#it's about to tear apart and the electrical tape did nothing

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[honeydropcrow]

hnnn

[lazuli-bloom]

Cold Comfort

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 1552

Hurt/Comfort

After a rough day of work all you want to do is hide away and cry, only for Betelgeuse to find you.

You drag your feet to the front door of your apartment. The key in hand, you pause before bringing it up to unlock the door. You rub at your sore eyes and try your best to flatten down your hair. Everything hurt. Aches, dizziness, a pounding in your head. Anguish and misery swirled in your mind, bleeding out into your appearance. You ready yourself, taking in a breath before unlocking the front door. It pushes open with ease and you step inside to a dark living room. You step inside, letting out a cheery hello. Silence. There was no reply, no one else in the apartment. A strange blend of relief and sadness mixed in your heart as you closed the door. Once shut, the dam you thought was holding back everything broke. You grab at your chest as shaky hiccups accompany your sobs. Why did you let that shit bother you? Why did it sting so much worse today? You shake your head, closing your eyes tight, but it didn’t stop the tears. You couldn’t just stay in front of the door. As much as you yearned to collapse right there, it would just cause more problems. Your roommate could be back soon, and he didn’t need to see you as a complete wreck. Working quick, you grab your water bottle from the fridge and one of the more filling snacks you had. You take it all to your room and leave a note taped to your door. A simple one that just said work left you tired and went to bed early. You kept the lights off and haphazardly changed into your pajamas, leaving your work clothes in crumpled piles somewhere on the floor. Eyes welling with more tears, you crawl into bed. From there time blurred. All you recall doing was hugging one of your pillows and wailing into it to smother out the sound. Negative thoughts came in cycles, crashing down in full force then to resend to a numb ache, only to crash back down with a fresh wave of sorrow. You were a burden; you deserved nothing good. All you do is annoy others. They’re all just too nice to point it out and say it to your face. Everyone hates you and wants you gone. The tears never stopped. The pain in your head seeped down into your heart. Without thinking, you sobbed out a plea for these thoughts to go away. You knew deep down these thoughts and ideas were wrong, but that didn’t stop the pain. What did stop them was the bed shifting, adjusting to the new weight close to the middle of your back. The pain was quick to crawl back into your thoughts and you pull the blankets over yourself. Go away. That’s what you wanted to say. But the words came out as some incomprehensible croak. “Babes, what’s wrong?” His voice was soft and full of worry. You didn’t need to look at him to know his expression. His tone, his hand rubbing circles over the blankets, the soft pleas asking you to talk. You upset him. “Nothing.” “Don’t lie, what’s wrong?” You pull the covers tighter. New tears spill and your head pounds with every sob that breaks loose. Part of you wished he would just go away and leave you to cry. You didn’t want him to see you as this ugly mess of negative emotions. And yet you also wanted him to stay, to help anchor in this ocean of misery. The latter option won. You move to sit up, keeping the cocoon of blankets covering yourself. You kept your head down so the hood could at least help hide your swollen red face. “I don’t know... a lot of things. A lot of stupid things that I shouldn’t be crying over.” He said nothing. You thought he might have disappeared if not for his weight on the bed, moving closer to sit beside you. “Work was an absolute shitshow all day. I just... everything went wrong. The place was scorching hot and no one could get the heaters to turn off. And customers are shouting at me like I was doing it!” You hiccupped and pulled the blankets tighter against your head. Your throat felt so scratchy and in need of a drink. You slipped a hand out of the cocoon and grab the still chilly water.

The water soothed your throat for a blissful moment. You steady your breathing after taking a swig and set the bottle back on the nightstand. More hot tears roll down your face, but you let them be as you continue recounting your day. “I kept screwing up. Mistake after mistake. Grabbed the wrong thing, didn’t explain policy well enough, couldn’t keep my voice happy and polite.” There was a pressure that snaked over the blankets across your shoulders. Your breath hitched and you run your fingers through your messy hair, sweat coating your fingers as they do. “I slipped up and started crying at work. And that horrible vendor had to be in the break room. He’s bad on most days but...” You grit your teeth. Your nails dig into your scalp, trying to reach in and throw away that interaction from your memory. “‘God, you’re ugly when you cry. What do you have to be sad about? Don’t you have friends to go to? Or did they bail on you because you’re being too dramatic? Just suck it up and get over it, nobody cares.’ He had the fucking audacity to say that shit to me.” His hand gripped tighter around your shoulder. He kept most of the force in the palm, but his fingertips still pressed into your shoulder some. And despite the blankets, you couldn’t help but notice sharp claws pressing down too. Not enough to hurt, but very much there. Your own nails let up from your head to go back to holding the edges of the blankets as close to you as possible. The stinging in your eyes ebbs when you rub at them, but the tears still blur your vision. “Beetle, do you think I’m...” You could bring yourself to finish your thought. A truthful answer would only hurt. You’d rather pretend to not care than shatter your friendship. You shake your head and said a soft, “nevermind, forget it.” A second arm slid over your front, and before you could worm your way out, Betelgeuse pulled you onto his lap. You pull the blankets tight as you could, but the demon grabbed a fist full of the fabric. You halfheartedly struggle to keep the blankets covering your head. However, it was a fruitless effort; he would not let you hide way anymore. Still, if you didn’t have a hood on, you kept your gaze turned away. “Come on babe, please look at me.” “No, I look terrible and you’ll make fun of me.” Your reply came out a weak hiccup. There was a moment of stillness, only punctuated with your soft sobs. Betelgeuse was first to move. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you into a hug. He buried his face into the back of your head, further messing up your disheveled hair. He didn’t exactly give warm hugs. But after being wrapped up in blankets and spilling many hot tears down your cheeks, the chill was refreshing. You didn’t squirm out of his embrace. But you didn’t relax into his arms either. “Why do you put up with me?” “I could ask you the same thing, babes.” Betelgeuse pulled you closer and nuzzled against your hair. His chest rose and fell some, carrying a slight breeze of air going through your hair. Odd, considering he didn’t need to breathe. He hummed into your hair. “But if you want to know, I made a list.” “No, it’s... you don’t have to do that.” “You sure? I got at least a novel’s worth of all the little things I like about you. Like, when you get really excited, when you talk about your favorite games, and movies, and other stuff. Also, when that same passion goes into you ranting about all the stupid little things that annoyed you. “Then there’s every time you offer me hugs when I’m even the slightest bit upset. “And can’t forget how you’re the sweetest breather I’ve ever met, always getting me things whenever you go out shopping, like that giant electric blanket.” You sniffle and chiming in, “You said you like warm things and when I saw it-“ Betelgeuse’s arms wrapped tighter around you for a moment as he let out a chuckle. “See? You’re always being thoughtful and spoiling me, huh?” “I care about you... I want you to be happy.” “And I care about you and want you to be happy too.” You finally let yourself relax in his arms. Wiping away the leftover tears, you takin in a shaky breath. Once you felt calm enough, you shifted, lacing your arms under his as your head rest on Betelgeuse’s shoulder. “Beetle? I was wondering-“ “You want to scare the shit out of the asshole that upset you?” “... Maybe.” “Awesome, you order the pizza, and I’ll try out an idea I had on the delivery guy. Then we can get to scheming.”

[theyscreamjade]

hii!! i want to send in a request of the bakusquad + todoroki experiencing a miscarriage with their S/O? i just finished the movie “Up” and i was so sad in the beginning and i began wondering what the characters would be like if they were in the father’s place, and also i absolutely love the way you write angst !

Miscarriages

Disclaimer: Miscarriages, Blood, Drastic Events.

———————————————————————————————————————

* The pregnancy itself was a shocker to many and he’s blessed he put a ring on your finger before knocking you up.

* Momma was about to beat his ass.

* He’s with you every step of the way, rubbing your back while you passed your guts out.

* The first month was hell because you barely ate because of how sick you were. It honestly scared him to see you in such a bad shape, and he had to force you to simply eat a cracker or ice so you won’t be dehydrated. You didn’t have cravings or anything. 

* The second month seemed worse though, the nauseous moments were gone but the current issue was cramps. Intense cramps so bad, you’d wake up late at night with it. The heating pads, medication or anything would work. 

* Everyone assumed it was simply the baby making room for it or something which you also believed.

* Until you saw blood in your panties one night, the moment you walked out. You looked as if you seen a ghost while trying to wake him up.

* A quick trip to the hospital and the doctor breaks it to you that you had a miscarriage. Bakugo isn’t the type to express his emotions in front of people, but the moment the doctor walks out.

* He’s breaking down. He’s usually the one to be strong for you, but...he couldn’t then. Everything slapped him at once while thousands of questions piled on him. 

* Tears roll down his his cheeks as he falls to his knees, anger flows through his veins while sadness drowns his thoughts. What could he have done to prevent this?

* This honestly pains my heart to write this.

* Denki was over the roof when you told him you were pregnant, he was excited! Beyond that. Words couldn’t describe how happy he was. 

* He was ecstatic to be a father and to be best father he can be.

* He was with you through every step, all the way to the fourth month.

* You and him stood in the doctors office, awaiting for the gender of your expecting child.

* You prayed for a boy while he wanted to have a electric princess waddling around to do things with.

* When the scanning began though, the doctor’s face became concerned. Her eyes frowned before she looked over at the monitor.

* You didn’t hear the usually swishing noise, the noise you craved to hear as she soon placed you on a stretcher. You were immediately escorted to a hospital which was next door.

* Another doctor did the exact same thing, he even placed a tiny belt around your forming stomach. The minutes that went through while he grazed your stomach with the technology that once blessed you.

* “We...We can’t seem to find a pulse.” He said softly, looking towards your two.

* “W-What?” Denki would say softly, staring at him shocked. “Y-What do you mean you can’t find a pulse?” He’d ask, making sure he heard the man correctly while trying to keep himself together. The moment you burst into tears, sobbing with you.

* It’s honestly painful to see the once bubbly, sweet guy with a heartbreaking saddened look on his face but his hand stayed locked in yours, the whole time.

* Your pregnancy was actually terminated so early, you didn’t have a chance to breathe in the fact that you were pregnant.

* You held the positive pregnancy test in your hands and the moment you told Kirishima after work. You waved it as if it was a lottery ticket 

* His eyes nearly popped from his head, his sharky smile was on full display as he hugged you so tightly. He spun your around with happiness in his heart. He couldn’t believe he was fortunate enough to be blessed with a child. 

* Unlike others, you didn’t really have the normal issues. You seemed to crave a lot of meat though, more wanting hamburgers and things.

* The first month was a absolute breeze and you didn’t have a ounce of morning sickness, morning problems, or anything. No cramps or nothing

* It was a normal doctors appointment, A simple check-up.

