come back to me and run away together all dramatically – this isn't about that.

I did this for myself. I'm not in love with your brother and I never was. He should have known that. He had to. Because if not, I'm afraid I broke his heart. And that's the last thing I wanted.

I also did this for you. I need you to know that I'm not heartless or horrible and I didn't expect you to sacrifice anything for me. Cheating on your brother with you... I never meant for this to happen, nor did I mean to get in the way of you both. Falling in love with you was completely accidental, but I don't regret it.

I don't want to go on too much, but I just needed you to know the truth, from me, that I am truly sorry for causing you such pain. I'm still in love with you and I'll never forget what we had. In another lifetime, maybe we could have worked. I'm certain that you were always perfect for me, as was what we had. You are magic, Y/N. I just wasn't powerful enough to keep you.

When I finished reading, I flipped the page over, expecting to find more, but it was blank. She'd ended it there and I didn't know what to think. My heart was racing, mind adjusting too slowly for my liking. She'd broke it off with him for me. I knew she loved me, but I guess I'd never realised just how much.

After recovering from my shock, I put the letter away and left for Wanda's, not bothering to tell my family where I was going. My dad was attempting to console my disappointed mother as Y/B/N moped around somewhere else, so I took that as my chance to nip out without them noticing.

I was trying to plan what to say to her – I didn't even know what I wanted to say to her. She said she didn't expect me to get back with her, and even without Y/B/N and their engagement in the way, we still couldn't be together. Not like how we wanted to be. But I wanted to. I wanted her. All this time without her had been heartbreaking – I didn't want to leave her again. I didn't know the specifics of how we would work, but we could work. We had to.

When I reached her house, it was her mother who opened the door. And that's when I realised that I wasn't sure if she blamed Y/B/N or her daughter for the engagement breaking apart.

"Iryna, hi," I greeted with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time–"

"Y/N, I'm glad you're here," she cut me off, immediately pulling me in for a hug. "Thank you for coming."

I nodded with mild confusion, returning the hug, before pulling away.

"I'm so sorry for the pain Wanda has caused to your family," she said regretfully. "I hope that your parents aren't as distraught as we are."

I eyed her strangely, still not sure what Wanda had told her. Either way, I didn't bother questioning it as my urgency to see Wanda was overpowering my curiosity.

"It's okay, Iryna, there's no need to apologise," I reassured her. "My family will be okay... I just thought I'd come and check in on Wanda. It's a lot, what happened."

She nodded sympathetically. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're such a good friend to her." She stood to the side to let me in. "Go on up. She's in her room. Hasn't come out since this morning."

I offered a small, awkward smile Iryna's way before letting myself in and going upstairs to Wanda's room. My palms were sweaty and my mouth was dry – stupidly juxtaposed – when I stopped before Wanda's door. On the way over here, I still hadn't decided what to say. I figured it would just come to me when I saw her. One could hope.

Knocking on the door, I heard her sweet, accented voice give me permission to enter. My stomach flipped at the sound and I did as she said. Closing the door behind me, I turned and saw Wanda sat at a stool before a canvas.

Noticing I didn't say anything, she glanced over her shoulder casually, probably expecting a family member. She widened her eyes when she realised it was me and immediately stood up, smoothing out her paint-covered smock in an attempt to look neater. The simple action warmed my heart – she was adorable and I couldn't help but smile.

"Hi," I said quietly.

She cleared her throat, eyes darting around nervously. "Hey. I didn't– what are– hi."

I let my eyes wander, admiring her messy ponytail and the strokes of paint on her face that she definitely wasn't aware of. She was stunning, even with her confused eyes and pursed lips. Better yet, her hand was ring-free and I was reminded of the fact that she wasn't engaged anymore.

"I assume you're here because you read the letter," she began apologetically, but I didn't let her finish because the longer I was in her presence, the more I realised I wanted to kiss her.

Approaching her, I found her eyes before pressing my lips to hers. My hands cupped her cheeks as I held her close, revelling in her taste and scent and touch. She was quick to react, her fingers curling around my waist and tugging me towards her, squeezing our bodies together. Breathing became a problem and we regretfully had to pull away, but remained close enough to exchange breaths and swim in each other's eyes. I'd never been more relieved to see the colour green.

"You're not mad," she realised, looking between my eyes as if trying to search for some anger.

"How can I be mad that you broke off your engagement for me, knowing we can never be together in the way that you deserve?" I asked with disbelief.

She smiled beautifully, making my heart flutter in my chest. "You still love me."

I stole another kiss from her lips. "I never stopped, Wanda. Of course I still love you."

She rested her forehead to mine and closed her eyes peacefully. "Thank you for coming back."

I laughed, feeling tears brim my eyes. "I'm not leaving again, love. We'll find a way to make this work. I promise you that."

Wanda Maximoff deserved the world. And I was going to give it to her in this lifetime and beyond.

[quoththe-ravenn]

may i request some sad bailey time~ or however u want this to go! so, childhood friends bailey and (i guess in this case PC!) pc. inseparable best friends, until pc moves for unknown reasons. far in the future, pc meets bailey again and is absolutely shocked by what they see. how do you think bailey acts after all these years, knowing that their childhood best friend thinks they’re a monster?

Yes you absolutely may. Ffffff

TW kidnapping (hinted at), choking, l

I think at first Bailey would do anything he could to keep you from finding out who he is. Keep you as far away from the orphanage as possible, only sees you once out of the public eye. He's just so happy you're back! He can slip into who he was during his younger days. Almost forget who he's become.

Almost.

But of course, you find out. It's inevitable. Bailey's hands are in too many pockets, name on too many lips for you not to.

It's unbelievable at first. That can't be your Bailey. Your Bailey is kind, and gentle, and would never force a poor orphan to prostitution just so they can pay their dues.

But then you walk into the orphanage, watch some poor child burst into tears with Bailey towering over them. The gasp you release will haunt Bailey for years to come.

He turns slowly, giving the child leeway to hightail it up the stairs. The look of horror, pain, and disgust in your eyes shatters his heart. Not you... Anyone but you...

He can't bear to see you look at him like that.

In an act of desperation, all sense of rational thought gone, he grips you, drags you to his office. He can barely even hear the shouts of profanity you throw at him, the questions on how he could think this was okay for even a moment? Doesn't he remember how it felt to be in their position?

The last question breaks through his barriers. Your back is slammed against the wall faster than your mind can catch up. His hands are around your throat and he's yelling and screaming and telling you to shut the hell up!

You left! You got out of this hell hole! You have no idea about the horrors he's had to live through! You don't get to look at him like that, don't get to judge. You were the One Good Thing in his life, and you left, you worthless slut!

You're barely conscious as he releases you, body falling limp into his arms. There, that's better. Let Bailey take care of you, forget all this silly nonsense about what he's become.

Despite the barred windows, and the shock collar you're forced to wear at all times, you can almost imagine the man you wake up to every morning is the same one you had left all those years ago.

Almost.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.  

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part.  I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.  

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.  

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

Tag List:

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[herstarburststories]

you and me and the devil makes three.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x reader, Demon!Dean Winchester x reader, past Lisa x Dean

Summary: Dean is a demon, he will take whatever he wants.

A/N: This got darker than I expected. I wanna make it clear I don't condone or engage with Dean's acts on this. This is my submission for @jawritter 's Make Me Cry Challenge. Congrats, honey! Hope you like it. Dividers by talesmanic and gif credit here

Prompt: I guess I should have been more like her.

Warnings: non consensual kissing, language, UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOR, non con (kissing and touching but no sex), dirty talk

Dean Winchester was a dreamer.

In the rawest way of the word, the meaning in the dust-collecting dictionaries and not the idealistic form. His eyelids shut close and, just like magic, Dean’s head was as haunted as the home he swore he’d never come back to in Kansas. The ghosts of the past, not ever so very friendly, coming to greet him at least three times per week. Sometimes they were happy films he could never starre in real life, his mom singing or a picnic with a lover saying that they needed to hurry up to get their kid at the baseball. The nightmares were sleepy visions of flesh and blood, mostly about his time underneath, Sam hurting, or his father spilling out his worst fears at his face. 

Maybe it was how the eldest Winchester’s brain compensated for the lack of bedtime tales and docile affairs growing up. The own way that his brittle soul discovered and molded not to let him collapse, or to always keep him on red alert. 

Good and bad deals are mostly a matter of which side you are betting your money on, really.

Because yeah, Dean did wake up feeling like he had shut his forest eyes briefly for twenty minutes instead of hours when he dreamed, but he also had never spent so long trapped in a better place. The green eyed hunter didn’t know which one was worse: the good dreams or the horrific ones. After all, he had went through all the atrocity and made it out alive, but the engulfed craving for light-hearted scenarios was suffocating. The hunter could never have it all. Trust him, he tried. Then, which is more agonizing: to have everything you ever wanted for a couple hours and have every scrap of it taken from you, or to undergo the calamity that accompanied your breaking point? 

Dean didn’t know, he didn’t even know what to tell Sam when he wondered what his brother had dreamt about to wake up sweating and screaming, all the light and stupid apple pie desires and the sharp brutality crawling out of the back of his mind. He made a joke, Megan Fox really liked knives, man. He kept it in, shoved down a good amount of alcohol, and mocked the worry of doing the lawn. Ready for another day. 

But now he was a demon, and apparently whatever he was made of - sulfur, cruelty, and black eyes under garden ones - wasn't worthy quiet reliefs in the middle of the night, or even frightening figments of memory. He became his worst dreams and all the dreams slipped beyond his reaches because of that. Demons, those unholy creatures, didn’t get the human peculiarities. You know what? Fine by him.

Who needed dreams when you don't need sleep, anyway? Even better: who needed dreams when you don't care about what you gotta do to put your greedy hands on the prize you had been eyeing for years? 

Dean Winchester was finally free. Free for the first time since he was a four years little boy who watched his mother burning with a terrorized expression, ironically mimicking the one Mary wore on the ceiling. His dad’s shouting for him to grab Sammy and run, take your little brother and run, echoing through years and years. There was never time for Dean, for his grief or his questions or whatever the child frozen in time under his rib cage could come up with. They said, stupid psychologists with their fancy degrees and malicious bartenders with a unfriendly grun under the counter who learned a little too much, everybody said that when someone was so traumatized as a kid, that person would tend to get frozen at that age. Therefore, how tremendously alleviating was to kill any reminiscing emotion of the whiny child he used to be. 

The kind of freedom that no traveler longed for; when one’s ruined and damaged enough not to care, and just take and take and take like hunger itself. Dean was an evil thing now, what else could he do but act on the figments of the worst intentions?

And feel so fucking good when doing that. 

‘’Where do you think he's going?’’ Your eyes raked over the street, darting between the asphalt under Baby’s wheels and Sam’s weary features.

‘’I don't know.’’ He sighed, attempting to organize his thoughts. Even as a demon, his brother wouldn’t just run miles and miles away by himself for no apparent reason. There had to be something you and Sam were missing out, some unseen clue or a hidden meaning. ‘’What the localizator says?’’

At least you had managed to put a tracker in his boots during your last encounter. Whatever Dean was thinking of starting there, you and Sam wouldn’t let him.

‘’Still Cicero, Indiana.’’ You sighed. Sammy furrowed his eyebrows, a long forgotten memory rising. ‘’What?’’

‘’We had a case there once years ago.’’ He explained, opting not to elaborate. Your and Dean’s relationship was troubled enough with his new self. Sam didn’t want to blow it up completely. His brother would need you once he came back to himself. The look on your face, though, reported how you weren’t buying his cheap excuses. The long haired hunter sighed. ‘’Did Dean ever tell you about that?’’

‘’No.’’

He stepped on the accelerator.

To find the woman was excruciatingly easy. The freckled demon couldn't believe he opened his computer many times and gave up before today. He glanced through the glass window and there she was, standing in all her glory with a body that seemed to forget how to grow old. Her tan skin still glowing, as appetizing as ever. Brown eyes shining so bright, tiny hands that always seemed to know where he wanted to be touched. She was laughing like there was no tomorrow, holding a glass of wine with one hand and her cellphone with the other, while her dark hair was falling so perfectly over her shoulder, like waves against the rocks in the sea.

Dean can’t wait to smell her again, to taste her, to prove her. His fingers were tingling, begging to touch what was his as he hopped off the car, walking towards the porch. He had been gone for a long time, but now he was back. 

He will destroy that quintessential, sequin woman so good.

The Winchester buckled in front of the white door, graced with the sound of the female giggle. Thin walls, he thought, those will be useful to make sure the neighbors know who’s back home. Her steps on the wood floor growing closer and closer as he heard a goodbye, probably aimed at whoever she was on the phone with. It was almost like the caramel skinned woman knew that whoever was on her doorstep wasn’t gonna be a hustled visitor. Or so the demon’s arranged mind said.

‘’Hey, Lis.’’ Dean’s voice lacked any cherishment as she opened the door, who would know that the absence of a soul wouldn't be gelid, just dry? As for her, Lisa’s face was drained of love. For all she was aware of, he was a stranger who knew her name. The male let out a chuckle empty of joy. She really didn’t remember, huh? ‘’Whoa. Cass really fucked up your head, huh? At least he did one thing right.’’

‘’Excuse me?’’ The man with dirty blonde hair and perfect teeth smelled like alcohol. She wasn’t having any of this tonight. ‘’Listen, I don’t know who you are and--’’

‘’Don’t worry.’’ He tranquilized her, although the lopsided grin on his lips held anything but good intentions. ‘’I’ll make you remember. I have a spell. You won’t believe how much you missed me.’’

The mocking laugh that left her lips utterly aggravated him. ‘’I don’t know you. Please leave or I’ll call the police.’’

Dean didn’t need a crowd for that part, a bratty woman in need of a firm hand should get a particular lesson. 

‘’You always liked a little cat and mouse.’’

Speaking of, the demon pushed the door wide open without any effort. Lisa jumped at the sudden move, every instinct inside her deciding that man was a threat and not some harmless wasted guy. Her body was quickly erect, thinking about ways to run and get help, but Dean swiftly pushed her to him and kicked the door closed-- her small figure collided to his chest.

Human savagery was cut in urban ways, molded to civilize the animalistic instincts. Imagine meat. A dead animal on a silver plate, and we couldn’t wait to chew every inch of it. We couldn’t wait to eat it, put that dead thing inside us and hope it’ll be enough to control the predatory hungry. Humans will always be animals, but so will be their rests that constructed the demons. 

Dean may not be a hunter anymore, but he’s still a predator who can't wait to taste his prey. He could small it, the fear in Lisa’s sweat making his mouth water. How much she tried to fight against him and scream other names when his was the only one he wanted her to need tonight. The resistance of a poor human barely made the monster shiver.

He closed his hands around her arms, throwing her against the wall like someone tossed an old toy away. There was no space for delicaly. In that moment, Dean Winchester was a tiger, a lion, the big bad wolf attacking the omega. Lis winced, her back hurting as her fibers. She couldn’t believe this was happening, that man was about to do something so terrible and disgusting to her in her own house, the place she was supposed to feel warm and safe. Why did he seem to know her? Why did he say she was gonna remember? Was he crazy, hallucinating, or drugged? Why was he so satisfied with how frightened her tiny body looked? How could she use all that information to somehow push him away?

‘’Let me go!’’ She demanded, her legs kicking the demon with ferocity. ‘’What’s wrong with you? LET ME GO NOW!’’

The brunette’s skilled body moved itself desperately, and the act of resistance only brought a hysterical laugh out of Dean. The wrong kind of goosebumps washed her skin, she had to run away for her life. This man was mad.

‘’FIRE! FIRE!’’ Lisa started to scream. Well-aware that people were most likely to come around and help a woman screaming if she said fire. ‘’THERE’S A FIRE. SOMEONE HELP ME!’’

One of his hands went to her neck, wrapping his fingers around it to shut her up. That was rubbing him off the wrong way. Lisa Braeden used to beg for his touch, how dared her not to want him anymore? Now that he was better, stronger, and thicker.

The brown eyed girl went quiet, probably scared by his brutal behavior. Dean smiled, a blood stained grin that carried mischief and pervertment. He licked the tears savoring the salty horror coming from her. Just like the day he was a vampire who almost gave in to drinking every drop of her luptuos blood. She may not remember but he did and he couldn't wait to get inside her, those tight walls squeezing his hard cock.

‘’You’re gonna do as I say, Lis. And I won't hurt you… Much.’’ He risped, crooked nose stroking her wet cheek. She whined. ‘’Don’t worry, honey. You loved it. Bet you’ll scream so much once I fuck you good.’’

‘’Please, don’t do it.’’ She begged as he coaxed his body against his. That man was stronger than her, she had no other choice but to plead to his human side. If only she knew.

‘’Begging already?’’ Dean lifted his head, smirking at her. Lisa just wanted to cry and close her eyes until everything was done. How could someone do that? ‘’I told you, don’t worry. I’m gonna make a lil’ spell that will give your memories back and you’ll remember everything. And then we’re gonna have so much fun, Lis.’’

His last murmur was finished with a kiss. A harsh, ruthless kiss. Actually, she wasn’t even sure if she could call it a kiss; teeth against each other, his vicious mouth pressed to her weakened lips, his tongue invading her like a robber and showing an unrequited dominance.

‘’Dean!’’ Your voice resonated stridently, louder than the door Sam had stormed open. You couldn’t believe what your eyes witnessed. ‘’Stop it!’’

Dean groaned, as if you and Sam were stepping on his territory. He simply turned his head to you two, not pulling away from Lisa. You couldn’t see her face, your boyfriend’s large shoulder and tall body covering her up. His eyes were still green, which set the scene in an even more atrocious light. 

Your thoughts were racing. How could he come to her, crave her so badly that he drove away miles and miles as a demon? He was supposed not to feel a thing. You prepared yourself for a cold man, not an obsessive one. Apparently, a heart hidden under the black smoke. Choose if it's a gift or Pandora's box. Sam told you their history. Of course he would want that and not you. Dean never left Lisa because he fell out of love for her, he was ripped out from her life. You were so pissed at yourself; how could you picture playing the woman in his veins? How stupid were you? He may be a demon guided by wants and not emotions, but what was love but an amount of outrageous desires laced up with some pretty words and flavored with dependency?

‘’Y/N and Sammy--’’

Love was the wrong word here. Anyway. Go head and unwrap it.

‘’Please help me!’’ Lisa’s voice came to life once more through her quiet cry. Dean hardened the hold around her throat, making her cough a little.

Suddenly, your body is frozen. That, whatever that is, whatever he’s doing to Lisa. It wasn’t love. She didn’t want it. When his frame moved to face you and Sam, you caught a glimpse of her face. She was petrified, her delicate features contorted in wrath and fear and beg for help.

‘’Quiet.’’ Dean howled, glancing at her rapidly before his eyes fell on you and Sam again. ‘’You two are such killjoys. I told you to let me go.’’

You couldn’t believe what you were witnessing. You wanted to puke your guts out.

‘’And what? Kill your ex? Or do something even worse to her?’’ You elicited with disgust.

‘’She’ll come around eventually. Just playing hard to get. You know how frisky women are.’’ The corner of his lips curved into a barbaric grim, one of his hands touching Lisa’s cheek. The victim winced at the touch. ‘’Besides, I’m not just gonna take her. I’ll make her remember and she’ll want me.’’ He shrugged, unbothered by the horrified looks of everyone in the room. ‘’Are you really worried about Lis, Y/N? Or are you just jealous that I didn’t go for you?’’

‘’Enough, Dean.’’ Sam groaned, holding the gun up. It felt oily. ‘’Let her go. And come with us.’’

The demon tossed the brunette away with a simple sleight of hand, pulling his sleeves up with a marred beam. His eyes switched from starry green to black, showing his true facette. It was a peculiar relief. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t Dean.

Yet, Dean’s gruff voice said in a twisted playful tone:

‘’Come get me, Sammy.’’

Dean Winchester was cured. For most people, to heal is to let go or to learn with things. In the doctor’s case, healing is leaving a bruise to cover up a wound. Everyone believed the war started and ended, and that was it. But when something so ravaging is gone, you gotta deal with the trauma.

He was a trauma. Cured from a sickness, drowning in sorrow and waves of woe. All the worst things Dean ever did, he knew now, weren’t to himself or to the monster he so proudly killed. His unspoken acts were against the people he cared about.

The hunter never thought his hands, his bruised and tough hands could ever hurt Lis. The woman who was his lifeline when Sam died, who allowed him to be a father and live in his dreamland of suburban life. All she ever did was to love him, and what did she get for it?

He was disgusted with himself. What almost did to her was enough to hunt him and make him sure he was going back to hell, very deserving this time. Threating to do that to a woman, and enjoy it… Dean couldn’t bear driving into memories. He was selfishly glad he didn’t remember about that, only Sam’s explanation was enough: he went to Lisa, he kissed her without her consent, and Sam and you stopped him going any further. Would his unscrupulous, demon self go ahead? He was too scared to wonder, even though his brother said that he apparently had a spell to make Lis remember and wasn’t planning on just taking her. A forced kiss was disgusting enough. He just wished Sam had put a bullet in his black eyes right there.

You walked in the bathroom that you once shared with the eldest Winchester

She was everything he ever wanted, all the suburban dreams and acceptance of hunter reality without being in it. Lisa loved him completely and you could only love him sideways-- you never wanted to be a mom, or to have a family or live in a suburb. Those were valid goals, just not yours. You thought you and Dean were on the same page about it, but this other side, not only the pervert demon but the domestic man, hadn’t been shown to you until a couple days ago. Sam had cured his brother, his dirty nature washed away with holy water, but you couldn’t help the bruises that came from the dog days. Lisa had her memory erased by Cass again, you didn’t have the same unfair luxury.

‘’Dean.’’ You said, making him look up at you. Bags under his eyes and wrinkles more evident than ever. ‘’We need to talk.’’

He sighed and wiped his face. ‘’Y/N, I don’t want to talk right now.’’

‘’You never do.’’ You scoffed, gaining an incredulous glance from him. ‘’I know that what happened was disgusting and sick and the worst thing you could ever do, but we need to talk.’’

He took a deep breath. ‘’What do you wanna talk about?’’

‘’You went to her.’’ You stated as a lawyer in front of a jury. Dean furrowed.

‘’What?’’

‘’Lisa. You went to her.’’ When the arrow hit someone so damaged, it was like an animal with his teeth there that wouldn't let go. Yeah, his human soul wasn't the same brittle glass as before but it lingered in his demon self in the shape of delusion, and it was distorted by whatever he was made of, violence and darkness, and turned into something disgusting. ‘’You love her.’’

‘’Love?’’ The word burned his tongue, Dean didn’t think he had the right to ever use it again. ‘’I was a demon, Y/N. I didn’t love or feel anything. What I did--’’

‘’You didn’t do anything.’’ You interrupted, loyal as a soldier.

‘’I forced a kiss on her and wanted to bring her memories back to have sex with her. That’s disgusting and I did half of that.’’ He pointed out aggitadly, plump lips moving fast and voice deeper. ‘’It wasn’t love. Leaving her years back was love.’’

You didn’t miss how Dean didn’t even dare to say her name. ‘’So you don’t think about her? Not even once?’’

He scoffed humourless. ‘’Are you kidding me?’’

‘’I guess I should have been more like her.’’ You hugged yourself, glancing at the wall. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again, not for another woman. That wasn’t even your cicatrix to ache. 

‘’Y/N, what the fuck are you talking about?’’ The fully green eyed man raised to his feet, glancing at you with disbelief. He couldn’t face how messed up it was. ‘’I can’t believe you are jealous of what happened. I thought I was the broken one here.’’

‘’I’m not her.’’ You two shared it, the glance that only two women who were hurt by the same man could. You both understood that when he got inside you, it was like the syringe in an eutanasia. Once you were happy because you loved him, now you were scared and not so sure this was what you wanted. ‘’I’m not her and you knew it. When you became just instincts and selfish and did whatever you wanted, you didn’t come to me. You came to her.’’

‘’I hurt her.’’

The next words fly out of your mouth, as weak and totaled as you felt: ‘’Why didn’t you hurt me?’’

‘’This is the most unhealthy shit we ever went through.’’ Dean’s right. You have her expression mesmerized on your brain. Dean was the man on top of her, teaching her how to hate. How to fear. You can’t trust yourself. ‘’I can’t believe you.’’

‘’Neither can I.’’ You were so sick. How ravaged and annihilated one had to be to wish to be a demon's object of obsession? To get jealous that another woman almost died in the arms of a beast that cried his blood out once he came back to being a man and saw what he had done? ‘’I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I was there and I saw how scared of you she was, how all she wanted was to push you away and run because she was so disgusted--’’

‘’Stop.’’ He groaned, but it came out more like a whine than anything. ‘’It wasn’t me. I would never hurt Lis. I would never force her to do anything! I--’’

You gave him a sad smile. ‘’You love her.’’

‘’I love you.’’ Dean approached you, fumbling in despair to fix yet another thing his hands destroyed. If Rome was built in ruins, he was a kingdom. You pulled away before his tough hands landed on you.