* Kiri wasn’t available at the time because the hero’s had a meeting, but...he’d cancel anything for you.

* The moment his phone rings your ringtone, the only thing you can choke out from your voice is “W-We lost it.”. His eyes were wide and he stood to his feet without a second thought, dashing out of the headquarters.

* He doesn’t care if he’s miles away, in the middle of something. He’s either speeding or running to the doctor’s office.

* He’ll burst into the room and see you holding the now negative test along with a few other things. Papers containing what to do afterwards and how to mend your pain though it wouldn’t fix your broken heart. 

* He’ll pull you in for a tight hug, sobbing with you as he lets the emotions flow out of you and him. He’d hold you so tightly, sobbing into your shoulder while you cried into his chest inside the quiet doctor’s office. 

* The moment you told Mina you wanted to have a kid with her, She was jumping for joy. 

* She loves kids and couldn’t deny it.  

* You offered yourself since she was a pro-hero and you wanted your future child to see how great their mother is. 

* It took a while to pick a donor, decide on one, do the procedure and wait. That took the longest of all, You had to wait until your eggs were fertile and ready for everything.

* Sis knew before you knew that you were pregnant. When started smelling how sweaty she was or how she was around Bakugo or Kirishima, it was a dead giveaway. 

* When you took the test, Boom. Positive. 

* She went to Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and more posting about the growing family with excitement in her heart. 

* Almost a month into it, She began making big plans. She was looking at houses so you two could leave the apartment you two shared. Pre-ordering cribs, baby chairs, baby changing tables. She had a Pinterest labeled ‘Future Baby Room.’

* Almost into month two, You began having cravings. She was devoted to the mother role, whatever you ate, she ate. Pickles and ice cream, Popcorn with caramel and siracha, hamburgers and strawberries. She was down for it all. 

* Nothing was expected though, It just swung at you like a pile of bricks. 

* You were cleaning up the kitchen when a rush of pain stung you so hard, you let of a cry that scared Mina. She rushed to your side and held you as you felt something wet between your legs. 

* She placed you into the car without checking and sped to the hospital. Once admitted, Dozens on dozens of tests were done of you. So many that almost worried her. She tried to keep you happy but even she began to worry. 

* When the doctor walked in, she had an expression she’d never forget. “I’m sorry, It seems as if you had a miscarriage.” Your heart shattered, refusing to look at your wife while guilt rushed through you. 

* You couldn’t give her the one thing she deserved. The moment her hand touched yours, You couldn’t hold it in. You sobbed as she sobbed with you, thinking about the little angel that was gone now. 

* Your pregnancy was perfect timing for everything that happened. 

*You just got married, came back from your honeymoon and was able to enjoy married life for a minute

* You felt sick for a few days and it struck you one day to just check and see, Your eyes nearly popped out when you saw the infamous two lines. 

* You didn’t wait a second though, You nearly speared Sero down and waved the test in his face. Tape boy was over the moon about it, he was more than excited! He was going to be a dad and be the best one yet. 

* He always held your hair, rubbed your back, kissed your forehead and made sure you were hydrated after your morning sickness. 

* He was a pro at midnight, midday and early morning cravings. He didn’t care if he had to drive across town for it. He’d do anything for his tiny bean. 

* Pregnancy tracker was his favorite because he was so excited to know about the little bean that was waiting to be brought out. When you began to form a bit, He admired you. He dropped down and placed kisses all over your stomach while talking to the little thing. 

* Around the end of your third month however, You began to have intense pains. It started out minor but increased rather fast. 

* Sero hated to leave you alone that morning, He tried to call out and have someone take it but you told him you were fine and he should go.

* Which he did but never stopped checking his phone. Every minute, he glanced for a message, ringtone, something. 

* When your ringtone did ring, he snatched it and answered. He heard the whimper in your voice, the scattered  and static chatter and lastly the siren. 

* He didn’t hesitate to leave that minute, He sped to the hospital. He barely parked the car and rushed inside. He walked in and told the nurse who he was. It sent chills down his spine when they said you were in surgery. 

* Minutes turned to hours as the Baku-squad came to keep him company, to keep a smile on his face. Your name was announced and the minute she said “I’m sorry, She had a miss-” He shuts down. 

* “Where is she?” He asked softly as his feet rushed to you before she could say the last number fully. The door sung open as your eyes connected and emotions flowed. You sat on the edge of the bed with a breathing machine on your nose as he hugged you, his hiccupped cries finally coming out while you cried in his arms. Your hearts broken by the bean you lost. 

* Shoto is usually prepared for the unexpected like your relationship, marriage an so on. 

* He wasn’t expecting to even be married and here he was. Happily married to you.

* The poor man wasn’t ready for the announcement though. It was a mixture of bad timing and horrible bluntness. 

* Iida was pranked by his girlfriend so when you told him, He basically asked “Are you joking?” 

* Poor man had to sleep on the couch for only three hours before you gave in and let him sleep in the bed again. It took that and kisses to get you to forgive him. 

* Now, Shoto was prepare physically but mentally he was terrified. He didn’t want to make a mistake and screw up. He doesn’t want to bare the burden his father did to him and his family. 

* Was he even capable of handling a little one?

* Two months in though, when he saw your stomach forming a little bump. He couldn’t help but feel excitement through his worries. He was going to be a father, a parent. He wasn’t alone, he knew you’d help him through every step. 

* Like Sero’s though. It happened in a instant. At your baby shower no less, Fuyumi was on high alert. You was gorgeous from head to toe and yet you had the most uncomfortable look on your face. 

* You couldn’t wiggle, sit, or walk it away. You wanted to ease it somehow but it didn’t seem to work. 

* The mere minute you were about to discover the gender of the child, you blacked out. 

* Natsuo luckily caught you before you touched the ground. When you opened your eyes, you felt the blinding lights of the hospital shining down on you. A soft moan slipped out as the pain was gone, but something was wrong. 

* As if it was a signal or something, Shoto rushed to you and kissed your head. He was happy to see that you were okay, awake to say the least. It took a few minutes until the doctor walked in and finally laid the news on you. “I-I sincerely apologize but...You had a miscarriage, Mrs. Todoroki.” He said as Fuyumi gasped. 

*You shook your head in disbelief, there’s no way. Everything was fine. You were fine. They were fine! The more you shook your head the more tears rolled. You hands gripped the side rails before you let out a scream in agony. The fire alarm was triggered, causing the water to spray down. 

* Smoke hissed from Shoto was ice crystals were on the floor, He was frozen as his emotions and quirk couldn’t be contained. Questions rolled through his mind as each second seemed long, tears rolled down his cheeks as Nastuo snatched his brother into a hug while Fuyumi held you in her arms. Shoto wasn’t prepared for a tragedy like this. 

[dokidokey]

trace in the raindrops

summary: your relationship with keigo has been rocky for the past few weeks and your mind hasn’t been quiet in so long. what the both of you would give to take some things back.

pairings: takami keigo / hawks x reader

bingo slot: never got to say goodbye

genre: angst

warning/s: swearing, insecurities, depression, blood, death

word count: 4,989

notes: sixth bingo piece yay! i needed to get this out i’m sorry ehe if you’re uncomfortable with the topics this story is going to discuss, please don’t read. my event masterlist can be found HERE.

Raindrops are pattering against the window as you trace the frazzled lines it makes from the other side, awed by the way a droplet hits the glass like an explosion, breaking apart into tinier little drops like frail branches. You force yourself to listen to the rain as it rages outside, blocking out the soft padding of Takami’s feet on the carpet. You don’t want to see him go with this hell of a storm going on.

“Hey,” his murmur battles with the harsh noises outside, and you tilt your head just the slightest to let him know you’re listening. “I’ll be back soon.”

You nod curtly, not bothering to say anything because you’ve been like this for the past two days, gazing back at the gray scenery on the other side of the window pane. You’re expecting he will at least go over to you to pat your head like he did before, or maybe kiss you if you are lucky, but no. The muffled click of your bedroom door closing, soon followed by the rattle of the front door, is the only thing you got.

There’s a drawn out exhale from you, the tips of your fingers leaving blurred lines as it cascades down the glass along with the rain, settling in a fist on the sill as the ache in your chest feels like it’s crumpling your heart. Cheers to his girl friend for specifically asking for him to pick her up in this weather, and cheers to your boyfriend for agreeing instantaneously with a laugh as he gently pried you off him earlier.

The universe just isn’t with you today, huh? At least the mad pelting of the water seems in time with your heart, beating erratically against your ribcage. How you wish it’s caused by Keigo’s blinding smile or his crazy jokes, but it isn’t. You don’t even remember the last time he did that. You don’t remember the last time he faced you with the brightest and most genuine smile.

At least you get a glimpse of it when he’s with his friends. Right? That’s enough, right? At least somewhere outside the walls of your home, Keigo has a place where he is happy and truly himself. Even if it is not with you anymore.

You don’t know when the prickling feeling of jealousy, or maybe it was envy? You aren’t sure, it feels more like a mixture of both － a heterogeneous one too, so that is why you can’t seem to drown out the feeling. Something heavy settled on the pits of your heart and it grew its roots there, becoming one with your veins. You aren’t sure when you started feeling that, but when you understood the fact that your Keigo isn’t the same Keigo to his friends, that was when you welcomed the feeling in your heart, letting it grow and bloom inside you.

You never told Takami though, too afraid that in the early haze of his love for you, he would drop his friends and stick by your side. You’d probably be happy, not until you drown yourself of the guilt that he chose you over them － over the people he’s a different kind of happy with. You’re willing to destroy yourself inside to keep that little something of real happiness for him.

It’s not that his friends intentionally hurt your feelings because when they pass you both together, they would smile at you or nod in your direction. But there are some though, who goes straight to clapping Keigo in the back without acknowledging your existence. It made you feel small. What’s worse and caused the prominent bitter taste in your mouth was that Keigo never bothered to introduce you. He’ll go on talking to his friend, or friends, and you’re left standing beside him awkwardly, not sure if you should look at them or not, or kindly excuse yourself away.

There’s a bright flash in your line of sight, electric roots crawling down the gray clouds to find a home on the ground, quickly followed by a giant clap of thunder that shakes the walls. It resonates in time with your hurting heart, the drizzling rain like the salty tears slowly painting a shiny streak on your cheek.

It scares you how aware you are of yourself. The self-destruction is just on the very tips of your fingers. Only a little more, you keep chanting in your mind like a broken cassette tape as you push yourself upright. The digital clock bleeds the numbers 03:18 AM in bright red, creating a crimson glow on the surface of your table.

You didn’t mind that there’s a pounding ache blossoming on the back of your head. It lessens your guilt somehow. To you, at least, it feels like the proper apology Keigo deserves. You’re not even sure anymore if you’re guilty because you refused to answer his questions earlier or because you let the same insecurities get to you again.