‘’But you love her too.’’ The hunter stopped on his spot, unable to answer. ‘’I ruined myself for you, Dean. I can’t-- I won’t do that again. You are right. This is unhealthy. The fact that you’ve been pining for her for so long, pushing down those feelings to the point they are twisted into something so cruel and disgusting. You need help.’’ What kind of ugly you have to have inside you for a monster to love you? And, even worse, what kind of sickness you have trapped, written in your blood to want it to be spilled out in his name? ‘’You really are venom. If this is how you love, it’s scary as fuck.’’ When you loved a broken man, you were never sure if his shattered pieces would glisten or cut your hand once the light came in. Here’s your answer. His parts crawled inside you through pulled up scars, scraping your insides to make into ruins, but you never liked Rome much. You had to be better than that. ‘’Goodbye, Dean.’’

He couldn’t bring himself to go after your steps.

Once again, it’s the kind of freedom no traveler wants. When you lost it all and didn't have any person or place to cling to, when you had to leave because you were becoming the girl you swore you’d never leave, when you walked away willingly without a map.

Still, it was all you had. You’d make a good use of it. You’d be okay. No more ugly emotions or sentiments that made you unrecognizable. No more knives that cut both ways, or situations so complicated you weren’t sure where your morals could rely on.

You’d be okay, healthy, and happy.

You’d be okay.

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[diaco1968]

Teeth

Hawks x reader

Warnings! Nsfw/lemon/smut, biting, hairpulling, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex no pull outs... He has exogenous zone between his wings...he can go feral... can't convince me otherwise... reader quirk works by getting saliva/venom on the victim. Long

~fight so dirty but you love so sweet~

When a hawk hunts it's first ever viper, sweeping in, catching the clueless creature and taking it back to the sky, it can go any of 3 ways. He's either succesful in incapacitating the viper and can feast on his prey later. Or the viper manages to land a venomous bite on him, in which case they fall to their doom. Now if they don't die from the fall, the viper is the one feasting on the paralyzed young hawk. Nature is a wild thing indeed with how fast the hunter can turn into the prey.

The first time he met you he was on his way somewhere else and he spotted you in a dead end , the only thing running through his mind was 'what a hassle.' His wings shuddering in agitation, the feathers ruffling noisily when he landed behind you in the dead end where you were toying with your paralyzed victim. A middle aged man whom you just mugged and was now making fun of as he could do nothing but watch you, standing there like a stone statue.

"That is not really fair is it, kid?" You turned around slowly and gracefully locking eyes with him "can't be any less fair than following and harassing an innocent little girl in a dead end. He picked the wrong person. Now he pays little price than he deserves, Birdie." You mocked back crossing your arms and taking a nonchalant pose. Though he could tell just how tense and ready to jump you were under that posture. Like a coiled snake. So that was the problem, now he knew why his nerves were on fire when he spotted you. He raised an eyebrow "you don't strike me as an innocent little girl though." You smiled sweetly as you freed the guy from your paralysis who stumbled and scrambled away and out of sight apologizing. "So what? That's what you're into, hero? Innocent little girls? Please." You emptied the content of the man's wallet right in front of Hawks and put it in your back pocket before throwing the wallet to the side. Looking up at his annoyed expression playfully keeping your smile. "Alright! That's it. You're coming with me for theft." You raised your hands in front of you submissively as if ready to get cuffed "oh no, he gonna chain me up." He wasn't amused as he stepped forward grabbing your shoulder to turn you around. That's when in a heartbeat you striked, pushing him off towards the wall and stepped back from him. You were fast, but so was he blocking your way when you tried to make a run for it "nice try. That all you got?" He said casually squeezing his shoulder where you hit but you could tell he was slightly distressed by your speed. "Oh you should not have said that." You grinned raising your hand that was holding one of his crimson feathers between your thumb and forefinger firmly but delicately. "It's okay, I can grow more of those, don't worry about it." He smirked walking back towards you. His smirk was easy to like. It was not like yours, it was calming. You ignored his comment as you brought the feather up to your lips, his steps faltered and came to a halt watching you intently. Your tongue darted out and licked up the side of it, sucking it into your mouth and pulling it out, making a show of it for the winged hero, loving the way his feathers fluttered and shuddered in response "oh, and that's what you are into, huh?" He said trying to sound sarcastic but as intrigued as he was it sounded like a genuine question. He wanted to know what the hell you were doing. You chuckled dropping the feather and stalking towards him. The feather fell limp to the floor much to his surprise. But he was in for a much bigger surprise. When you were only inches away from him, he went to grab you. And he couldn't. He couldn't move a single muscle below his neck. "What the... how did you-" he fell quiet inspecting you as you let your hands wander under his coat and ran your fingers up over his abs, over muscles that were prominent through his skin tight suit before reaching up and grabbing his shoulders to use as leverage and pull yourself up to his ear. "You're lucky I like you, cause if not, this is still not 'all I've got'." You repeated his phrase from earlier your tongue lightly brushing over the shell of his ear, enjoying the way he tensed up even more under your touch. "Okay... I really should not have said that I guess..." he scoffed and You moved your lips to his shoulder sliding his coat off only a little "too late." You sunk your teeth in his shoulder through suit and all making a loud hiss escape his lips. His smart mouth wasn't going to quit it though "ow, that's definitely going to leave a mark. what a kinky little thing you are." You chuckled fixing his coat up and stepping back, turning on your heels to leave "you can move again soon, see you around hero." And with that you were gone."Damnit..."

~call me in the morning to apologise, every little lie gives me butterflies~

It was truly a hassle explaining to the nurse who patched him up that it was just a cat that bit him, right on the shoulder, clean and no bleeding. Only a little less bothersome than admitting his embarassing defeat. He hadn't seen you since, and it's been two weeks. During which the clear set of teeth marks on his shoulder remained, unchanged, as if only just bitten into his skin moments ago. He couldn't dig up anything about you, and damn he tried, knowing his resolve and resources it was saying something. No one had heard of you. Were you even a villain? "Tsk." He traced his fingers over the mark as he craned his neck to look at it in the mirror before sticking the bandage back over it, covering it up with his shirt. Not a moment of his days went by without having you in somewhere in his mind, taunting him, haunting him... and what annoyed him was that it did not ALL relate to his embarassing paralysis in that dead end. He imagined and thought about you way more than just that. He headed out on his day off, to the bar, definitely for gathering info. Of course.

He stepped off into the cold night air and looked up at the sky, stiffening ever so slightly, invisible to the untrained eye. "Speak of the devil, ey?"

You pushed yourself off the wall where you were leaning against and approached him as he turned his head towards you, hands still in your pockets. "Aw, were you thinking about me? Do you happen to do it often?" You smirked, eyes trailing over his face to his shoulder where you've put your little art piece then back to his eyes. His eyes narrowed immediately, turning towards you and getting in your face "you did something to me didn't you?! I knew it!" He growled under his breath glaring at you realizing he had put his hand instinctively over his wounded shoulder to cover it. You put your hands up in the air as if surrendering and looked up at him sincerely, his wound started throbbing for some reason. "Yeah I did. But... I decided you probably don't deserve it. I mean... you were just doing your job. So. I've come to help you remove it." He blinked a few times looking at you unamused "riiight." You rolled your eyes "right!" He frowned and tilted his head to the side "...right? Really?" You groaned pushing him towards the door "ugh you're even more annoying than I remember. Let's go inside." He raised an eyebrow with a hand on the knob still uncertain of your intentions "do you usually invite yourself in people's house like that? Cause I'm not sure you're the type of gal I want to pick up and take home with me..." 'well ouch' He was right not to trust you but you didn't have all night "listen jerk, do you want to get rid of this or not?!" you hissed at him, and as you expected his feathers ruffled at the sound before you could even touch his shoulder. It was in his nature to find it threatening after all. It was kinda cute. He braced himself for you to be nasty and squeez his wound or something but your hand just lightly brushed over his coat, he barely even felt it "okay okay! Sheesh." He opened the door and stepped aside for you to get inside.

~talk so pretty but your heart got teeth~

"So what were you thinking about?" He was taken aback by the sudden question as he closed the door behind him turning to find you make yourself comfortable on the couch. Your question was out of the blue, yes, but it shouldn't have made his so distressed. "Nothing...?." He lied. You sighed "I can't help you like that." Silence filled the room as the two of you stared each other down before you decided to relent "look. The venom in the bite-" he gasped at the words "venom?!" You looked at him unfazed making him feel embarrassed by his own outbursts "sorry, do go on." He gestured for you to continue. "... the venome will eventually make you hallucinate. And it will remain there till you do as it tells you. So I need to know what you've been thinking about most. By the little time that has passed I don't think you are at the point of hallucination yet, yeah?" He was now more anxious about his thoughts by the things you just told him. "I don't hallucinate... do I just start hallucinating random things?... are you some kind of mobile LSD fairy or something?" He frowned at you for real this time making you sigh. "You hallucinate what you want and desire at the moment of the bite, I don't have control over it. So... yea I guess I am." You looked down and he immediately felt terrible "I didn't mean it like that... I just...sorry..." he had no idea why he was apologizing. You were the one who bit him. And he didn't recall you apologising even once so far. "It's fine, I understand." You looked back up at him and cocked an eyebrow "now that that's out the way, much like yourself I don't want to be here anymore than I need to. You can probably take care of the matter on your own from now on. Goodbye birdie." You got on your feet and walked for the door but just as you were going to pull it open his hand shot up from behind you and pushed it back closed. It was your turn to get anxious heart sinking and the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, he was looming over you from behind and you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck and see the shadow of his wings spreading intimidatingly behind you both. "Actually, in that case, YOU are so not done here."

~Late night devil put your hands on me

And never never never ever let go~

"Uh..." you slowly turned around pushing yourself back against the wall and looking up at him to see the easy smirk from before back on his face, eyes half lidded, dripping with confidence "I don't... um... what do you m-mean?" He raised a hand and brushed a finger on the side of your jaw, stroking it lightly as he leaned in closer "it's you I was thinking about the whole god damned time. The way you'll look, they way you'll sound. The way you'll taste. You said you will help me fulfill my hallucinations." He looked down over your form taking his time as he did so before his eyes landed back on yours "do you still want to help me?" He was actually asking. Despite the way his voice faltered at the thought of getting rejected there was a choice in his question. You could refuse. But why would you? He was hot. Annoying. But still hot. "So you got to be on LSD to take girls like me home?" You scoffed crossing your arms over your chest, the way the shadow of his wings covered you making you uneasy. He smiled apologetically "in my defense, last time we met you assaulted me in a dead end, gal." You huffed "(y/n)." His smile brightened as he watched you intently "Keigo. So (y/n), what do you say?" You hummed looking thoughtfully, almost shamelessly down his form, raising a hand and barely brushed your fingers against his crotch before pressing them firmly to his abs and chest. His chest tightened in anticipation as he felt his stomach drop. Maybe it was just for now and how you were touching him, maybe it was for the way his wounded shoulder throbbed, knowing this was almost exactly what happened before he got bitten last time. "I don't know Keigo, I kinda get the feeling you actually like the bite. A lot." Your hand traced his shoulder now leaning up to kiss it softly from over his clothes, him inhaling in sharply "oh to hell with it, you make me want to give you more, birdie."

~don't know if you love me or you want me dead~

He walked you back towards the bed, hands cupping your cheeks on both sides, his lips locked on yours. His hands moved down the sides of your neck, slipping your shirt off to expose your shoulders and pushing you down so you sit on the bed, loving the way you were already panting breathlessly from his kiss, flushed. He pulled his shirt off still standing over you with his signature confident smirk, throwing it to the side. You smirked back as you leaned in pecking his abs before dragging your lips over them, looking at his eyes through your lashes as you moved down and mouthed over his crotch, making him shudder, watching as those same abs rippled ever so slightly. He ran his fingers through your hair letting out a shaky breath "I'm sorry if I don't trust those teeth anywhere around that area, baby girl. Plus you already know how I taste. It's my turn." You rolled your eyes leaning back on your arms behind you as he leaned in and pulled your pants off along with your panties "fine, birdie." Your blush darkening as it creeped to the tips of your ears. He huffed kicking off his jeans and kneeling in between your legs grabbing your thighs "it's Keigo." He gripped your legs and pulled you to the edge of the bed before you could retort, only managing to let out a gasp. He smirked releasing your legs when over his shoulders running his hands up over them, kissing your inner thighs, his stubble scratching lightly over your sensitive skin making you wriggle a bit. His hands grabbed your hips tightly pressing you firmly to the bed "oh no you don't." You looked down at him to whine quietly. A choice you immediately regretted. Holding eye contact he buried his face between your legs and plunged his tongue right in. You gasped arching your back, hands shooting up to grip his hair. He hummed delighted by your rich reaction, moving his face closer, nudging his nose against the sensitive bud, as his tongue switched between lapping up your juices and thrusting in through your soft, fluttering folds. You a whimpering writhing mess under him. The soles of your feet not too gently brushing against the base of his wings on his back, where they were connected through his skin, along with your fingers tangling and tugging his hair had him groaning and moaning deeply into you. He removed his tongue only to lick up a wet hot line up to your bud latching onto it and sucking just as two of his fingers pushed inside at once giving you no time in curling up and rubbing against the spot you wanted them to. "Shit! Kei-go!" You moaned loudly, your toes curled and your thighs squeezed his head as he chuckled pushing your hips down further on the bed with an arm over your belly, nails digging in your hip where they rested. The pleasure had you seeing white and Right as you were about to get tipped over the edge of your climax he stopped. His fingers and lips, all gone. "Pay back is a bitch, huh?" He wiped off his glistening wet face with his hand as You whined desperately and squeezed your legs shut when he removed them from his shoulders grinning at you "you jerk!"

He leaned over you grabbing your loose sweatshirt and pulling it over your head reaching behind you to unclip your bra as he kissed your neck "let's free these lovely things first." You huffed still annoyed but soon it started into contented sighs and quiet moans as his kisses and nips moved down to your chest. His teeth grabbed your nipple in a sharp nip and you mewled grabbing the back of his neck, your other hand moving lower between his wings. As your nails dug right in the spot between the two giant heaps of crimson feathers, he let out a loud breathy gasp freeing your abused nipple from his surprisingly sharp teeth. Evil flashed in your eyes as you smirked down at him when he gulped and looked up at you "...no." his voice was shaky "oh yeah." You replied raking your fingers on the same spot. His giant wings shook, the feathers rustling as he hissed through his teeth, grabbing your breast harshly in one hand and pulling you closer with the other fisted in your hair, crashing his lips onto yours with a feverish hunger. You were shocked, moaning into his mouth. His reaction was thrilling and you wanted to see more, tightly grabbing onto the base of his wings this time digging your nails there. He sneered and growled loudly in your mouth, sounding feral. You whimpered at the sound the reaction you got more than you bargained for. "On your hands and knees, (y/n)." He barked urging you up by his hand, still tightly fisted in your hair pulling you up. You gasped scrambling up to turn around and do as he had told you. His fingers dug in your hips and he pulled you back onto himself, in one fluid thrust, your pussy already gushing around him from his earlier change of tone. You cried out as you gripped the sheets in front of you. His wings were distracting as they spread once, engulfing you in their shadow. It felt safe, but extremely dominating. Or rather quite deliciously. He tucked them back behind himself when he leaned down over you, one hand still on your hip and the other running up your spine gripping the back of your neck tightly. He pulled back out right to the crown of his cock, before snapping his hips back inside all the way, at the same time his teeth sinking in your skin over your shoulder blade, drawing another loud cry from your throat. He set a brutal pace as his teeth worked on littering your back with bites and nips. "F-fuck!... Kei... shi-... Keigo!" Your breath coming out in short moans and gulped in with high pitched gasps. His fingers creeped from around the back of your neck towards your throat, squeezing it tight and firm, your breath and voice hitching as the thrill ran down your spine straight to your core, folds fluttering around his rock hard cock. He pulled you back up by your throat so your back was flush against his chest, your hand reaching up to claw at his wrist, squealing. His hold was not suffocating, just restricting the amount of air you were allowed. The new angle made his cock poke and drag over your walls, sending you right into your much desired orgasm eyes rolling to the back of your head. He was panting heavily and movements faltering and sloppy from holding you and himself up like that. Your cunt clenching around him, milked him dry, him moaning and biting your shoulder one last time. He remained inside you as you both came down from your highs, removing his hand from your throat to your shoulder, stroking one of his own bite marks lightly. He pulled out and let you drop on your belly with a tired sigh turning into a heavy strained "oof!" As he fell over you playfully, barely careful not to crush you. "Fuck, (y/n). Looks like I did all the biting this time." He laughed as he held himself up on his forearms gently kissing and soothing your sensitive skin. "Shut up...damn... I'm gonna bite you again if this is what I'm gonna get every time." You muttered tiredly. "I was right. You are a kinky little thing." He smirked laying down next to you this time, draping an arm over your waist and nuzzling your neck "you can bite me whenever you want, baby girl. I'm in."

~push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay~

Hey hey hey @queensynderella

[bleh-bleh-blehs]

Home

Mob!Tom Holland x Reader

A/N- Finally! So I am back with a shitty ending to my shitty fic. I am really sorry if anyone doesn’t like it. Feedback will be appreciated :) and requests are open!

Warning- feelings, mentions of death, angst

word count- 2.6k

Home or whatever people called the place where they belong. You were going there, after waiting for your whole life you were finally going to meet your parents. Your real parents who you thought were dead. You learned everything about your abduction from Tom.  

And now you were going to finally meet them; your real parents. You were finally going to your actual house. You can’t help but feel overexcited. Tom on the other couldn’t even describe what he was feeling. 

“Hey, we are leaving tomorrow. Get some rest.” Harrion told Tom through the office door. He entered the office upon hearing no snarky comment. He found Tom sitting on his chair; eyes red from crying, hair disheveled, a whiskey bottle in his hand and air pods plucked in his ears. 

Harrison was shocked to find Tom like this. The man that made others cry was crying himself today. Tom paid no attention to his best mate. Tired of his shit Harrison snatched his phone to turn the music down. 

“You have been listening to ‘Let her go’ on repeat? Oh my god Tom what is wrong with? When did you become this love sick puppy? What happened to that playboy, who hooked up with any girl he wanted? Uh? And I am damn sure that you haven’t confessed to her too. What are you..”

“Shut up! Shut up! Just shut up!” Tom shouted, running his hands through his hair. “Why do you think she would ever be with me. I am not her knight in shining armor, okay. And she would run away from me once she is aware of my deeds.” Tom believes that you will never love him. 

“Tom she knows what you do for living, and her feelings for you are completely obvious. You are just stupid…” 

“No Harrison! She still gets nightmares about you and Harry beating her; nightmares about her foster parents beating her. She would be scared of me when she finds why everyone is so scared of me.” Harrison was not clearly amused by Tom cutting him off in the middle of the sentence. While Tom was just being anxious. 

“Aren’t you the one that calms her after every single nightmare? Aren’t you the one that makes her feel safe? Come on Tom only time will tell. Her past will only haunt her and I feel guilty that I gave her more ptsd. But you made her some good memories with her too right? And it’s not like you will never meet her again after she reunites with her family. You can still keep tabs on her right? Just tell her before it’s too late.” Harrison sighed at the end. 

“Wow! I can’t believe you are talking so sensibly. Who did this to you, mate? When did you start to talk like a mature person?” Tom couldn’t control his laughter while Harrison just rolled his eyes. 

“Hahaha very funny. I don’t know, maybe Stacy made me a mature man.” Harrison chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here you div.” Tom snatched his phone back from Haz’s hand. 

“I am going but you better think what I told you.” Harrison made a serious face.

“Get out!” Tom said while smiling. Just tell her before it’s too late. As if it was that easy. 

*

When Tom finally decided it was half past 1am. Lazily he made way towards his room but stopped in front of your room. Thinking whether he should check up at you or not. And decided that he should leave you alone. And kept on walking.   

What he did not expect, was you sitting on the armchair beside his bed. It was clear that you were waiting for him. But why!

“Hey Tom.” you said as you sat straight. “I thought you would be asleep right now.”  Tom wondered out loud. “I can’t sleep. I am too excited to sleep. And you were the only awake at this hour. So I thought I could talk to you.” you said cheerfully. There was not a single ounce of sleep in your eyes. 

“Alright what do you wanna know about?” he asked while taking a seat on the armchair beside you.

 “I don’t know. We never talked about your parents right?” 

“We never have. What do you wanna know?” all of tom’s tiredness vanished with you excitement. 

“Everything! Like how are they? How are parents in general?” 

“They are amazing. Best parents i could ever ask for. My father is a strict man and he was the one who forced me to take after him; he is an amazing father though. He loves my mum a lot. I have three brothers, Harry lives here with me but Sam lives with mum, dad and Paddy. just in case if they need him.”

“I didn’t know about your youngest brother. Why did you never tell me about him?” you gave Tom a questioning look. 

“You never asked.” Tom said simply.

“Why does he never visit here? How old is he?” you asked. You have seen Sam around a lot.

“Mum doesn’t like homecoming here, mainly because of the exposure to the danger. He's sixteen, can’t defend himself quite yet.'' Honestly Tom missed his brother. He just wanted to spend some time with Paddy like he used too. 

“I don’t know if I have siblings. Guess I will find tomorrow.” you chuckled. You looked at Tom as before you left the room. Really looked at him. Taking in his features. He looked tired; eyes were a bit swollen and red.

You could smell the alcohol off him. Over and all he looked tired. He stood up too. Slowly walking towards his closet. “Tom?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you have anything to say to me?” he had. He wanted to confess to you. Wanted to tell you everything then and there. But he was not brave enough. Harrison’s words went spiral through his brain again and again.  

And there you stood waiting for him to say anything. You were not ever even sure what you wanted him to say. Tom came out of the closet and stared at you for what seems like forever. You can see that he was in deep thought. 

“I will miss you Y/N.” he finally said. You smiled, a little disappointed. You have no idea what you want him to say. “I’ll miss you too, Tom.” with that you finally left his room. Leaving Tom with his thoughts

*

Was much more dreadful for Tom. You were leaving. He felt like he was drowning. He was sad, yes but what he felt wasn’t sadness only. It was a mixture of emotions. Emotions he can’t name. He never felt this uneasiness before. 

On the other hand you felt the same. Excited to meet your birth parents. Not wanting to leave the mansion you once dreaded. Not wanting to leave Tom. Slightly scared because you were not sure about your parents reaction. There are many possibilities that they might not be as good as thought. 

And there was a strange tingling in your guts that made you feel uneasy. But you put it all aside. 

“Harry, you take the other car and Stacy, you are going with him. Just maintain some distance. Look out for danger. Inform me if you find anything suspicious. Alright?” with that everybody left for their vehicle. 

The whole ride was eerily quiet. No one uttered a word. You sneaked a glance at Tom; his face was completely emotionless. He noticed you staring but did nothing about it. He never felt these many emotions at once. 

He didn’t want you to go. But he had to. He can’t be this selfish now can he? You were finally getting what you always wanted. A family. Parents you always wanted. He can't replace them but he was the one who found them, he was the one reuniting you with them. And that is the biggest thing he could do for anyone. 

Your hometown was not far from London. It only took two hours of driving to reach there. 

You started to grow nervous as you reached the residential area.  The retardation in the speed of the car indicated that you had reached your destination. The car eventually stopped in front of a small cozy house. 

This was it. You were finally going to meet  your parents. You always imagined this moment but can't really believe that it is happening in real life.

“Y/N.” Tom’s voice brought you back from your thoughts. 

“Humm.” you hummed; not knowing how to reply. You composed your posture. Trying to get hold on your thoughts. This is now or never. You thought. And got out of the car. The boys did the same.

Harrison called Stacy to ask when they would be here. While Tom came to stand near you. “How are you feeling?” he asked. That was the worst question ever. You had no answer to it. You couldn’t describe your emotions that easily. 

But before you could answer Tom’s phone rang. The screen lit up with ‘Adam’s name’, you knew who he was. Adam was the most trusted person in the mob. No one could compete with his loyalty for Tom. 

Tom immediately answered the phone. Adam never directly called Tom unless it was an emergency. 

“What is it?” Tomasked rather harshly. To be honest, Tom didn’t want anyone to drag him to work today. He didn’t want to put his brain through that stress on top of his feelings. 

“Sir, sir, please don’t go to that place. The L/Ns were killed years ago. Rick is a mole, sir.” 

“Get in the car.” Tom shouted. He opened the door and pushed you in before getting in himself. Harison took the driver's seat. And then you saw any people coming out of their hiding places. All armed. 

“What is happening?” Harry’s voice came from the phone. “Drive! Harrison. Drive!” Tom shouted on top of his lungs. The people now started to circle the car. You have never been this scared in your whole life. 

The people started to shoot; making you more scared. Tom brought his arms around your body protectively. You leaned into his touch. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Your whole body was shaking with fear. Clutching Tom’s clothes. You were never so grateful for the bulletproof car till now. 

“We are attacked, Harry. Turn back the car.” you heard Harrison say. But Tom hasn't said a single word. You were sure that those people were following your car. What about your parents though? You heard Adam said something about them but you weren't sure but you knew that they were. Maybe your gut feeling was telling you about this. 