Class ended early and as always, Takami is waiting outside your classroom. It takes a lot of effort to pull your cheeks up to give him a tight-lipped smile. His hands are gentle as he pats your head, and your heart constricts at the action, because your mind has been plagued with thoughts that made Keigo cry when you opened up to him. The feel of his hands cradling your cheek that day still lingers, the ghost of a promise that seems to be fading as time passes by.

He takes your bag in his and slings an arm loosely around your shoulder, steering you clear of the swarm of bodies littering the hallway. You’re floating again as he leads you, your surroundings turning into a blur as you let your thoughts drown you away.

You learned nothing today. Your professor had called you twice on two different occasions, and the embarrassment of not being able to answer his questions just added to the monstrous pile of negativity lounging in your head. Your mind keeps flitting back to your boyfriend, who you very much love. You think about how disconnected you are to him sometimes, more so to the world, and it feels like you’re taking his love for granted because you don’t know how to return the same intensity of his feelings.

You’re uptight, too. He didn’t really say that, but you know he thinks you are, because you are. You’re not in the same level of fun as his friends. Hell, you know your fun and their fun aren’t synonymous. You’re so different from Takami and his friends. It is like, if you look at a chart depicting Keigo, everything is stellar except you. His standards drastically dropped when you came into the picture

It further proves just how much you don’t deserve Keigo.

You’re shaken awake when Takami’s hands abruptly leave yours, caused by the force of a body colliding with your boyfriend. It was the girl who asked him to pick her up in the middle of the sky’s wailing two weeks ago, and your heart is rolling down your body towards the ground as Keigo’s hands swiftly latch on her arms, steadying her.

“Oh! Sorry Kei!” She giggles, and if the sound is a thing, it’d be the blinding sunshine. It tinkles like a lone wind chime, the melody being carried by the wind like a frail dandelion. Her eyes are twinkling as she takes a step back, gaze fixed on Takami, the brightest smile you’ve ever seen adorning her beautiful face.

Kei. It’s a cute nickname, you will admit. You never had the privilege of calling him nicknames though. And the fact that she’s standing there in front of your boyfriend, with you, his girlfriend, by his side, and uttering that word is just. . . She’s so much more than you, and jealousy sinks its green claws into your heart like a fork to a toaster as the pain surges in your chest like high voltage.

You’re not existing in Keigo’s world once again. You stand at his side, panicking a little because what are you supposed to do? Look at them? Smile at his friend? Make yourself known? Definitely not.

When Keigo wraps an arm around you again, you’re startled. Your head bumps on his chin when you abruptly look up from your phone, and there’s a soft hiss of pain from him.

“Sorry,” you squeak, quickly pocketing the device on your hand and cradling his face. “Sorry, sorry. Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head and you notice how long his hair is now. The soft tuff of ash blonde is kissing the back of his neck and without thinking, your hand moves to feel his hair. There’s a melancholic look swimming in your eyes as you do.

Keigo kisses your forehead then, and suddenly, your heart is in your throat. It was enough to make you cry, but you tell yourself no, you can’t cry, because when you cry, Keigo will ask questions. Questions mean answers, and your answer is his friends. All of them. How the mere thought of his friends break your heart so bad. How even the sight of them makes you feel so worthless in comparison.

You aren’t ready to tell him that, and you’re afraid you never will be.

During the car ride home, he keeps asking you if you’re okay. Are you sick? You don’t know. Maybe you are. Sick of his friends, sick of how they make you feel. Sick of this world. Sick, sick, sick. Sick in the fucking head for being like this. Why aren’t you like a normal person with a normal brain with normal feelings? Were those too much to ask? Was it that hard to give you that?

All you give Keigo are shrugs and shakes of your head and silent whispers of denial. Eventually, he grew tired of asking and of your worthless answers, releasing an annoyed huff and scrunching his eyebrows together in irritation.

There’s a bubbling guilt brewing in you from his reaction, and out of the blue, you wrap an arm around his and ask, “Are you mad?”

His expression doesn’t change as he shakes his head no, but the way he shrugs off your touch is enough answer for you. He is quiet for the rest of the day and his irritation sticks to him like a leech, seeming to suck him dry of his love for you as he didn’t even bother to bid you good night when he went to bed.

It all feels too fast, too much of a whirlwind. You feel like a candle nearing its end, your flame dangerously close to the other end of the wick.

The guilt of making Keigo feel bad is perched heavily on your shoulder. There’s an unbelievably massive emptiness inside you as you realize you’re just another version of Atlas, carrying the world alone. It’s insanely frightening that somehow, in some way, Keigo is your world. You’re carrying him and all his feelings and everything in your hands, and you can only take so much what with your thoughts piercing you like fire-tipped arrows.

So your way of forgiving yourself is this: depriving yourself of sleep. Maybe you won’t eat the whole day tomorrow too to make the guilt vanish like it’s never even there. Your hand is absolutely numb as you force yourself to move it. There’s only one last paragraph left of your homework and as you come to end it with a period, a relieved sigh bubbles out your lips and your head smack down harshly on the table, eyesight spinning.

By the time a hand is soothingly rubbing your back and another one is shaking you awake, your digital clock glares 04:02 AM to you. Keigo pushes stray hairs out of your face as you blink at him wearily.

“Come to bed,” he murmurs, and you revel in the softness of his words, the gentleness of his touch. There are tears brimming behind your closed eyelids as you lean in on his touch. When Keigo laces his fingers with yours to help you up, you oblige. When he tucks you in and wraps an arm around your waist, you smile, a lone tear trickling on your temple.

You’d sacrifice endless sleepless nights for this kind of affection again. If all this is caused by Keigo’s drowsy state, it’s okay, you won’t complain. At least like this, in the quiet of your home and the chaos in your head, you found a little solace, even just for the meantime.

Your spacing out during lectures is taking its toll. Yesterday, when your professor suddenly announced a pop quiz, the number and equations on your paper didn’t make any sense. You failed the quiz and, today in history, you fail another pop quiz. The nearing exams don't calm your frazzled state of mind. The constant fights with Keigo is only adding up to your stress and you’re not sure where to go anymore.

You find him unfair. In times like this that you and him aren’t on good terms, he has his friends to run to. You? What about you? You have nothing except him, and it’s sad to think that you can’t be honest of the one person closest to you. It’s heartbreaking that he’s also the cause of your constant sadness.

You appreciate Keigo’s efforts, really. There’s nothing like the way your heart swells whenever he approaches you to try and mend whatever it is that’s broken between you, but the swelling of your heart causes your throat to close up, and he’s left with choked breaths and stuttered out words. In the end, he let it be.

It’s a Saturday and the exams are over, and you sleep in just for today, trying to catch up on the consecutive all-nighters you pulled to study that didn’t help you out in the end, because most of your answers are just blank spaces on the paper. It’s late and sunny, the window to your right cresting slanted patterns on the wooden floorboards.

The bathroom door opens and comes out a freshly showered Takami, drying his hair with a towel and clad in denim. He halts as he sees you awake, but continues just as quick to pull out a shirt from his cabinet.

“We’re going out today, the guys and I,” he informs you in a cold voice, and it’s like being pricked by the sharpest icicle. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he puts his shirt on and grabs his spare keys for the front door. “I’ll be out late so keep the door locked while I’m gone.”

The heaviness in your chest is unmatched by Keigo’s ignorance and icy attitude as he lets himself out of your shared bedroom without another glance. You try to convince yourself that no, he just needs to get something outside and he’ll come back to bid you goodbye, maybe even kiss you or at least pat your head, but you can’t stomach the chilling sound of the door slamming shut in this eerily quiet house.

You didn’t bother getting up to eat, proceeding to just sleep and hoping your slumber would slowly dissipate the clawing jealousy and envy brooding in your chest. You wake up some time at night with the constant buzzing of your phone. You’re greeted by numerous texts from Rumi, a close friend of yours.

[rumi 08:17 pm] y/n i swear to fucking god is this your boyfriend

[rumi 08:17 pm] 927482.jpg

[rumi 08:17 pm] im going to break this mans neck y/n im telling you

[rumi 08:18 pm] RESPOND Y/N WHERE ARE YOU

[rumi 08:18 pm] it really IS your fucking boyfriend

[rumi 08:19 pm] whos that bitch on his lap

[rumi 08:19 pm] y/n if you dont respond asap im dragging these two by their necks outside

[rumi 08:20 pm] Y/N I SWESR WHERE ARE TOH RESPONS TI MY TEXTS FFS

Your heart is mad against your chest as it beats erratically, dainty fingers shaking as it taps on the attachment Rumi sent you. You have to increase your phone’s brightness because all you can see are the neon lights in the background but alas, after the settings panel lowered, there he is, with the same girl sitting on his lap.

“O-oh,” your breath stutters. You stare at the photo longer, hoping that it will magically transform into another man’s face because hell, that cannot be your Keigo. No. But it is him. That’s the same shirt he was wearing when you woke up. The way his eyes are shining and the quirky smile on his face is a clear giveaway that yes, it really is your boyfriend. You don’t miss the hand lazily draped over the small of her back.

That is the same hand that used to pat your head, rub your back, comb through your hair. That is the same hand that used to hold yours, although you can’t remember when was the last time.

Your chest physically aches at the thought of Keigo in there, with her, without you. He’s out there and you’re here after he left you with nothing. He has some audacity. And he’s going to come home to you in, say, three or four hours? For what?

But hey, who says he will come home tonight anyway?

The first thought finds it home inside your brain immediately, quickly followed by more as they try to take up the spaces in your head. What if Keigo doesn’t come home? Would he kiss her? Is he cheating? Does he love her? Is she better? What is wrong with you? What happens if Keigo doesn’t come back tonight? Does he tell her the same soft I love yous he tells you? What if they. . . ?

A wracking sob shakes your body heavily, fists tight against the comforter you’re slowly pulling up your knees, trying to shield yourself from what, you do not know. The betrayal feels like no other － like a bitter something that is slowly crawling down your throat and heart, sitting heavy in your stomach, ruining you inside.

The embers of your hate for his friends flares up, the flames licking at your chest as it aches. And no one even cares to remind him he has a girlfriend? That letting another girl sit on your lap while you’re in a relationship means you might as well break up? They know of your existence and stance in his life yet they let him anyway?

Keigo let her anyway.

Another sob tumbles out of your mouth, somehow it is the only comforting sound inside the tense silence in your room. What you’d give for Keigo to be home, wrap you in his arms, and assure you everything will be alright. What you’d give to take back all your confessions about the absolute chaos in your head, feeling like a fool for letting your defenses down and being vulnerable in front of him just to treat you like this.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there when the front door rattles open, and soon there’s a drenched Takami standing on your bedroom’s doorway. The rain is raging outside and you didn’t even notice.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, chest heaving, taking cautious steps toward your slumped form. You’re not sure why he’s saying sorry. Maybe Rumi did drag him and that girl out of the club.