You finally opened your eyes when the car stopped moving. “What happened?” Tom asked while checking for danger. “I don’t think that the car can take more damage.”

“So do you think that we’re gonna run barefoot from here?” “No! But the car will blast and we should start running if we don’t wanna die.” both of them argued back and forth. “Stop! What are we gonna do now? What about Stacy and Harry?” you had tears in your eyes.  

“We are gonna and they are safe.” Harrison answered, looking for any trace of danger. “We are completely outnumbered, we have no chance of putting up a fight against them.  Therefore, we are gonna run without looking back.” Tom explained to you. 

“One the count of three.” he held up his three fingers. All of you prepared yourself for running. “One.” he held your hand tightly. “Two.” you swear to the god that your heart will burst out because of the speed of every beat. “Three.” a fire was shot. 

All you felt was pain. You were sure that it originated from your lower abdomen. But course through your whole body. All you was Tom’s face, you tried to focus his and you connected hands, his skin. Tried to take his beautiful features in. 

“You know where he grew weak boys.” an annoying voice said. “He became weak for enemies when he made his feelings completely obvious for this girl.” the man spoke again. He walked closer and closer, cockng his gun at Tom’s head. 

“Any last words, thomas?” he laughed overdramatically. Tom leaned in to give your forehead a kiss. “I am so sorry, love.” he mumbled, his lips still pressed at your forehead. 

You closed your eyes. Thinking that this was the end. You didn’t want to see Tom get shot. You heard multiple bullets fired. Way too many bullets to kill two men. 

“Let’s get out of here, boss.” you were not fully in your consciousness but you recognized the voice. It belonged to Adam. “we have to take her to hospital.” Tom’s voice was desperate. He got a hold on his tears. After all he couldn’t cry in front of his men. 

* 

You reached the hospital in no time. The doctors took you to remove the bullet and top the bleeding. Despite being scared shitless one nurse came to update Tom about your condition. Which was very critical. You have lost a lot of blood and the chances of you recovering were very thin.

“I should have said it, Haz.” Tom finally let his emotions take control. “I should have told her about my feelings. And now it’s too late. I’m gonna lose her.” Tom sobbed on Harrison’s shoulder, hugging him tightly. 

“It’s alright, she’s gonna be fine. You have a lot of time with her.”

“You think so?” 

“I know so.” Tom chuckled. “Mr. Holland.” This time the doctor came to talk to them. “The patient is out of danger. She is resting right now. You can meet her just don't wake her up.” the doctor smiled awkwardly and left. 

“Go meet her. This is your chance. Tell her everything.” Harrison motivated him.

With that Tom left to meet you.

*

This is it. Tom thought that this was another chance he had with you. But he knew that he fucked up. He putted your life in danger and most important of all that he made you believe that you parents were alive. 

“Y/N. i'm so sorry, love. I  put you through this all and I-” Tom never cried this hard for anyone. “And I just couldn’t man up and tell you about my feelings. I-I made you believe that your parents are alive-  I couldn't keep you safe-” Tom collapsed on the floor. 

“I never thought I would love anyone the way I love you, Y/N. And i am really sorry for everything-” he tried to get up; using the bed for support. 

“I hope you forgive me.” he pleaded and leaned in to kiss your forehead. 

“I hate it when you kiss my forehead when no one is stopping from kissing my lips.” you smirked while Tom stood there in shock. 

“Hi baby. Please don’t beat yourself for everything that has happened to me. You only protected me or tried to. And my parents, I know how to live without them. You, Stacy and surprisingly the boys are my family. And I love you too.” Tom smiled at your confession. 

“You little shit, you were listening to me the whole time.” Tom accused. “And what were you saying about kissing you on the lips. Huh?” 

“Kiss me on the lips, tommy.” you giggled as Tom kissed you on the lips. Both of you sighing at the feeling. Meanwhile Harrison, Stacy and Harry watched you both from the door. 

“Don’t you think watching them make out is creepy and gross.” Harry made a face in disgust. “Shut up Harry! My baby boo is in love.” Stacy said while weeping. 

In the end you stayed with your real family.

Permanent taglist (including one shot and series and both tom and pete):-@calltothewild // @fancyxparker  // @pearly-pisces // @justanothermarvelmaniac // @sarcasticallywitty15 //

Tom Holland taglist (both one shot and series):-  

@justanamesstuff​

Innocent taglist:-

@uwucorpse

[lulaypp]

Summary: They watched the sun set as the breeze rustled the leaves. Bruce could almost call it serene if it was for the metophorical raincloud shrouding over them.

Warning for: Implied Major Character Death

The breeze blew gently across the hilltop, bringing with it a soft scent of trees and bloom. The hill was bare, save for the grass, occasional flower and them, sitting crossed-legged as they watched the sun slowly approach the treeline. It was mostly silent, the rustling of the leaves being the only sound ruffling air. If asked, Bruce could say that the scene painted around him was almost enjoyable, serene.

But there was a lingering trace of sadness in the air, like a raincloud promising a drizzle.

"I'm sorry," the words fell from his mouth with a sigh, breaking the silence.

The weight pressing lightly into his side leaned in further. "There is no reason for you to be." The other voice was gentle. "None of us could have done anything to stop it, B, and I am sure that you know it."

A breath puffed out of his mouth. "There probably wasn't, but, nevertheless, I am sorry."

The was a scoff from the body resting on his left shoulder. Before there was a quiet, "Me too." Bruce turned his head to meet green-tainted blue eyes, a question in his own. "Y'know, for... not being able to do anything myself. I'm sorry too." A feathery, stuttered sigh.

Bruce shifted so he can put an arm around his son's shoulders. "You were... incapacitated."

A breathy, watery laugh. "Yeah... and it kinda was my fault too, Bruce. You all were there because of me."

"It wasn't your fault, Jason. In truth, we have all tried our best. And I know you did too."

A beat passed before Jason spoke up; voice a whisper, "How is everyone else holding up?"

Truthfully, Bruce hadn’t properly checked on them since the private funeral. They all had mostly avoided him ever since. "They're... trying to cope. You?"

Bruce felt Jason giving a jerky shrug. "I'm okay, I guess. I mean, how else am I supposed to feel. I couldn't do anything then and now. Besides, I'm not the one who-"

Bruce's tightening arm silenced the boy. "Don't. You had no control over the situation."

"Speak for yourself," came the mumbled reply.

He sighed. "Don't put yourself down like this, Jay."

"Well, don't feel guilty about it either." There was slight inclination of impatient frustration slipping into the tone. "Maybe then I'll think about it. Deal with it, B. I can be as stubborn and presistent as you."

Like father like son. "Alright. I will try not to. Deal?"

"Better make it a promise." It was a grumbled reply but there was a hidden hint of a smile.

"What if I break it?" he asked back teasingly as he looked down at his son, whose eyes didn't stray from the setting sun.

"Then I'll hunt you down. Haunt your nightmares."

'What if that is exactly what I want? To have you stay with me forever?' "Like a ghost?"

"Why not? I was a zombie. It is only fitting." There was a beat of silence before Jason's eyes almost shone blue as his lips pulled into a childish grin. "Imagine if I turn into the grim reaper!"

"Then I'll definitely meet you one day," Bruce chuckled, the sound of his son's soft laughter accompanying his own. He turned back to the setting sun, barely peeking over the treeline. It was peaceful, watching the horizon with one of his sons snuggled into his side. Breathing. He closed his eyes. Breathing.

"It's getting late, Bruce." Jason's voice was distant, gentle, a whisper. "I need to leave and so do you."

"I know." Bruce sighed as he squeezed tighter. "I don't want to leave you."

There was a soft, wistful sigh. "I know." His eyes prickled as Jason untangled himself from Bruce's arm and sat up to look at him. The teal orbs were also glistening, accompanied by a small bittersweet smile. "I don't either, but we need to. You need to. The others need you, Bruce. More than you need me." He held the elder's hand, entwining their fingers together. "Don't do this to them, dad. Don't shut them out and mourn in silence and let them grieve alone."

A breath of a sigh left Bruce's lips. "What will happen to you?"

The grin grew uncetain despite the cocky facade trying to mask it. It was a familiar sight that made Bruce's heart clench. "Oh, you know, life. Or the opposite, whichever. Who knows, maybe life would think I need another tango with it and drag me back."

Bruce gave a playful smile of his own. "Should I stand by with a shovel, then? Just in case?"

Jason laughed, eyes wavering with concealed sadness. "Why not? Batman, Dark Knight of the Dead."

Bruce's heart faltered and he squeezed the fingers around his, bringing them to his chest, pulling his son close. "I'm going to miss you, lad." He felt Jason's arm wrap around him in return. "Stay safe, okay?"

"I can't promise you that, dad. But I will try. Take care of everyone else." For me.

Bruce closed his eyes, burying his nose into his son's hair, pressing a kiss. "I will." For you.

Jason pulled away as Bruce brushed back the white and black bangs, one final time, as he memorized the face he remembered so well and would never forget. The boy stood up and walked around him, a hand brushing and breifly squeezing his shoulder. "I'll see you around, old man." I love you.

"I love you too, Jaylad." Bruce didn't turn, resting his gaze on the setting sun, hearing the footsteps fade away, before closing his eyes.

[writhingcreature]

Lovers ~ Ep. 1: Chapter 1

Summary: As senior year at Derry High begins, Bill Denbrough is faced with the anniversary of his brother's death. Meanwhile, the rest of the group has trouble letting go of the past

Episode Length: 8000+ words

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It was raining outside. You could hear the thick raindrops plopping against the window almost methodically. The sound was rhythmic and peaceful, the sound sinking into one's skin and loosening up their muscles. The sky was cloudy, but not so much that it blocked out the sun. Even when it rained the sun still shone on Derry. I guess only nighttime could truly conquer the blazing sun.

William Denbrough was making a boat. No one called him William and when they did it was usually a teacher or parent and he was in trouble, so to say he much preferred his nickname, Bill, was an understatement. Bill's fingers traced along the binding of a notebook as he carefully tore the page out, one hand gripping the end of the other side of the page as his other followed along the rip lines to make sure it was a clean tear. He began to carefully fold it, a frown on his face and his eyes centered on his work as he leaned in a little. Everything he did he liked to do well, but this was a boat and if Georgie was going to be able to float it, it had to be perfect. He didn't want the younger boy to come home crying because it had sunk.

George Denbrough was sitting in a corner. He had a very short attention span. Even after meaning to pay attention, he still ended up at the window, his finger tracing the fogged up glass to draw two dots and a curve underneath. A smiley face. George, like his brother, didn't hear that name too often- unless he was lost in a store or running too far away on a walk. People usually called him Georgie. Bill called him Georgie. He preferred that name, especially when it came from Bill.

Thinking of Bill, Georgie frowned. "You sure you won't get in trouble, Bill?" He asked his older brother, turning from the window to the boy he was speaking to.

Bill, sitting on his bed, paused in making the boat just for a second. "Don't be a w-wuss," he scolded. "I'd come with you if I weren't-" he cut off to cough twice. "Dying." Bill was still in his pajamas, comfy and warm. And he intended to stay that way.

"You're not dying!" Georgie insisted as he stood, a little irritated and a little worried. He didn't like the idea of Bill ever dying.

"You didn't see the v-vomit coming out of my nose this morning?" Bill asked far too innocently, fighting a smile as he began the boat making again, finishing up.

"That's disgusting." You could hear the scrunch of his nose and the curl of his lip in the way he said the word, but Bill could also see those things on his face and both almost made him crack and begin laughing right there.

As Georgie began to approach the bed, Bill had just about finished. One last thing... "Okay, so get the wax."

Georgie shifted his weight to his other foot, his stomach suddenly filled with a funny feeling and his fingers feeling itchy. But not itchy like they needed a scratch- itchy like they needed to move. He just didn't know what to do with them. "In the cellar?" He asked, his disgust and joking gone and his voice a little quieter.

"You want it to f-f-fl... float, don't you?" Bill's stutter would truly be his downfall one of these days. He and everyone else were convinced of this.

"Fine," Georgie sighed, his eyes falling to the ground as he began moving around the bed and toward Bill's bedroom door. On his way out, he grabbed a walkie talkie as Bill wrote "SS Georgie" on the hull of the paper boat, finally finished and waiting for its wax coating.

The smile on the window fades finally, giving way to the rain outside and the warmth inside.

Georgie makes his way through the house, to the cellar door. He passes his mother on the piano, and feels a little comfort from the sick feeling in his stomach at the familiar, safe curve of her face. She has the same look Bill does when he's concentrated on something too. Usually hers only comes out for big tasks or things she wants to do perfectly, since she does almost everything out of habit or years of practice and therefore doesn't need to focus on them too much to do them well. Georgie is thankful for just a second for the family genetic, and then he has moved on and he can no longer see his mother and he takes a silent breath to try and loosen up his body, which has begun to get more tense the closer he gets to the cellar. He wonders why he feels like this. Maybe he's getting sick too...