You wipe the back of your hand to your cheek, erasing the evidence of your crying. You plast on a wobbly smile at him. “It’s okay,” you assure, despite the fact that you’re not assured. Pushing the comforter off you, you make a way for the pile of towels on the corner, and approach your boyfriend.

There’s a pained look on his face as you brought the cloth to his face, gently drying the rainwater dripping on his skin. Keigo sighs and angles his face away from you and grabs your wrist.

“Stop.”

You shake him off, the sides of your eyes burning, placing the towel on top of his head and drying his hair. It hurts to see him right now, but at least he’s home. Right? At least he’s here. With you. He came home.

“Y/N,” he stresses, hands gripping your arms hard like hot ice and shaking you adamantly. “For fuck’s sake, Y/N, I said I’m sorry.”

Keigo’s voice cracks.

You smile again, a little crooked, a little hurt. Your breath is hot against his cheek when you say, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Keigo exhales, something dark looming on his face. He pushes your hand away, and a tear slips down your cheek, but you’re quick. Your hand swipes it away as fast as it fell down, and there’s only a shadow of the trail it left.

The man in front of you sighs in exhaustion as he runs a shaking hand through his hair, the sound heavy on his chest. He sounds so tired. Fed up. Done. Is this how he will break up with you? The thought alone breaks your heart, and there is another trickle of tear down your eyes, and a choked sob escapes you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Keigo murmurs in remorse as he slowly pulls you in his arms, and you immediately latch to him, uncaring of the voice inside your head saying this is the same man who has his hands on another girl. He came home. He’s here with you. That is all that matters. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

There’s no stopping your tears as it soaks the neckline of his shirt. Your breath is hot against his neck, contrasting his skin that is cold from the rain. “I know Rumi told you. She talked to me,” he explains, lips grazing your temple in a way that hurts so good. “I’m sorry, baby, it’ll never happen again.”

You pull your head away from his neck, breathing in through your nose, voice croaky. “I－ I’ve never－ You don’t see me sitting like that on other men's lap, Keigo,” you lament, the image flashing before your eyes again. “I feel so cheated.”

His hands are caressing your back and the pressure is a nice reminder that you aren’t alone anymore. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Though you know no amount of sorrys can mend that little piece of your broken heart, you let it slide. You let it go. You just relish in this moment you manage to steal away from his friends, snuggling against his neck despite the cold bite of his wet clothes on your skin.

When Keigo suggests both of you clean up now that you’re also drenched in rainwater, you oblige. The soft feeling of his hands rubbing your scalp and his whispers of countless I’m sorrys is kept behind the tiny area of your bathroom. When you’re cuddled up to him right before bed, you don’t understand the difference of I love you and I’m sorry anymore.

It’s raining again.

Keigo decided to take you out today, saying it has been so long since the last you did. There’s a bitter remark in the back of your head saying, that’s because you don’t pay attention. It’s always your friends over me. It’s always her over me. But you ignored it, too elated by your boyfriend’s proposals because finally, after so long, it’s you and him again.

You look up at your transparent umbrella, eyes transfixed on a raindrop that lazily glides over the curve of the plastic, rejoining the ones that had built up at the ends. It falls down the puddle at your feet, the echoes of its fall waving in the water. You smile and pull out your phone to call Keigo. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

He picks up on the second ring. “Sorry,” comes his greeting, “I’m on my way, I promise.”

“It’s okay.” There’s nothing to be sorry for. You move the tips of your shoes to tap the puddle, and your reflection on the water dances. “I’ll be waiting here. Take care, okay? I lo－”

You don’t see it because you’re looking the other way, totally oblivious of the car reeling towards your direction. There was no beep or honk or anything. All there was was the screeching of tires on wet asphalt, but it’s too late.

You make eye contact with the wide-eyed man behind the wheel. Touya’s eyes look about to fall, and it would have pulled a good laugh out of you because this usually calm and collected friend of Keigo is panicking, but you know you can’t do that. Not anymore. Not ever.

The pain comes at full blow on your chest and your breath is knocked out of your lungs from the impact. You manage to register the fact that after that excruciating hit, your body is thrown back and hits the shed’s post. Something cracks through the happenings of it all.

Your phone is not in your hands anymore, your umbrella is gone. The rain is pattering against your face, mixing with the blood slowly pooling under your body. You barely understand Touya’s words as he runs off to you, lips moving in frenzy as he talks on his phone.

Keigo’s heart drops. What the fuck was that?

“Y/N,” he calls, dread sitting tight on his chest, “Y/N? Hello? Can you hear me?”

You don’t answer. He wants nothing than to get out of this fucking train and go to you. This seems too slow. Too slow.

Faintly, he hears it. A voice. His friend’s voice, to be exact. What the hell is Touya doing there with you? He picks up a few words, like accident and ambulance, and it feels like his heart is about to fall.

What happened to you? God, if anything bad happened to you, Keigo might lose his mind.

He’s out of the train when his phone rings again, and his heart skips with the thought that maybe it’s you, but when it displays Todoroki’s name, he almost throws the device away. “What?” He snaps, wiping the raindrops falling frantically on his face. His irritation and anxiety heightens. It’s like the raindrops are there to tell him to move faster, walk faster, get to you faster.

“Keigo, fuck, fuck, fuck,” comes Touya’s voice in Takami’s ear, and he abruptly stops at the distressed tone of his voice before moving again, mind wrapped around the thought of getting to you immediately.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Touya moans, “I’m so fucking sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean it, man.”

Keigo refuses to accept it. No. He ends the call and his rushed walk turns into a sprint, the soles of his shoes beating in time with the drops of rain. Maybe this is all a dream － a vivid one at that, because when he sees the familiar shed where you told him you’ll wait, it all feels too real.

His legs are straining from the effort he’s exerting to get to you faster, yet at the same time, he doesn’t want to. Seeing you will make it real. Keigo cannot accept that. He doesn’t want to accept that.

But there you were, eyes toward the sky and unseeing, arms splayed. Fuck. He skids to a stop next to your body, ignoring the bite of the concrete against his knees and Todoroki, who is looking at him wide-eyed.

“No, no, no, no,” Keigo rasps, hands hover over your body. The fear of touching you is sending alarms off inside his head. No. This cannot be true. This isn’t you.

But you’re wearing the necklace he gave you on your first anniversary, the gold lace hanging crooked on your neck.

He doesn’t mind the mix of blood and rain seeping into his clothes as he carefully, carefully places a hand over your forehead, and he wants nothing but to shake you awake but the dead look in your eyes is killing him.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispers, closing your eyelids and resting his forehead on yours, and he cries. Is this what he gets because he’s been neglecting you? Is this in exchange for the act he pulled yesterday night? Is this the universe taking back the greatest thing in his life because he didn’t appreciate it enough?

You didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Keigo has it etched on his mind － your little phrases over the phone whenever the call is nearing its end. Take care. I love you. Bye. With the last word drawn out, childlike and wondrous. You weren’t even able to say those things. One last time.

But Keigo is aware of all the times he did not bid you goodbye. Every instance is eating away at him every day, his pride too big for him. It feels as though he took your for granted, and yes, maybe he really did.

What Keigo would give to turn back time and love you the right way you deserved.

He doesn’t realize when the medics came. He didn’t respond when a voice asked him to step back, thrice, until arms were lifting him off his feet. He didn’t say anything when somebody asked his name. All he can see is your body, drenched in water and blood.

You always did love the rain, so maybe that is why he’s so transfixed with the webs of crimson slowly mingling with the water on your skin. He watches as it becomes one with the rain, dripping down the pavement, and he knows soon it will disappear, all evidence of how once upon a time, Takami Keigo lost the love of his life in this very place.

more notes: i don’t know why i do this to myself heh this was supposed to be way darker and sadder, but i changed it last minute jskdl hope you enjoyed!

[somedayonbroadway]

Room

Room Masterlist

Chapter 4

Something felt different when Race woke up the next morning. He opened his eyes to see his daddy still fast asleep, but he was curled up next to him tighter than normal. And there was purple on his neck. Daddy said it wasn't paint, once. Those marks were different. But they looked colorful and odd and Race knew that paint could make things change colors.

With shaky fingers, Tyler reached out to touch the mark. Daddy sighed in his sleep and Race mimicked him, his big blue eyes widening when he saw his breath leave his lips. Squinting a little in confusion, the child blew quietly at the ceiling.

He saw it again.

Looking up at Skylight, the little boy saw that the edges of It were white. He'd never seen Skylight look like that. In the middle, he could see grey. Daddy had said that those were clouds once. Aliens didn't like the rain.

Still, the boy could only focus on the smoke coming out of his mouth. "I'm a dragon…" he whispered. Dragons in TV breathed like that. Fire and smoke. Dragons were cool. They could fly and breathe fire and sometimes turn invisible. Race liked dragons. He rolled towards his daddy again, tapping his shoulder. "Daddy, look!" he whispered. Tired green eyes slowly opened but Daddy didn't say anything. "I'm a dragon!" Again, the boy breathed out steadily, watching smoke float up into the air above him.

Jack squinted. He took in a sharp breath as he slowly forced himself to sit up, his neck sore and his head hurting more than usual. His throat felt tight. He sniffled as he glanced up at the skylight and then at the radiator. His son watched him calmly as he reached over to the lamp and tried to click it on.

Nothing happened.

"Shit…" Jack hissed. The power was cut. For a split second, hope bubbled up inside him but he shut it down quickly. Still, he couldn't help but try, climbing off of the bed and trying to pry the electric door open with his fingers. It didn't budge. In a moment of frustration, he kicked at the thing, seeing Tyler sit up slowly in the bed.

Letting out a long sigh, Jack bit his lip. He'd lost track of time in Room plenty of times before, but he knew that it was November. It was only a couple days after his baby's birthday. And it was about to get really cold.

So Jack walked over to the wardrobe and pulled open the drawers, tossing Race two long sleeve shirts and a blanket, needing to keep the boy warm. Tyler was so small. If he got sick, it wouldn't be good. Jack didn't know what to do if Tyler got sick. Spider gave them six painkillers at a time. It was all the medication they had.

So Jack helped bundle his little boy up as best he could. He tried to ignore the soreness in the back of his own throat and the bruises that he knew wrapped around his neck. Tyler didn't argue with him. The boy still seemed a bit shaken and Jack didn't know what he could do to make it better.

He was still shaken too.

Time didn't stop for them. Jack let his little boy work through some stretches as he warmed up some oatmeal for breakfast. Talking hurt a little bit. Jack still wore his pajama pants and the only long sleeve t-shirt Spider had given him. He had a scarf around his neck, made of a strip of an old blanket, but it was more to hide the bruises than to actually keep him warm.

As the child sat down with a book at the table, Jack listened to him read. This story used to be one of his favorites. Someone used to read it to him. Someone used to read to him all the time.

"For, you see," the child said in a voice that was only innocent, "so many out-of-the-way things had hap-happened l… lat-ley—"

"Lately," Jack corrected gently as his son sounded out the words. The young man's voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"Lately," Tyler repeated, finding his place in the book again. "That Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible…" The child kept reading.

But Jack wasn't listening.

Last night played over again in his head as he stared down at the stove. He swallowed hard, thinking about his own screams and the inability to breathe or do anything while Spider talked about his son like he was an object instead of a little boy who had no clue what kind of life he was living, what kind of life Jack was living. Nothing had been on his mind but protecting that child. His child. Nothing had been on his mind but keeping that boy safe, the one thing he had left to do.

Something had sparked in him last night, something that he hadn't felt in a long time.

They need to get out.

He should be devastated right now, completely torn apart by reality as it slashed through him violently and chipped away another piece of him but all he knew was that he felt something. For the first time in a long time, he could feel something again. It was nearly overwhelming.

Mind whirling, Jack moved on autopilot, serving his boy breakfast before he found himself sitting in his chair, unable to move as so many different things rushed through his mind, so many memories resurfaced and he couldn't stop them. He could only stare down at his child, watching him for hours as he just went about his day without a care, reading, playing and drawing and coloring and feeling safe in a world Jack had created just for him because he thought that something was so far out of his reach he'd never be able to tell the truth.

But maybe Alice was right.

It must've been hours before Tyler sighed and looked up from his snake made of egg shells and a string. "Daddy?" he asked.

The young man flinched a little as he forcibly pulled himself from his thoughts and he shook his head. Five years and it had come down to this. Jack cleared his throat, sniffling as he ran a trembling hand through his hair. He knew what he had to do. He just hoped his kid would still be able to look at him the same way. "H-hey, Tyler, do you remember Mouse?" The words were odd and he felt sick just saying them. Anxiety flooded through him when Tyler nodded. "Yeah…" Jack breathed, biting his lip. "Ya know where he is?" He somehow managed to make himself sound quiet and calm even though he was screaming inside. Tyler shook his head, looking up at Jack curiously, a crayon in his hand. Jack paused for a moment, leaning closer to the boy and studying him for just a moment longer. Then he glanced around, almost like he was afraid someone might be listening. "I do…" The young man nodded over to the heavy metal door that he hated so much. "He's on the otha' side of this wall."

Looking over to the wall, the boy sat unamused, not quite picking up on the tone his daddy had in his voice. "In space?"

"No," Jack replied, shaking his head and blinking back the tears as he bit his lip. He swallowed hard. "In the world… it's a lot closer than outer space," he breathed, keeping his gaze steady and his voice quiet.

Big blue eyes stared up at him in pure uncertainty as though the very idea was completely ludicrous. "Dumbo, Da', there's Room 'n then outer space. Mouse lives on a TV planet—"

"It's not a TV planet," Jack cut off gently, reaching for his son's hand and carefully taking the crayon away from his small fingers. "Those things that you see on TV… they're pictures of real things, real stuff like trees 'n oceans 'n parks 'n people—"

Raising his eyebrows up in disbelief, the boy asked, "Dora's real, for real?"

At the question, Jack sighed. He shook his head and tried to remind himself that he was talking to a small, innocent child that had been lied to his whole life. He tried to remind himself how Tyler had grown to believe these things because it might have been easier that way. But this wasn't easier. It wasn't. "No, kid. Dora is a drawin'—"

"A drawin' like those?" the child interrupted again, pointing over to the sketches that were hanging on the wall with tape.

When Jack glanced up to those pictures, his heart sank. "No… not like those…" he whispered, taking in every feature, every detail of those people for the first time in years. He fought to tear his gaze away. "Do… do you see how those people… they look like us? People on TV, the ones that look like us, they're real people."

Tilting his head to the side, as he often did when there was something he wasn't understanding, Tyler brushed a hand through his hair. He shook his head, not believing the words.

Bouncing his leg a little bit Jack looked around, trying to find some way to explain this, some way to get his baby to understand. His eyes landed on the book Tyler had been reading. An idea sparked in his head as he looked back down to his son. "You know how Alice wasn't always in Wonderland? You remember how she was outside with Dinah? N' she—"

"She fell down, down, down into a hole!" Race finished with Jack, nodding as he caught onto at least that much.

Hope bubbled up in the young man's chest as he nodded. "Yeah! Yes! Well, I wasn't always in Room," he explained quickly. The little boy clearly still did not understand what was being said to him. Jack's chest tightened and he wished to cry. Aside from last night, he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so. "I was a little boy, just like you, except I didn't live in Room. My name was Jack. Jack Kelly. You asked me a long time ago why Spider called me 'Kelly,'. You remember?" he asked. Tyler didn't respond. "It's my name. My name's James Kelly. I lived in a house with a yard and a swing—"

"A house like in TV?"

Jack paused, reminding himself to take a deep breath. Tyler was curious and he was so, so smart, but Jack didn't know how to explain this because this was something no child should ever have to understand. "No, Tyler…" he nearly whined, his voice breaking with exhaustion as his throat still throbbed from last night. "A real house, one where I lived, outside of this place." The young man forced himself to slow down and paused as he realized how desperate he was beginning to sound, though the child didn't seem to notice. "Race, you're so smart… I know that you can get this… I know you wonder about what's on the other side of that door…"

Glancing over to the door, Tyler bit his lip. "What other side?"

Hardly reacting to those words, Jack just shrugged. "Tyler, there's two sides to everything," he informed the boy easily.

"Not an octagon."

If Jack didn't have so many other things running through his brain, he might have laughed. Instead, Jack just paused, taken aback by the sentence as he thought about it. The kid was right. "Well… yeah, but—"

"An octagon has eight sides," Race shrugged, those blue eyes never leaving Jack's face.

The young man scoffed. "Okay, kid. Ya got me there, but there's always two sides to a wall," he tried again, picking up the small book for reference. He stood the thing up and used his hand, closing it in a fist as he looked from little model to his son. "Look… we're here, on the inside," he stated, his fist on one side of the book before he moved it to the other side. "And out here… there's the world…"

Staring at the book hard, trying to figure it all out, Race scoot forward in his chair. "What's in the world?"

"Everything," Jack whispered, setting the book down on the table. "Cats and dogs and forests and beaches—"

"No way!" Tyler yelled. "Where would they all fit?"

"They just do. They just fit," Jack assured. He studied the child's face for just a moment, before continuing on. "Where do you think Spider gets our groceries?"

The little boy pointed to the television, as though it was obvious. "From TV, by magic!"

Shaking his head, Jack replied, "It's not magic, kid. He goes out into the world, into a store, and he buys them." The man looked down at his child. "Racer, I know what I told you was different, but you were little then. I didn't think you would understand. But now? Kid, you're so old now. You're so smart. I know that you can get this."

Letting out an innocent sigh, Race looked back down at his drawing. "Can I have somethin' to eat?" he asked, seeming more than uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, but Jack couldn't stop.

Frustrated, the young man groaned and let his head roll back so he was looking up. That's when he saw it.

Standing up quickly, he pointed. "Look! Look, that's a leaf!" he said, pointing to the single small thing that was stuck to the skylight with melted ice. It was a rotten brown color. He scooped his son up from under his armpits and helped him up closer to the single thing that had let them see outside.

The boy squealed. "Daddy!"

"I need you ta see this, Race," Jack said. "Look!" he pleaded, stepping up onto his own chair. Tyler could almost touch the skylight.

Squirming in his daddy's embrace, Tyler shook his head. "It ain't green! On TV, leaves are green!"

Letting out a breath and placing his son back on the ground, Jack shook his head. "They're green until they fall off trees, but then they fall n' rot n' turn brown—"

"What about the things you said?" The child asked. "Trees and dogs and cats and oceans?"

It began to hit Jack hard how tired and weak he felt. He glared up at the skylight. "We can't see them from here. Skylight looks up. Windows would look sideways so we could see them, but we ain't got no windows." He hated how difficult this was to explain. He hated that he couldn't truly give up, not even after all this time because he didn't want to burden the boy with this knowledge. But soon enough, Spider's interest would shift. And Jack couldn't let that happen.

Still, the boy pouted, twisting a bit as he stood, looking down at the ground. "You're tricking me."

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "No, I ain't… I ain't, Racer. You were too small before. I had ta lie because you wouldn't understand, but I'm doin' the opposite now. I'm un-lyin', because you're five now. You're old enough ta understand what the world is," Jack continued on desperately as Tyler shook his head. "Yes. You have ta understand, Tyler. I need you to understand!" he insisted as his voice broke again. "We can't keep livin' like this! You have ta help me!"

The child lowered his head as he muttered more to himself than to his daddy, "I wanna be four again…"

The tears and breaks of Jack's heart only deepened at the words as tears built up in his eyes. Once again, his eyes found that small children's book that lay on the table. "Alice wasn't always in Wonderland. N' Daddy wasn't always in Room…" he began again with a deep breath. "I lived in the world… in a house with my mama n' my pop n'..." Jack glanced back at those sketches on the wall. "N' my big brother. You'd call him Uncle Specs…" Jack's words were shaky as he tried to smile at the name, that stupid nickname he'd given to the one person who had stood by him throughout his whole life. "N' my ma n' pa, your grandma n' grandpa. God, they'd love you…" Just thinking about all of it made the young man want to cry more, the urge to scream and bang on the walls hitting him even harder. "We used ta sit outside n' have barbecues in the backyard n' we'd sit on the swing n' eat ice cream."

Moving to sit back down, Tyler reached for his crayon again. He went right back to coloring.

Jack sighed and sat back down too. "When I was a little older… when I was sixteen, I was walkin' home from school all by myself, and a girl pretended that her dog was sick—"

Without even looking up, the boy still interrupted. Jack supposed he was grateful the kid was still listening. "What girl?"

Swallowing hard, Jack sniffled. "Sh-she was helping Spider. She… I think she was his niece—"

"Where is she now?"

"She's gone, Tyler—"

"What was the dog's name?"

"There was no dog!" Jack snapped before he whimpered, pressing his hands into his eyes. "Spider tricked me! He stole me, n' he trapped me here n' I can't get out!" The young man was shaking. He didn't want to go through this again. He didn't want to have to think about it ever again, the way that innocent smile had turned cruel and sadistic as he was shoved into the back of an old truck and taken away.