The door is white, but when Georgie sees it it might as well be covered in blood. It couldn't scare him more if it was, he had already reached peak fear. Or, so it seemed at least. Suddenly the music his mother is playing sounds... haunting, above anything. He realizes the weird feeling must be fear, as it grows and begins to twist his insides into knots. He's silent as he stops just before he can see into the darkness below, staring at the door as he tried to decide if he wanted to gather his courage or just call it a day. But then he thinks about running back into Billy's room, shaken up and refusing to go into the cellar just because- because what? It was dark? No. Bill would tease him his entire life for this one incident, even if he never did it again. Georgie could already hear the, 'Whats the matter Guh-Georgie? Still afraid of monsters in the c-cellar?" Even in Georgie's mind, Bill stuttered as an adult Momentarily he wondered if Bill would ever get over it... and then that distraction helped him take a step. And another. And then again. Suddenly he was slowly but surely clunking his way down the steps of the shadowy cellar steps, his heart racing and his breathing audible now and his eyes fluttered everywhere, never settling anywhere as he tried to take every corner and fold in. Just in case. Georgie can't hear his mother on piano anymore. He pauses, unsure once again. How is he ever going to get to the wax if he takes this long?

As if the thought summoned him, the walkie-talkie goes off, causing Georgie to jump as it made the static sounds of connect before Bill snapped, "Hurry up," on the other end. It wasn't too harsh a command, but Georgie still felt himself curl away from the device he held. But perhaps that was the fear he felt mixing with the sudden unexpected noise and the terrible idea of angering Bill, rather than Bill actually being angry. Bill was rarely angry, if ever. Never around Georgie at least, unless Georgie really pushed his buttons. And when that happened there was no reason to be scared if Bill himself. Just... the thought of even just disappointing him... no. Georgie hated it.

Georgie noticed the room smelled a little strange. Almost sweet, like rotten fruit. He shook his head. His parents would worry about it if it needed worrying about. No reason to get jumpy.

Taking in a breath, he began to move again. Climbing down the stairs until he was all the way down, eyes scanning the shelves much more slowly and more purposefully now. Looking for something specific instead of scanning the unknown for something much worse than the bad feeling that cake after Bill got mad at him.

"Where's the box? Where's the box?" He whispered to himself, filling the silence and reminding himself why he was here.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he froze, eyes slowly rising to the wall in front of him as he finally found the box of wax, but completely forgot why he was looking for it. His mind was far too occupied with the sudden feeling that something terrible was about to happen. That something horrible was watching him. Crouched in the darkness. Not coming closer, but sitting further back, licking its lips and waiting for him to move towards the stairs before jumping out and devouring him. He turned around slowly, stiffly. Immediately his eyes caught two little pin points of what looked like light. Georgie's breathing grew faster. The little lights looked to be eyes. The creature he so feared was looking at him. Stalking him from the darkness. He could imagine hands opening and closing as they itched to reach for him. Shaking, his eyes flew to the side as he looked for- Ah! There it was!

He turned back to the little maybe-eyes as he flicked on the flashlight, revealing- light bulbs. Two little lightbulbs, probably reflecting light from upstairs. He had left the door open after all. Georgie found he could suddenly breathe again and he shook his head, trying to clear it. What a silly thing to get so worked up over. Thunder crashed, echoing, and Georgie was kicked into gear as he full on sprinted to the stairs and up them, never pausing to turn off the light or close the door as he booked it to Bill's room.

Thankfully Bill didn't point out the slightly shaky state of his little brother, who took comfort once again from his mother who he could once again hear in the piano, and the same older brother that might laugh at him for needing comfort at all.

Bill had moved to his desk, the boat on top. He motioned Georgie over and the younger boy came, handing over the can of wax. Bill immediately got to work with a thick paintbrush, not as focused as before. Much more relaxed. Georgie hovered a second before pressing his chest against Bill's back, resting his chin on Bill's shoulder. His brother's warmth and the movement of his body made him feel even better and in just a second he forgot his fear altogether.

"Alright," Bill finished, picking up the boat and handing it over to Georgie, a little smile of pride on his face at his finished work. "Sh-she-she's all ready, Captain."

"She?"

"You always call a b-buh-boat she," Bill explained.

Georgie smiled. "Thanks Billy." And then he opened his arms and hugged Bill. Bill hugged back without thinking, both of them smiling. After a second, Bill's hands shifted so his fingers pressed into Georgie's sides- they wiggled. Georgie giggles softly, squirming away as Bill chuckled along, smiled turning to grins and the room lighting up and warming with the interaction. "See you later!" Georgie called as he jogged through the room with the boat in one hand, his other reaching out to scoop up his rain coat as he passed by it. "Bye!" The small boy was out the door with excitement too soon, and Bill felt... odd. He had forgotten something. Something that was poking and prodding at him. He just had to do something. Something important.

It clicked in his head as he stood up quickly, moving to the window slowly, eyes scanning the rain mess for his younger brother. When he saw Georgie, the child waved enthusiastically, the grin still on his face. Bill wondered how Georgie couldn't feel the sudden nervousness he himself did. Perhaps he was just being weird. "Be careful," he spoke into the walkie-talkie anyway. The boy ignored him and Bill swallowed before quickly adding, "I love you." He didn't know why he did it. What possessed him to. It sounded like such a deeper goodbye, and the feeling of unease grew.

Georgie paused upon hearing his brother. He turned back to the house, raising his own walkie-talkie to reply, "I love you too Billy." And then all too soon once again, Georgie was out of sight and lost in the rain.

Bill turned away from the window, staring intently at his bed before shaking his head and then taking a deep breath, forcing a soft smile before it came more naturally, the bad feeling fading away. It would all be fine.

-

It was a sunny day, which seemed so very wrong. The sun rays filtered through the curtains that attempted to block it out, warming and brightening the room without permission. The warmth was suffocating, rising anxiety and making the still boy inside feel anxious to move, even though he couldn't quite get the energy to leave his spot on his bed. If only the sub would go away... but no. Even when it rained the sun still shone on Derry. I guess only nighttime could truly conquer the blazing sun.

William Denbrough was crying. No one called him William and when they did it was usually a teacher or parent and he was in trouble, so to say he much preferred his nickname, Bill, was an understatement. Tears traced trails already set in his face from ones that had fallen before. He was on his back, staring at his ceiling with messy hair, in his pajamas. He had only had the ability to kick his blankets off before his mind set and he realized what day it was, causing him to fall into the nearly comatose state he was in now. There was a voice in his head, from a boy he knew what seemed forever ago now. Five years. A smile he missed. A laugh he so wanted to hear. A hug he desperately needed. Things he would never get again from the boy that was long gone from his life.

His door opened slowly, quietly. A flare of red enters the dark room and there stand Beverly Marsh, tall and grinning. She moves to the curtains first, allowing Stanley Uris into the room as well. Stan - this is our Mr. Uris, who, like Bill, goes more often by that name than his full one that's been reserved most often for moments of scolding or professional settings - was smiling just as Beverly was, but the one he wore was much more strained. Forced. As the sun was allowed to come in more, Bill thought to himself that it was Beverly's smile that really light up the room. Not the annoying sun he wanted to disappear on a day the whole world should be mourning.

Beverly moves to his bed, a hand moving to her hip. "Oh come on, Bill, you have school today. No sitting in bed all day." She looked at Stan who was on the other side of the bed. The interaction seemed almost scripted, the positions familiar and broken in. They'd done this exact thing - or something very similar - quite a few times it seemed.

As if Bev's look was a cue, Stan moved forward. "Mike brought one of his warmest sweaters today. It's blue so it'll go really well with your eyes." His smile was a little more natural. Small and soft and warm.

Stan and Bev both moved to either sides of the bed, offering Bill a hand to help him sit up. Bill sighed before taking them, allowing them to pull him to his feet. Bev pulled out a well work t-shirt from Bill's closet, setting it on his bed. Stan set Mike's pullover he'd had tied around his waist until now next to the shirt. He got a pair of shorts and set it on the other side of the jacket. "We'll be in again in a bit." Bev left a little kiss on Bill's cheek and then both of his friends left the room. He was alone.

Bill stared at the clothes laid out for him. He felt small and stupid, requiring this from his friends. He also felt lucky that they were so obliging to do it every year. Usually he was fine, but when this day hit it was impossible to cope. It helped that his parents always went on a vacation or trip without him to distract from the pain they felt. He was allowed to be alone and didn't have to waste energy conjuring up a happiness for their sake. Plus, his friends could just walk in and take care of him without his parents getting on his case about it.

Legging loose another sigh, Bill began to change out of his pajamas and into the outfit left for him. The shirt was familiar and soft. The jacket was a little big on him and it felt like a hug. A little heavier than his own sweaters, and long enough to hide his hands if he pulled his arms in. The outfit was perfect. Comfortable and warm and soft and familiar and a representation of everything he was lucky to have. Friends that had his back. A found family that understood and cared about him, even if no one else did.

He left his room to see Stan and Bev chatting about a book outside of his room. The conversation died as Bev's eyes moved to Bill as he approached them. Her smile was almost as soothing as the sweater and when she put her arm around his shoulders, he couldn't help but relax a little.

The house smelled amazing. The trio moved to the kitchen where Ben and Mike we're making breakfast. Eddie and Richie were bickering about which ice cream flavor was best, getting heated about how Strawberry wasn't anything compared to Chocolate and how Vanilla was a waste of time and Rocky Road was absolutely amazing but not quite as good as dick-

"Beep beep Richie," Bev and Ben said at the same time. They looked at each other, both wearing amused smiles. She winked at him and he was suddenly very interested in breakfast again.

"Stanley the Manley!" Richie cheered. "Tell the Spaghetti boy that vanilla ice cream is NOT a waste of time and that the sweet simplicity let's you add anything you want and that he's just jealous because he could never produce such a sweet necture himself."

"Gross," Eddie groaned.

Stan seemed to consider for a second. "Are we completely ruling out cookie dough ice cream?"

Bill moved further into the room, taking a seat at the table. "Breakfast will be done soon," Ben said as he joined, leaving Mike to finish the rest. Eddie and Bev sat down too. It seemed that Stan had taken Eddie's place in the argument, and it was goikg a lot more insistently now. Before it had been obvious that Richie and Eddie were bickering to fill the silence, but now it almost seemed that Stan and Richie were just going back and forth simply because that's what they always did. They got into dump arguments that lasted hours because Richie had the kind of connections in his brain that took forever to explain, but totally lined up once he did; Stan was just very straightforward and good at debating. Richie was simply stubborn and set in convincing Stan, and Stan was just as stubborn on not being convinced. They finally realized everyone's migration pattern when Mike announced that the food was done and began to move things to the table with Eddie's help. Everyone sat down - Stan and Richie, across from each other, still adding little comments and new thoughts about ice cream flavors they'd forgotten or new points to consider - and began eating.

It was hard to breathe around the food and through the thick atmosphere. The sun shone through the curtains as Bill stared at the sausage and hash browns and eggs and pancakes that all looked and smelled so good. The meal that he otherwise would have inhaled was now scraping against his mouth like sandpaper. He couldn't appreciate it so he ended up just staring at it, wishing he could enjoy it. Wishing he could enjoy anything. Next to him, Ben leaned closer so their shoulders were touching. He pretended he wasn't doing it on purpose, but he wasn't lowkey enough.

Bill's love language was physical touch. Hugs and hand holding and clothes that were comfortable were what comforted him. This show from Ben was a way of comforting without bringing attention to Bill's emotions and thoughts- even if it wasn't necessary since everyone at the table noticed. It was just something none of them ever said out loud. Not today.

At some point Stan and Richie's argument turned to a new topic, and Mike mentioned something about a new book he was reading and Ben picked up the conversation so the two went back and forth. As with the earlier attempts, it was lacking the usual gusto and felt a little awkward and strained. Any silence was suffocating and every pause seemed to stretch eternities. Bev, across from Bill, leaned closer and began to tell him about a bunch of random things. Gossip. The latest fashion and how she didn't like the turn it was taking for some people. New designs she had in mind. Some pieces she wanted to work on. A little while back Bev had picked up a hobby of taking her old clothes and clothes from thrift stores and making them better. More her current style, or "cuter" or more in fashion. Then she'd give it to someone or wear it, changing it again if needed. She was really good at it and it gave her a lot to talk about.