There was something in his daddy's voice that Tyler had never heard before. He sounded scared. His voice was high pitched. So Tyler looked up at him, stopping himself from continuing to color. "You said Room was our Refuge," he said.

"Room is a shed, Race! It's a garden shed!" Jack said, tears rolling down his face as he said it. "Spider locked the door and I don't know how ta get out! Ya know the secret numbers that Spider pushes ta open the door?" The boy nodded. "He's the only one that knows them. I don't know what they are. I've been locked in here for six years! I've been in Room for six years!"

Tyler shook his head and tried to go back to coloring. Jack grabbed his crayon and the boy pouted even more. "I don't like this story!" he whined.

"Well, it's the story you're getting!" Glaring up at the man, Tyler remained silent, so Jack shook his head. "Baby, the world is so big. It's so big, you wouldn't even believe it, n' Room is just one stupid part of it…" he whimpered, letting the tears fall freely now.

"Room ain't stupid! It's our home!" the child insisted, tears falling down his cheeks as well.

"Racer—"

"I don't believe in your stupid world!" the child screamed.

For a moment, all Jack could do was stand there and let his bottom lip quiver before he collapsed back onto the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest and used his arms to shield his head. He let out a small sob as he hid his face from his son, trying to calm down even though he knew his chances of getting out of here were wearing thin. His son didn't understand. He may never understand and it was Jack's fault.

It was all Jack's fault.

Jack didn't say a word for the rest of the day. He sat on the ground until he dragged himself to bed, letting Race follow him. He went blind to what the boy had done, whether he'd eaten or not, whether he'd watched TV or read a book. He didn't know.

Then, he slept. It was all he had left to do.

Tyler cuddled up beside Daddy. He didn't like it when Daddy was sad and hugs made Daddy feel better. He didn't mean to yell at Daddy. He shouldn't have yelled. So he snuggled up to his chest and fell asleep.

He only woke back up when Lamp turned on.

The little boy breathed out, trying to see if he could be a dragon today just like he'd been yesterday. Dragons were cool. He liked being a dragon, but he supposed maybe being warm could be fun too. Daddy didn't like the cold.

Reaching up to touch Lamp, Tyler found that he couldn't see smoke coming from his own lips. "Daddy," he whispered, rolling over to face him. "It's warm again…" Green eyes slowly blinked open and looked at him, glancing at Lamp before they shut again. Daddy rolled away from him. "Daddy," Tyler called again, scooting closer to him. "Da'?" Daddy didn't move.

Sighing, Tyler pressed himself into his daddy's back as he sniffled just a little bit. He pulled the blanket up over himself and Daddy and tried to help warm him up. Daddy was shaking a little bit. He must've been cold.

"Daddy… do ya want me ta tell you a story?" Daddy didn't say anything. So Tyler just started talking. "Do ya wanna say hi ta Egg-Snake?" Egg-Snake was their longest friend. "Egg-Snake is the best at bein' fancy… n' Melty-Spoon is the best ta eat with. Toilet is the best at disappearing poo! And Labyrinth is the best at hiding things," he whispered. "N' you're the best at readin' n' singin' n' drawin'... when you ain't havin' a gone day…" The child hugged his daddy around the middle. He didn't like gone days. But he knew his daddy couldn't help them. So he just kept talking. "Lamp is the best at lightin' up Room…"

Jack listened to his baby ramble on. He didn't speak as he pressed his face down into his pillow. A tear slipped down his cheek and he didn't move any more as he felt the dip in the bed disappear from behind him. He could vaguely hear Tyler climb up onto the counter to grab the cereal. He could hear the boy eating and playing and stretching but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the wall.

It was another day gone for him.

And Tyler knew that.

The boy entertained himself that day, getting bored with anything and everything that he tried to do. He played with Egg-Snake and Labyrinth until he lay on the floor and stared up at Skylight, wondering about everything his daddy had told him the day before; about leaves and trees and dogs and cats and oceans and grass and Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Specs. He wondered what ice cream tasted like and how sand would feel between his toes.

He wondered about Spider, about why Spider would steal his daddy and why he wouldn't let Daddy leave.

When the light began to fade, Tyler stood up and made hand puppets in the yellow square on the wall. He didn't get dressed all day so he could lay with Daddy whenever he wanted to.

Daddy didn't move all day.

Tyler laid with him and told him The Story and other stories. He read to him and talked to him and sometimes he just went quiet so Daddy could sleep.

He went to get Truck out of Wardrobe after eating more cereal for dinner.

The little toy was bright red and brand new. Spider bought it for him.

Spider stole his daddy from the world.

Tyler looked at Truck and then back to Daddy. Then he broke off the wheel to Truck. And another one. And another. And the last. And he shoved Truck under Wardrobe and sauntered back over to Bed, snuggling up beside Daddy as he closed his eyes and told himself The Story quietly. "Once upon a time, you were all alone…"

Jack forced himself out of bed the next morning. He still wasn't talking, but he carried his son over to his chair and sat him down, wanting to apologize for being lost the day before and trying to force Race to understand everything all at once. So he turned the stove on and started to make some eggs as Tyler sat down in front of the TV.

The young man prepared breakfast and let it cool for a moment and he crossed Room to get to his son's clothes. He nearly tripped over something when he got there. Pausing to inspect whatever it was that had stopped him, Jack's heart warmed before breaking just a little bit more when he found the only gift Tyler had ever been given was completely trashed. He shook his head, trying not to read too much into it as he set some clothes out on the bed for his son and went back to the counter to serve some food.

He heard some show playing in the background. He thought nothing of it. Not until a small voice spoke up. "Are turtles real?"

Jack froze. He blinked, having not expected a question like that, so curious and patient. It took him a long moment to recover as he forced himself to nod. "Yeah… yeah, turtles are real," he confirmed, a small smile growing on his face for the first time in days.

"Sharks and crocodiles?"

"Yeah," Jack breathed, glancing back at the child. "They're all real," he said, scooping up some eggs and putting them on two plates before he went to sit beside his kid, watching the boy change the channel to some Victorian show.

"Real?" Race asked.

"Eh… Sort of…" Jack began slowly. "So… those are real people, but… they're playing pretend… they're telling a story with costumes," he explained the best way he knew how.

The remote clicked again. The boy watched the old cartoon for only a moment before he looked up at Jack. "Just TV."

Something new spread across the man's chest as he allowed his smile to widen just a little bit as he bumped his son's shoulder with his own, nodding. "Hey… you're gettin' it," he encouraged.

They fell into a silence as they ate. Jack could practically hear the gears in Racer's head turning as he watched TV, flipping through channels, trying to decipher what was real and what wasn't.

Eventually, Tyler set his plate aside. "When Spider comes back, I'm gonna kick his butt."

Smoothing back the child's hair, Jack pulled him into his side. "Ya know, I tried ta kick Spider's butt once…" he stated.

Tyler peeked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah." Jack pointed over to the corner of the room. "Toilet used ta have a lid on it. It was the heaviest thing in Room," he explained. "I picked it up n' I hid behind the door n' when Spider came in, I smashed him on the head with it." It was all so long ago, but Jack could still feel ghosts of pain shoot through him as he recalled what happened next. "But I wasn't fast enough. Amelia… the girl that helped steal me… she shut the door n' Spider grabbed my wrist." Jack gently held Race's wrist in his hand, rubbing the exact spot his own wrist still hurt. He used to be right handed. It hurt so much now. "That's why it's sore now…"

The child snuggled into his daddy's side. "We could wait till he's asleep n' kill him dead!" he suggested.

Hearing the boy talk like that should've worried Jack, but he did not react. He only scooted himself in front of the child, nodding his head as he sat criss cross in front of him. "Yeah… we could… but then what?" Jack asked. "We'd run out a' food. N' we don't know the code to the door."

"The Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle could come help us," Tyler suggested.

Jack's heart swelled at the mere idea of the door breaking down and his brother rushing to him, his mama and his pa running in right behind to hold him and carry him out of there. But, "They don't know where we are, baby…" he sighed. "Room ain't on a map."

Tyler frowned.

But Jack shook his head. "Hey… let me show ya somethin'..." he whispered, standing to his feet and taking his son's hand in his own. He led the boy back over to the bed and lifted him up so he could stand in front of the sketches that were taped to the wall. Jack looked at them all over again as he sat on his knees in front of them. He let his fingers trail over the boy he'd drawn so long ago, the one that only looked slightly like him, the one taped in between a beautiful woman and a kind old man. He lifted the piece of paper up from the bottom, revealing a small string necklace, a small charm in the shape of the moon hanging at the end of it. It was taped to the wall, hidden. Jack had nearly forgotten it. "This is the most important thing I have in Room…" he said, peeling the thing from the wall, and playing with the charm in his fingers before he hung the thing around Tyler's neck. "This was your Uncle Specs's. He gave it ta me when I was fifteen for my birthday so that I would know that he was always lookin' out for me…"

Tyler looked down at the thing, inspecting it for a long minute before looking back up at his daddy.

"Tyler… do you wanna meet the world?" Jack asked, watching the child before him with all of the love he had in him. The five year old nodded. "Okay, we have one chance. We have one chance ta do this, do you understand?" Again, the boy nodded, hesitantly this time. "Okay… I'm gonna need your help, baby. You're gonna help me."

Tyler gripped the charm in his hand tightly, looking up at his daddy, uncertain of what was about to happen. But Jack just nodded, letting out an anxious breath.

"You're gonna help me trick The Spider."

Tagged:

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@bexlynne

@cluusheen

@deliciouspeachpirate

@prettyinlimegreenboots

@trekkiehood

[thatesqcrush]

Three Words

For Holiday! Bingo: Naughty & Nice - candycane. Rafael Barba x Rockette!Reader. CW: candy cane sugary fluff. 

WC: 1.5K

**

It all started at the doctor’s office. Rafael was overdue for his physical with his heavy caseload at the DA’s office. But he had grown annoyed at the constant reminder calls and mailers from the doctor’s office. He had a rare day off and he decided to use that day for it - to get it over with.

**

“Rafael for a man your age, you shouldn’t have blood pressure this high. You need to stress less.”

Rafael looked at his doctor with an incredulous look. “I wish I had a less stressful job.”

That earned a chuckle from the doctor. “Have you ever tried yoga? Meditation?”

“Do I look like the yoga type?”

“How about running?”

Rafael tilted his head and pursed his lips. He let out a sigh. “I could give it a go again.”

“And more green things. Less things in takeout containers.” The doctor further advised.

“Just don’t tell me to give up my coffee. That would be a crime in and of itself.” Rafael groaned.

**

As a result, Rafael found himself running loops at Central Park the following weekend. He huffed up hill, determined to get to the top. And he did. He was soaked with sweat, his Harvard t-shirt soaked to the bone. He decided to take a break to stretch his calves, which he could feel knotting up. He found a nearby bench and perched his leg on the bench seat, almost oblivious that you were using the bench also to stretch.

“That hill is such a bitch.” You remarked, which earned a look from Rafael.

Rafael looked over at you. His breath hitched at the sight of you. You were very pretty. He swallowed hard at the sight of you in bike shorts and a tank-top. Nary a drop of sweat was on you. “Take it that you run here often.”

“Every other day.”

“Why would you do that?” Rafael asked, his brow cocked. He switched legs and stretched the other.

“Because I have rehearsals soon.” You explained, adjusting your headband. The man before you was extremely attractive, albeit a bit sweaty. Your mind wickedly wondered about him being sweaty over you during some other kind of exercise.

“Rehearsals?” Rafael stretched his hamstring, lifting his leg and reaching behind. “Broadway? TV?”

You blinked and shook your head out of your reverie. A smile twitched on your face. “No. I’m a Rockette.”

Rafael’s jaw dropped. “A Rockette?”

“Yup. It’s summer, but we get ready for Christmas now. I perform twice a day, six days a week. I need to keep my endurance up.” You reached for your water and chugged some water. Rafael swallowed hard as a drop of water spilled out and you licked your lips trying to catch it. “My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Rafael Barba.” He extended his hand and you shook it, feeling a spark shoot to your core. You had butterflies in your stomach.

You jutted your head towards the path Rafael had just run up. “If you think Cat Hill sucks, wait ‘til you get to the Harlem Hills. Woof.”

“Great.” Rafael bemoaned.

“Know why they call it Cat Hill?” You asked. Rafael shook his head.

“There’s a statue of a cat about to pounce. So just think about that when you up the hill next time. Don’t get eaten by the cat.”

Rafael laughed. “Duly noted."

“Well Rafael Barba. Good luck with the run. Maybe I will see you around again.” You gave him a wink before jogging off. Rafael watched you take off and he smiled when he saw you turn around and wave him over, jogging in in place. He wasted no time jogging up to you, his energy now renewed.

**

You and Rafael hit it off instantly. You were both tickled that you lived in the same neighborhood – within walking distance of each other. He would tell you stories of inside the courtroom and you would regale him with stories about rehearsals. Many times you would show him sneaks of various numbers. At one point you did an eye-high kick and almost kicked the prosecutor in the face. It resulted him diving into the bed to avoid it and you were in stitches at the near-hit. As you bent over in a fit of giggles, Rafael got up and wrapped his arms around you, carrying you to the bed with a squeal. You were still laughing when Rafael climbed over you. Your laughter subsided and there was an electric charge in the room.

“You’re incredible.” Rafael whispered, staring at you with intensity. “I’m so lucky to have met you.” He brushed your hair back from your face.

“Me too.” You whispered before pulling him in for a kiss.

**

The summer heat changed to wintry cold. Your relationship with Rafael was still going strong. Rafael was in his office when Carmen gently knocked. “Mr. Barba – this came for you.”

Rafael took the gold envelope from her. He recognized your scrawl instantly and smiled at the candy cane taped to the top. He opened it and there was one ticket to opening night, with the best seat in the house. “Thanks. Have a goodnight – please shut the door on your way out.”

“Will do. ‘Night, Mr. Barba.” Carmen replied. “Enjoy your weekend.”

“Likewise.” Rafael replied. He tore open the candy-cane and sucked on it, as he dialed your number from his office phone. He put the call on speaker and then swung his feet onto his desk. He relaxed into his seat a bit.

You answered the phone, balancing it between your ear and shoulder as you pinned your hair in place.

“Please tell me you’re still coming.” You asked, feeling a knot in your stomach.

“Leaving soon. You didn’t have to messenger the ticket. I would have picked it up at the box office.” Rafael replied, crunching on a piece of the candy cane.

“Nonsense.” You replied. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah... I... um...” Rafael replied. He wanted to say those three words to you, that should never be said lightly. You heard him pause, and your heart thumped in your chest. You had been hoping for so long for him to say those three words.  So you pressed lightly.

“Rafi?”

“Nothing. I’ll see you soon.” 

You didn’t have time to fret at the lack of words and be disappointed - the curtain was soon. So instead, you focused your energy on finishing getting ready. 

**

The ninety-minute show was incredible. Rafael had seen you practice many times – at his apartment – at yours. You put endless hours into perfecting your moves. Seeing it all come together, with the rest of the dance troop, however, was something else altogether. He watched the show completely transfixed. The Christmas Spectacular was tradition for any true New Yorker. He had seen it here and there, but this time it was different. He treated himself during intermission a plastic glass with a finger of whisky that cost way too much money.  

From the stage you couldn’t see Rafael but you knew he was there. And knowing that he was there, you made sure to truly give it your all. Afterwards, Rafael was waiting for you outside with a bouquet of red roses. “Rafael!” You squealed, wrapping your arms around him. He captured your lips with this, kissing you softly. You returned the kiss, eager for more. Catching your hint, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring. Between the high of the performance and his heady cologne, you felt giddy. You both pulled away, breathless from the kiss.

“You were perfect on stage.” Rafael complimented, causing you to beam. You both began to walk, hands interlocked, down to Fifth Avenue to catch a cab going downtown. “What was your favorite act?” You asked, bringing the flowers to your nose with your other hand.

“Parade of the Wooden Soldiers.” Rafael replied. “How do you all do it?”

“The fall?” You asked. “Oh, easy. It starts by having someone rock up on their heels and start to go back. You raise your hands up, slide your hands through, and open your arms. Their feet have to be completely lined up because you don’t want the fall to go one way or another because someone could get hurt.”

You continued. “You have to trust that your nose is going to get flattened a little bit but it’ll all be fine once it’s over. It is a complete team effort.” You started to turn towards the corner, but Rafael grabbed your arm. You looked at him bewildered. “Lets go see the big tree.” He suggested and a smile spread over your face. “Okay.”

The Rockefeller Center tree was adorned with hundreds of thousands of multicolored string lights. It glowed brilliantly over the ice rink that was filled with skaters. Rafael wrapped his arm around you and you rested your head on his shoulder.

You gasped, raising your head off slightly. “It’s snowing.” Rafael looked up - snowflakes coated his long lashes - before he looked back at you.

“I love you.” Rafael spoke. His voice was quiet but firm.

You turned to look at him, tears pricking your eyes. “I love you too.” Rocking onto the balls of your feet, you leaned up and with one gloved hand on the back of his neck, you pulled Rafael into a kiss.

FIN.

**

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[peachyteabuck]

far from home (wandanat x reader)

summary: a cozy night in with wanda & natasha

pairing: wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader

words: 1220

trigger warnings: overstimulation, degradation, punishment, mommy kink 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Winters in New York are brutal. Natasha compares them to getting your toenails pulled off which, while something you’ve never personally experienced, you trust she gives an accurate review of.

The safe house you, her, and Wanda are tucked in is upstate, too, meaning everything is worse and you’re locked inside and you have no Internet. Normally you’d be all for their undivided attention but…now it doesn’t seem all that great.

There are a few DVDs and VHS tapes of their favorite movies, old ones and new ones and ones you’ve never heard of (and don’t bother to learn the names of). The titles of Soviet-era films don’t really matter much when you’re in the position that are you are – kneeling under the large television with your back to the oak cabinet it rests in with your mouth gagged, arms bound with your hands behind you. Your legs are bent at the knee and spread so that your center is pressed against a battery run Hitachi. The ropes are tied over a soft white sweater – your feat adorned in socks of the same material.

Part of you is grateful, you can’t imagine being in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm completely naked. The other part, though, knows this is just another way they can toy with you. If you’re wearing a sweater, they can’t fondle you properly and can tease you about your pretty little pussy being on display while the rest of you is covered so modestly.

“You’d think such a cute little thing like you wouldn’t be such a slut,” Natasha cooed when she finally sat back against the couch, folding her legs under herself and throwing her arm around Wanda’s shoulders. “Who knew she’d be such a whore?”

The other woman laughs, turning back to the television as she attempted to queue some long movie to play as background noise to your beautiful suffering. “I sure didn’t.”

Neither of them say anything for a long time as you writhe and move between grinding onto the toy and trying to move away from it. You come quickly, easily once, twice, three times – shaking and crying out (or, at the very least, trying to).

There’s a moment between movies when Natasha goes to replace their snacks and alcohol that Wanda moves closer to you, turning the vibrator down a setting or two. It’s relief for a few moments, a step away from the unfettered pleasure that was coursing through your body like electric shocks. You’re left alone when Natasha returns, bowl of freshly made popcorn in hand as well as two more beers.

It’s instinct for you to whine as you’re left alone, wanting to be touched and held and praised. You struggle against the binds and your want to come again – knowing if you receive too much pleasure you’re sure they’ll deny you for weeks to “balance it out,” as Wanda called it. Usually this entailed watching her be fucked by Natasha while you were tied up across the bed – similar to the situation you’re in now.

Except then you’re not strapped to a vibrator, and you’ve got more to look at than your fully clothed girlfriends watching Lord of the Rings.

Oh, and when they’re occupied fucking each other, they’re not fucking with you. Somehow that always feels like the worst part (and, maybe, is the part that gets you the wettest) – them ignoring you until you make an extra pathetic sound or shake so much they can’t help but tear their eyes away from the extra-large television.

Eventually they take pity on you, and Wanda pulls the gag from your mouth with the flitter of her fingers, not even bothering to get up; as if you aren’t even worth the trouble of getting from her comfortable spot on the couch.                                  

Natasha bothers to, though, when you let a small “fuck” leave your mouth as you finally regain the ability to speak. You shriek, trying to move away but limbs still bound to keep you inert.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” she hisses, hand grabbing at your chin to keep you from turning your head away from her.

You whimper when she pushes you away, center throbbing.

“Aw,” Wanda coos. She read your mind, because of course she did. “Does the little slut like being manhandled?”

You swallow as best you can and nod, avoiding their heavy gazes. In an instant, Natasha’s hand is back on you – this time on your throat.

“I know you’re a little slut who can’t think for her fucking self,” she tells you through grit teeth, angered at your misbehaving.

She turns the vibrator all the way up, telling Wanda to keep you in place as she dislodges the rope and rips off what little clothes adorn your body as to give her full access to all of you.

You gasp as goosebumps erupt over your skin, cold air a hard pull back to reality as Natasha grabs your hair and forces you flat on the ground, face in the thick carpet with your ass presented to one of the women you love most in the world.

Just like your orgasms earlier that night, the spanks are quick and succinct, leaving little room for negotiation or aftershocks. Quickly the pain and pleasure blend into some indistinguishable solution, your begging and pleading becoming just as unintelligible as Natasha shoves three fingers into you.