Sometimes Bill thought Bev would be better as an actress than a seamstress. As good as she was with clothes, she was still eternally better when it came to pretending nothing was wrong. While everyone else struggled and Bill didn't even try, her words were easy and her smile was bright and her posture was relaxed. She was casual and made everything seem a little better- just like always. Nothing changed on this day when it came to Bev. It amazed him. Maybe it was that she'd never met Georgie... but neither had Mike or Ben, and they felt the tension too. How did she do it?

Practice.

Now that was a thought he REALLY didn't want to think about.

Her warmth and ease was contagious. As they cleaned up after breakfast and got on their bikes to head to school, there was a sudden relaxation that wasn't there before. Richie rattled off jokes and comments and jabs as usual, and Bev laughed at every single one. She egged him on and cheered everyone up at the same time. She made the sun bearable and the air easier to breathe with her laughter. She pulled smiles from each of them, and for the first time ever no one told Richie to shut up or rolled their eyes or shot comebacks at him or threw a "beep beep" in his direction. They all just smiled and laughed and enjoyed his voice that never left room for the silence that allowed too much time to think and remember. Remember dark tunnels that had a burning, terrible smell that sunk into their skins and never left their clothes. Remember a small boy with a bright smile and messy hair and the best intentions. Remember red hair and glowing yellow eyes, and rows and rows of razor sharp teeth ready to slice into them if they let their guard down for even a single second...

When they got to school, it was business as usual. Locking up their bikes and heading inside. Bill noticed randomly and suddenly that they all held their backpacks differently. Eddie had both hands on the straps of his backpack, while Richie had only one strap on his shoulder. Like Eddie, Stan had both straps on his shoulders but held only one of them in his hand. Bev had a shoulder bag that her hand loosely kept hold of, while Ben wore both of his two straps like Eddie and Stan while he left his hands dangling by his sides. Mike, who wasn't quite used to school yet even though he'd been going to public school for a little while now, had his bag by the loop on the top as he left it slung over his shoulder. He had a strapless bag and hated to keep it at his side because the students around them too often kicked it out of his hands. Bill himself wore only one strap of his backpack like Stan, but kept his hands by his sides like Ben. These similarities and overlapping details somehow eased Bill. He was one to notice small things like this when he was anxious. Perhaps it was his mind that did it. The same mind that wrote stories with the kind of details that painted out a scene in a reader's mind. The same mind that could recollect and recreate images on paper that seemed so realistic only because it had depth and character- hairs out of place, a car going by, a sign in a shop window- and on and so forth.

"Bill?" The boy's head snapped over to Stan, who was looking at him expectantly.

Feeling sheepish, Bill rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, what was that?" He hadn't been paying attention.

Unsure of what exactly had been on Bill's mind, Stan tried not to let his worry show. Sometimes when Bill got too quiet and spaced out too much, his mind went to dangerous places. Especially on days like today. "I was just asking when the last time you got a new jacket was. This one has a hole, and cold season is just around the corner." It was never REALLY cold in Derry, but Stan's sentiment was always there and well meaning.

Bill thought a second, trying to recall when he'd gotten his current jacket, which indeed had a hole and was getting quite worn down. "I think- two Christmases ago?"

Stan glared. "You have to get a new jacket. Immediately. Honestly, what would you do if I wasn't here to remind you?"

This made Bill's heart drop into his stomach and for a second, he remembered.

"Bill!" It was a whiny call and that was probably the biggest reason the older Denbrough even acknowledged it. "It's so late, Billy, why are you still awake?" The boy standing in the doorway was bleary eyed and had messy hair- he had obviously been a sleep until something had woken him up and carried him into the doorway he was in now. Perhaps it was the light from Bill's room.

"I know what time it is-"

"It's midnight."

That surprised Bill. His irritation vanished as his eyes flickered to his clock, which was too far away to catch his eyes unless he looked over at it, like now. That's probably how so much time had passed since he'd last looked at it. It was indeed far too late for him to be awake. He had gotten so caught up in the current art project he was doing that he'd lost track of time. He softened, looking back at his brother. "Thanks, Georgie. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Yeah." The word came out a croak, his throat and mouth suddenly far too dry. "I'd loose my head." He forced a smile but it was too tight. Strained and awkward.

Stan felt sick. Bill had remembered. He had remembered something. Something that had hit him hard and upset him deeply. He only made that expression when he had remembered. "Uh, yeah." Stan blinked, trying to get his mind in order.

"What kind of jacket will you get?" Eddie jumped in helpfully, trying to cover up Stan's blunder and continue distracting Bill.

Bill cocked his head. "There are more than one kind?"

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd ask that question. Of COURSE there are! There are different designs and patterns and colors. Come on."

There was a second that Bill considered this. "I don't know which one I'll get. It'l depend on where I go and what's there."

"Get a brown one," Mike chimed in. "The dirtiness doesn't show as much and you don't have to wash it as often. Then it'll last longer." Eddie and Stan both stared at him like he'd just had a ginormous bug crawl out of his mouth. "What?" He asked, unsure what he'd said wrong.

"Or get a blue one!" Bev piped up, not allowing Stan and Eddie to reply to Mike and divert attention from the positive thoughts and feelings. "It'll go with your eyes and make them pop out more. It'll be a great look for you!"

"I mean you guys are only thing one color here," Richie added next, his hands moving to enunciate how into this he was getting. "Get one with ALL the colors." He wore a shit eating, excited grin that almost got Bill to smile.

Shaking his head, Bill rose an eyebrow as he said, "I think the spot for dressing like a clown is already taken by you, Trashmouth."

Richie's smile wiped off his face. Stan jumped in to snag Bill's attention away so he wouldn't be able to think about what he'd just said. "I like Bev's idea with the blue. I think if you went yellow it would work really well for your hair, since you have some blonde highlights. Or maybe a blue and brown. A combination of colors might actually work."

"I have to go," Richie suddenly choked out, his tone suddenly dead and dark and his eyes a little spaced out. "I- I have to get to class."

Bill went to ask what was wrong - because when Richie was upset, it rarely showed, so to have such a drastic change in character was startling - but Eddie spoke up first. "You're right. It's almost time. Let's go." The two boys had first period together so they headed toward it together as well. It was a relief to Richie, who didn't want to be alone as something he'd tried so hard to forget replayed over and over in his head.

A yellow rain jacket clutched in Bill's hands. The same coat moments before on a small boy. A boy that was so different than Richie remembered. A coat that Richie had seen Georgie Denbrough wear and treasure for nearly three years now. It was a hand-me-down from Bill, who'd never worn it but had meant to. He'd just had a growth spurt before he could use it. Before that though, Bill refused to let him touch it. He said it was special from mom and dad, and he didn't want Georgie to mess it up- not even on accident. Bill had complained for weeks after it had been too small and Georgie had gotten it, but Georgie secretly told Richie that he loved it. It was a little too big when he first got it, and that's why he had it so long. Georgie thought the jacket precious.

"It has to be special if Bill was so upset when I would touch it," Georgie explained one day, with that same bright smile and eyes full of light and life and excitement and pride.

That same boy, in the dark room with the floating bodies and the large piles of trash and the terrible smell, wore the yellow jacket that until now hadn't gotten a single speck of dirt on it that Georgie wouldn't furiously clean off. Except the bright yellow was dim and faded and crusted with muck and mud and grossness that made Richie sick. He had wondered at the time how Eddie and Stan were handling the dirtiness, when even a speck of dust usually bothered them.

Georgie, with a tarnished jacket, for the first time ever, didn't smile. His eyes were blank and lifeless. And just a few moments later, Bill would plant a nail between his eyes and the Georgie that so wasn't Georgie wold become taller. His limbs would grow longer. He would become... would become...

Eddie's hand was solid on Richie's shoulder. "Rich?" His gaze focused on Eddie's brown eyes that he found himself let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Eddie. Eddie was here, clean and pristine. The only blemish was the frown that curled his lips the wrong way and the deep concern in his gaze.

"Sorry." Richie cleared his throat and shook his head to clear it. "I was just-"

"Remembering?" It was a grim silence as they both took a break from the forced emotions they had to keep up around Bill. It was Bev and Stan's plan in the beginning, but once they'd done it the first two years it had sort of become unspoken law and now they all did it without thinking about it. Expressing how horrible this day made them all feel was rude to Bill, who had been hurt by all of it the most, arguably. Richie nodded without speaking. "I do it too." Eddie took a breath, mirroring Richie's head shake to push away his own dark thoughts. "This morning, on my way out, I was making lunch and accidentally cut my finger." He held up his ring finger on his right hand, which had a bandaid on it. In the rush and focus that today demanded each year, Richie had missed it before now. "It was small, but bled a little. I was already thinking about today. Preparing. So it was only too easy to think about... about the bathroom. Remember?"

Richie sighed. He remembered it only too well. His brain raced to try and come up with a joke to relieve the tension or bring a smile to Eddie's face again, but for the first time in years, nothing came to mind. "Come on Eds, we really do have class."

"Don't call me that," Eddie spat halfheartedly, his face scrunching up. Richie managed a smile, which then pulled one from Eddie just like Richie's smiles always did.

As they went to class, Eddie tried not to let his face show that he was far too clearly seeing the red room coated in blood that he'd tried so hard not to allow his brain to conjur up this morning when it had all happened. He mostly succeeded, but couldn't get the memory of his friends' faces as they scrubbed and cleaned and tried not t think about what they were scrubbing and cleaning. He tried not to remember how the blood was warm and how it stained the bottom of his shoes and stuck under his nails and how it made him dizzy when he first saw it. How sure he'd been that he was about to pass out.

The bell rang and class started, giving Eddie a diversion. Eddie usually dreaded the sound of that damn bell - especially when it meant that the long day of sitting still and biting his tongue as student and teachers alike annoyed his will to live right out of him. Today, though, he was more relieved to hear it than he was when he washed his clothes and put on a warm, clean shirt that smelled of detergent and warmed his skin and made everything better somehow. Which, honestly, was saying something major.

-

Mike rubbed his face with both of his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. "I just can't do this," he complained softly to Ben, who was sitting next to him and patting his back in an attempt at easing a burden they all carried. A burden that was dragging them all under and drowning them. How could he help Mike with his weight if Ben couldn't even take care of his own? He couldn't. That wouldn't stop him from trying though. "Pretend that nothing happen everyday, and then go on like THIS everyday time this year. This day is hell for all of us. And I understand why its hardest for Bill, but Georgie's death is a constant reminder of what happened and I just can't stand the holding my breath and walking on eggshells and never letting my guard down all day for a whole day, like-" He cut off, shaking his head.

"You're honest," Ben offered softly. "It makes it hard to look at Bill - one of your closest friends - and lie. I get it."

A heavy sigh came out of the teenage boy. There was a pause, and when Mike next spoke, his tone was dark and heavy and it made Ben stop cold. "What do you most remember about it?"

Frowning, Ben's hand dropped into his lap as he tried not to indulge Mike too much. He had to watch out for his own mental health too. However, the second Mike asked the question, Ben knew the answer. "Red." At first he thought the word hadn't made it out of his mouth all the way, but then he felt the shudder go through his body as the sound of his own voice hit his ears, and he knew he'd done it. "The way It turned into Bill's mom. And the balloon. And, uh, Beverly's hair." He coughed and Mike chuckled dryly, too anxious to laugh but too amused not to acknowledge the blush that never failed to peek out when Ben mentioned the redhead. "I just remember so much red that summer. And then the bloody bathroom..." He shuddered and when his eyes opened again, he saw something else other than the green grass- just for a second.

She was standing there. Her smile was wide as it seemed to make the warm a little more, as per usual. A little more bright. A little more warm. A little MORE- in general. Better and more fulfilling. He saw the light reflecting off of her fiery head as she tilted it back in laughter. Her gorgeous eyes that focused on Bill Denbrough instead of him. She was standing there with that smile and those eyes and her short, wonderfully messy hair looking at someone else.

And suddenly she turned and her eyes found him, but that wasn't part of the memory while he cleaned the bathroom, witnessing a scene he wasn't supposed to be near enough to know was happening. Suddenly it wasn't Bev and Bill, and the hair was a different kind of red. The skin was far too pale and the smile was cruel and twisted. And the eyes... they weren't soft and green and full of life. They were blue. Dead and empty like a sky on a blank day. A day without clouds or birds or any sign of life. A weirdly beautiful blue, that should have been calming but was anything but. Not like Bill's blue eyes. It's blue eyes. Blue eyes that were replaced with glowing yellow lights that stared into his soul as the Thing blinked.

"Ben!" Suddenly his vision was blocked as a slight pressure lay over his eyes. He was somewhat in the present, half consumed by darkness and hot breath and half sitting in a warm day with a slight breeze, one of his closest friends blocking his vision because calling his name hadn't worked well enough. As he came to, it was slowly and with struggle, like he was moving through honey rather than his own mind. He became aware of things slowly. His fast, shallow breathing. His hair that had been pushed out of the way as Mike covered his eyes. His racing heart that was still loud in his ears. His shaking hands. His trembling lip. When he was more calm, Mike stepped away and all Ben could see was a caring, concerned expression and a cloudy but bright sky and green trees and grass and bushes and then the streets and the school. "Are you okay?" Mike flinched as he asked the question.

"Fine." His voice betrayed him. Even in just the one word, it was obvious that he was emotional and upset. He sounded almost winded, and he wondered if he was about to have an anxiety attack or if he'd already had one while he was too stuck in his head to notice. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, Mike."

Mike shook his head. "We all need help."

"Where would we get it from?" Ben asked after he caught his bearings and got a full grip on himself.

The care on Mike's face deflated in resignation. "That's the thing, isn't it? We can't get it from anywhere." Never had a more hopeless thing been said or heard. The two boys sat in heavy silence. The two boys who were usually soft and bright and warm now sat under a storm cloud that blocked out the sun and any warmth and drenched them in a torrent of emotions that ripped them apart viciously and mercilessly from the inside out. There wasn't a single hint of a smile between them.

-

When school ended, it was a relief.

The Losers all gathered up, most of them beat down and failing to do their job. Usually once they hit the end of the school day, only two Losers remained standing. An awkward but willing Stanley Uris and a bright, chipper, forever unfazed Beverly Marsh. The others branched off early, touching Bill in some way of comfort before leaving. Eddie elbowed him gently to catch his attention before waving goodbye. Richie ruffled his hair, shoving his head a little to get him to laugh. It almost worked. Ben reached out and tugged on his hand to get his attention before heading his own way far earlier than he'd turn from the group usually. Mike pat Bill on the shoulder before saying he had to head home to help his grandpa with the sheep. And then Mike's face went dark and his eyes glazed over for a second and it was as if Bill and Mike were both seeing the staple gun pointed at a boy that was too small and standing despite fully missing an arm and having been assumed dead. Then Bev was catching his attention and Mike seemed to be running a marathon, in the way he got on his bike and began racing for home like his life depended on it.

Stan and Beverly kept his mind busy all day. The three of them had dinner, with Stan cooking and Bev talking Bill's ear off. Then Bev got him into pajamas and they both lay in bed with him for a little while, until he fell asleep. Bev got up far sooner than Stan did. Stanley lay next to Bill as Bev got dinner cleaned up and everything ready to go. His hand found its way to Bill's nose, brushing the back of it against the bridge of Bill's nose to help him fall asleep more deeply. When they left, they kept up their energy. They were much more at ease now, fed and having fallen into a pattern after the others left. The two had an easy friendship, bonding deeply and closely over experiencing something the others hadn't had the horror of yet.

Because when Beverly and Stanley thought of It, they didn't think of colors or details or smells or small boys- even though Stan knew Georgie. They both thought of one thing and one thing only. Bright lights and a hazy thickness that blocked their vision and clouded their mind, shoving blurry and nonsensical scenes that were supposed to be the future. Scenes that were far too clear for comfort, and yet still were so broken and scattered that they rarely ever made sense. And when they did, they both wished it didn't.

So they didn't think about it all day. They were so good at keeping Bill busy, because they had practice keeping themselves and each other busy. Not just one day a year but every day all day every week of every month- all year long. Usually they handled it perfectly fine, focusing on what was currently happening and not what would or had happened. Focused on this stupid town and their amazing friends and school - even though it was sometimes the worst - and homework and swimming in the Quarry and a Summer full of games and laughter and chasing each other and dunking each other under the water and staying up too late and waking up too early and bird watching and telling jokes and secrets and rolling their eyes and judging people together and even judging each other... less together.

Because when they did focus on It... When they looked back and remembered, it wasn't a memory or a panic attack. It didn't knock the breath out fo them or leave them breathless or weakened or scared or shaky or emotionally vulnerable.

No that would be too kind. When they did think about what happened, it was only at one of their houses and at the end of the day, after the two of them were completely alone and they were having a secret sleepover the others didn't know about. It was only when Stan's parents were asleep and they'd pretend to go to bed. And then like clockwork, without even looking at the clock, midnight would hit and the day would be over and their unspoken vow to keep it together all day for their friends and family would crumble and simultaneously, the unbreakable Beverly and sturdy Stan would shatter and crack and explode. They would sob, shaking violently and clinging to each other. They would gasp and close their eyes tight. They wouldn't just cry- they would completely loose it. Thankfully they were both quiet criers, but that didn't change the violence of their mutual shut down. They would let all their barriers down and let loose all the emotions they'd been holding in all day. All year. And suddenly they weren't two kids who had been through a similar experience. They were one person, agonizing over a same pain only they could understand. And for a night, that was okay. It could just be the two of them and no one else and they could feel this pain.

How else were they supposed to deal with the memory of the Deadlights when none of their friends could handle their own trauma, let alone Stan and Bev's horrors?

No.

Bill sat awake and listened to the silence in a house that pretended like Georgie never existed, his parents on vacation because they refused to be in town or anywhere near anything that reminded them of the son they never stopped grieving- including the son they still had.

Mike fell asleep but woke often to nightmares after having to use the nail gun again- just as he'd dreaded. The action alone dug up so many memories that between those and the whole day combined, he couldn't handle it... Sleep was still important, though. They had school tomorrow after all.

Eddie spent the night half asleep. Sort of conscious and aware; drifting in and out; sort of noticing the world and sort of resting. His dreams were all foggy and empty and he was unable to collect a coherent thought or make sense of the blobs and nothings that every once in a while popped out at him when he was a little more sleep than awake.

Ben slept like a rock, still and locked down to the bed despite the occasional twitch. So very unlike how he actually slept, where he was usually pulling blankets and pillows close to his chest and burying his face in something soft or warm or familiar, now he lay still, on his back, with nothing near or even touching him. At least he slept.

Richie didn't even bother getting into bed. He sat on his window sill, his window open and his legs hanging out to dangle against the side of his house. He leaned against his banister and watched the stars and moon and hummed random, terrible sounding tunes under his breath and let the stress of the day melt away.

Bev and Stan held each other and cried until they passed out. Bev was out first, Stan using the same trick on her that he did on Bill. Gently caressing the bridge of the nose always worked. No matter how old the person was or how often they had it done to them, it always worked. He fell asleep with a heavy heart and an enthusiasm for what the next day would bring.

It was fine. It was all fine...

It had to be.

-

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[diaco1968]

Showing Obedience

Chisaki Kai x reader

I don't really know if it needs any warning. Nothing really happens. But I guess a little hint of a future blowjob? 😅

The fact that your line of work left you with no such luxury as pride didn't really stop you from feeling extra humiliated under his sharp golden eyes. You were forced to kneel down on the floor with one of the bigger men holding you down with a hand on the back of your neck. One hand. Holding you down by the scruff like a helpless little kitten. Pathetic. You looked up at the big guy annoyed "is this absolutely necessary? It's not like I can go anywhere right now..." he glared down at you, the long gashes on his arm stinging just through the sheer anger your words recreated in his mind. You might or might not have put up a nasty fight... "shut up whore!" He hissed down at you raising his fist to punch you, on what you assumed was your jaw, again.

"Hojo." The guy with the golden eyes and the edgy bird mask spoke up, making 'Hojo' tense and drop his arm back, looking down. Who you assumed was the bus has been sitting on the black leather couch in front of you for a while now, quiet, calculating. You knew you were in a grave situation right now with no where to run to. Gathering up the little courage you had left you looked at him, not sure if you kept the intrigued expression at bay or if he saw it plastered on your face looking like a child in a haunted house. His expression was unwavering.

"I am Chisaki Kai the head of Shie Hassaikai. It's safe to assume you know what has caused you this... unfortuante circumstances. Correct?" For a second the thought to play it off as dumb crossed your mind but, there was something about his eyes... some 'no bullshit or you will regret it'...they looked almost predatory. So you sucked it up hating how small your voice was as it came out "... correct..." he didn't move at all. "That's great, it will save us both a lot of time then." He leaned forward resting his arms on his legs and putting his latex covered hands together. The general getting to business pose. "You should pay the fee of doing 'illegal business' in Shie Hassaikai territory, cash or your life." You tensed doing your best to keep from stuttering "I-if I did have money ... I wouldn't be stealing in the first place...". He started leaning back again "your life it is then." Hojo's grip on the back of your neck tightened significantly almost shattering your composure "I-... I can... there is... c-could you..." fuck... you didn't even know what to say if even could form a coherent sentence at all.

He ever so slightly raised an eyebrow at you and you took in a deep breath to calm your nerves and to have a second to think "there s-sure are other ways to pay? Right?!" He didn't seem all too interesed. Almost not at all "do go on." Hojo's hand relented in his grip and only then did you realise one of your hands had shot up and clung to his wrist in desperation, dropping your hand immediately. "I could work it off and pay you, I just need a little time..." "to jump more people on the streets that we secure the safety of? I don't think so." You shook your head vigorously "No no!... I can work for you! I just... I swear I am useful! Specially in your line of work! Almost took out this guy on my own, didn't I?" You bargained desperately and pointed at Hojo making him growl.

Chisaki's eyes briefly glanced at Hojo's ripped and bloodied arm. He also knew that Setsuno had been brought back unconscious, bruised and beaten. He wondered if you didn't know how you injured him or if you didn't even count him in your achievements. He knew what your quirk was but never saw it first hand. And the fact that even after all that there was not a drop of blood or a speck of dust anywhere on you intrigued him a little. 'How neat'. Only a small bruise forming on the side of your jaw where Hojo had punched you. "You are probably not as fit as you think for this line of work." You felt your heart drilling painfully against your chest in fear and opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off before you managed "it needs absolute obedience and loyalty. How do I know you have it in you?" You blinked in confusion. How do you make someone you just met trust you anyway... you felt like he was not really into you getting away with this conversation with your life intact and to be honest you did already feel kinda defeated. Little did you know how actually 'into you' he was. "... I will obey you no matter what. I'll do whatever you tell me," and that was where you doomed yourself to his iron clutches "... but as to how you'd know that I'm loyal... I have no idea. I don't think swearing would cut it for you." No, he wasn't. He appreciated the way you thought and your honesty about it. He knew however just how to put your former declaration and your inflated pride to the test. As much as he didn't really want to do something like that so publicly, to you or to himself, he deemed it necessary. You were a solo petty thief after all, he should teach you the etiquette of working for the Yakuza. "You will do what ever I say, then?" He nod his head to Hojo. Your eyes shot up as you felt his hand leave the back of your neck. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes met his sharp ones, already guessing where this was headed to. No way out now, great job. "...I will." You said meekly. You couldn't help but imagine he was probably smirking evily at you under his mask. Cause if the rest of his face was as expressionless as his eyes, it was gonna be a problem. Getting no responese at all infuriated you unbelievably. "Come." He leaned back again and parted his knees a little gesturing to the small space in between them on the ground before draping his arms over the back of the couch getting comfortable. You had to bite back a snarky remark on how that method of testing didn't take any time to come to his perverted mind. You gulped after taking in the expressions of the rest of the gang members in the room as you hesitantly started to rise to your feet.

"No need to get up." Your jaw clenched, eyes shooting up at him rage flashing through for a second before you looked down at the ground, crouching and getting back on your knees. "You wanted to say something. Eyes on me. Say it." You closed your eyes before sighing quietly and looking back up at him. First time ever his eyed were shining with an actual excited glint. "I was gonna say..." Damnit he was challenging you to make one wrong move. Or in this case say one wrong word. "Yes, sir." The way the mask moved up ever so slightly you could almost see the shit eating grin that formed under it. Despite that you kept your eyes on him as you crawled your way over and nestled in between his legs, with your hands on the ground like a good dog careful not to touch him anywhere with any part of you, looking up at him expectantly. He didn't expect you to even get this far, so he decided to push you further. "Oh would you look at that, can't touch anything as long as your hands are so filthy." He looked down on you, literally now and figuratively. "And say they were clean, what would I need to touch?..." you asked dreading the answer. Amused by the way you talked back to him without actually talking back, his latex covered hand came down to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling you roughly closer, your chin resting on his clothed crotch, lips flush against his abdomen as you kept your eyes on his, 'just like he had said'. Maybe you made the mistake of opening your mouth and softly moving your jaw a little downwards just to feel and test if the bastard was getting excited by his little show of dominance. His pupils dilated pushing your face down, giving you more than enough to 'feel' as you felt your cheek rub against what you assumed was his 'half' erection letting out a strangled "oof!" from being pulled forward like that. "Just as before I see it safe to assume, and correct me if I'm wrong, you know exactly what you're supposed to be doing there."