“You like that?” she nearly yells, determined to be heard over you. “You like it when Mommy spanks your ass and fucks your little pussy?”

All you can do is scream louder, your arms still pinned behind your back and legs kept spread apart. With her fingers deep in your pussy and the vibrator on your clit, it’s not long before you’re coming all over Natasha’s hand, the carpet, your thighs.

It’s then that you feel Wanda stand up from the couch, stepping over to inspect the work done by your shared girlfriend.

“Aw, did our little girl squirt?” she asks. You can hear the sly smile in her voice as your body goes limp against the floor.

“Oh,” Natasha coos, running one hand through your hair to move the sweaty strands from your face. “Oh, I think she did!”

They giggle for a little bit, murmuring about how hard you’re going to have to work to get it out of the carpet tomorrow, how soaked your cunt is.

The world has just stopped spinning, vision clearing, when you’re addressed directly once more.

“Now,” Wanda looks down at you, smiling as you tremble and twitch on the ground. You’re untied, fully naked, yet you remain curled up as if nothing had been removed. She enjoys the sight, as does Natasha; they both love watching you bend to their wills, love witnessing your submission in such a powerful way. It’s an indescribable feeling for the both of them, one they couldn’t begin to identify but still chase every time you’re within reach (and, with the recent purchase of several wireless toys, even when you’re far away). Now, when you’re locked in a safe house with the two of them while a snow storm rages outside and none of you have anywhere to go, seems like a perfect time to indulge in this longing. “Who’s ready to have some real fun?”

[illfoandillfie]

Hey for the blurbs thing, i was wondering how roger and reader are getting on in the quiet in the library universe, how is he tormenting her (in the best way) these days 😁

sorry this is so late! today has been hectic and this got a little longer than I planned, a little over 3k. Thanks for the request though, this is another old series that I haven’t revisited in a little while so it was a lot of fun! Ya’ll know I love me some cocky dom 70s rog 😂

Warnings: smut, public sex, specifically library sex, getting caught, restraints/light bondage, gag, hair pulling, some talk of free use, 

Blurb Advent: Day 22

About a week after Kathy had stumbled upon you and Roger after hours, you’d been rostered on for work at the same time. She’d clearly been waiting for such a moment to question you and took the opportunity to put you through the third degree while you were sitting at the main desk together. She was steadily making her way through a stack of returned books while you dealt with any customers who approached and tried to ignore her. It wasn’t easy to block out her constant questions of who was Roger? and how long have you been together? and do you always fool around when you’re on closing? and is he a good shag at least? and there weren’t enough people seeking your help to qualify as a proper distraction. Eventually you cracked and told her everything, kind of enjoying the way her eyebrows rose with each new piece of information.

“Well, we’re not like actually together. Just friends.”

“Friends, really?”

“Friends who hook up every now and then,”

“So, was that the only time you’ve done it here?”

“Not really. Theres been a couple others,”

“Where? Specifically, where?”

“In the shelves mostly. The first time I was sitting on the returns trolly. We almost got caught that time,” you laughed, “Second was on the floor by the 900s.”

“Y/N!”

You shushed her, “Keep it down,”

“Sorry I just never would have expected it from you. And that’s where we work!”

“He brings out the worst in me I think. Anyway, don’t expect to walk in on us again. He hasn’t even suggested we do it here since you caught us so I think he’s kind of over the whole sexy librarian thing or maybe he realised we could get in proper trouble. Last time we got together it was at his place.”

“Not quite the same as shagging in public,”

You shrugged, “His roommate came home halfway through which checks the same boxes.”

“Well good because I don’t think I want to walk in on anything else. I feel quite lucky you both still had your pants on,”

 The day progressed as usual and Kathy dropped the topic for the most part. She did mention it once when she was tasked with putting the returned books back on the shelf, making a joke about hoping the trolly had been wiped down, but otherwise you found other things to chat about when you weren’t busy with library duties. Roger had offered to pick you up in the evening so you could go and watch the band and when it came time to leave he was already waiting for you. Kathy walked out with you and waved to Roger as she headed towards her own car.

“Who was that? Do I know her?”

“That’s Kathy. She was the one who owned the book you spanked me with, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughed, “that was fun,”

“Mmm well, she put me through the third degree about it today. Asked all about you and how often it’s happened.”

Roger found it very amusing, much more than you did, and kept laughing about it all the way to the venue.

 The next day you headed to work again and settled in for another normal day. Returns, shelving, loans, the usual. Kathy was in again though your boss had called in sick so neither of you felt like working too hard. It was in the early afternoon that Roger found you. You were switching some books on a display of new releases when he tapped you on the shoulder. Immediately you glanced around to see if Kathy had noticed him but she was caught up loaning books out to a doddering old man who came in at least once a week.

“What are you doing here?” you asked Roger, suspiciously.

“Well, I got thinking.”

“Oh god,”

“No, you’ll like this. So, I was thinking about Kathy asking you about me yesterday, and then that got me thinking about everything I’ve done to you here and that got me hard.”

“Rog,”

“And then I released there’s a part of the library that I’d really like to have you in that we haven’t used before. We’ve done the shelves, we’ve done the desk.”

“Rog, I’m not fucking in the children’s section. That’d get us arrested,”

“What? No, not what I meant. I mean I’m up for it but only after hours. You could sit on one of their mini chairs and suck me off again,”

You rolled your eyes, but he ignored you.

“No, I meant your staff area out the back,”

“What the lunch room? Rog, that barely counts as a room. It’s not that big and the whole room is taken up by a table with some tall stools. None of us even use it for eating because it’s not that comfortable. We mostly use it for our teacups and kettle. Oh and new books – storing them before we’ve put them on the shelves and adding the plastic dust jackets and all that.”

“I think it still counts,”

“Fine but that brings us to the fact that it is impossible to do anything in there during the day. The only door to it is right near the desk and there is no way you could get in there without being seen and chucked out of the building.”

Roger pouted, “C’mon Y/N,”

“There’s literally nothing I can do, it’s out of my hands. If you’re still hard tonight I can come over and help sort you out but the lunch room won’t work.”

“Oh alright, what time do you finish today?”

“7.30,”

“You on closing?”

“No, Kathy is,”

“And your boss?”

“She’s not in today, home sick. What’s with all the questions?”

“Nothing, it’s fine. Um, see you later then,”

“Yeah, see you.” You turned back to your display as Roger left, shaking your head.

 So you were left to your quiet and laid back day though Roger kept intruding on your thoughts. You were sure he was up to something, that he had an idea of sneaking back into the library after Kathy left or something like that. Admittedly, the idea was a little exciting. Perhaps you could suggest it if he didn’t. You’d have the entire building to yourself then, could get away with using the sitting chairs and the floor in the main area, right in front of the windows. Whatever you wanted really. And there was almost no chance of being interrupted. The idea stuck in the back of your head, and you took to watching the clock, willing the time to move faster so you could leave and find Roger. You’d been right though, Roger was planning something and not quite the same something that you were.

 It was already growing dark outside when you thought you saw him come in but before you could look properly you were asked to help a woman locate a book. You led her to the shelf and found the book before pointing her back to the desk where Kathy could loan it out for her. She was halfway across the room when the lights went out. A few people in the front of the library squealed and yelled in shock and you heard Kathy tell everyone not to panic but you were too distracted to pay much attention to them. A warm hand had clasped itself over your mouth.

“Don’t panic, it’s just me,” You nodded and felt Roger’s hand loose, “What the fuck?”

Roger shrugged, “All I did was turn the power off at the electrical panel, easy to get back on. And don’t try to tell me you haven’t been thinking about this all day because I know you have,”

“You’re unbelievable,”

“Save that for after we’re done. You gonna show me to the back room now or are we going to just do it here?”

“Okay, c’mon, this way.” Grabbing his hand you pulled him in the direction of the back room, using the shelves to guide you. As quietly as possible you opened the door labelled ‘Staff Only’ and slipped inside, Roger close behind. Outside, by the desk, you could hear Kathy calming people down, telling them it must be a power outage, but you stopped listening as Roger pulled you into a kiss and backed you against the table. A light from the store next door illuminated the room enough for you to see the outline of the table and the items on it. With just enough care to not send everything crashing to the floor, Roger cleared a space, intending to lift you onto it. You saw him glance down at one of the items he picked up and then look back at you, still fiddling with the item.

“I’ve always had trouble keeping you quiet, isn’t that true?”

“Not always,”

“Is that you arguing with me?”

“No,”

“No, what?”

“No, Sir,”

“Better. Now, like I was saying. You have trouble being quiet but I think I might have a solution,” there was a sticky peeling sound and you released what he’d found. Roger lifted the roll of tape and used his teeth to tear off a section, sticking it over your mouth. “Wouldn’t want anyone to find us in here, would we slut?”

You shook your head.

“Turn around,”

You shuffled around to face the desk and felt Roger’s hand on your shoulder, pushing you to bend over it. The next thing you felt was your arms being pulled behind you, the roll of tape being wrapped around your wrists to keep them in place. After half a dozen or so circuits, Roger bent forward to tear the tape from the roll again and place the roll back on the table.

You whined quietly into your gag as Roger kicked your feet further apart and then gripped you hair to pull you up. He began unbuttoning the top of your dress, slipping his hands into the opening to palm your breasts.

“I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you?” he said softly, close to your ear, “Dirty girl. You like being my slut. Didn’t object to bringing me back here, didn’t object to being tied up, and you’re not going to object when I fuck you over this table.”

You nodded again, unable to talk, and dropped your head back onto his shoulder. 

Roger didn’t let you enjoy it for long before he pushed you forward again, using your hair to turn your head to face the side. You had a view of the door from where you were positioned but you were too high up to see through the crack under the door so had no hope of keeping lookout for anyone approaching. Roger paid no attention to the door as he lifted your dress, folding it back so you were exposed to him. He ran his hands over your arse, making you shiver and press yourself back towards him, before hooking his fingers into the band of your underpants and dragging them down to your knees. Slowly, he trailed his fingers back up your thighs and then in towards your cunt. Roger laughed, softly, as he spread you open.

“I told you you were a dirty girl.”

You squirmed as he ran his fingers along your cunt, trying to get him to do more. When you attempted to say his name it caught on the tape and sounded nothing like it should.

“What’s that slut? I can’t hear you,”

You grunted in annoyance and twitched your fingers as if that was going to help.

“As fun as this is I don’t think I have time for a game of charades.” Rogers fingers danced back down your slit and pressed into you, “Someone’s going to work out to check the box soon and then the lights will be back and everyone will wonder where you disappeared too. So I better hurry up and check your box, shouldn’t I?” He chuckled at his own joke.

You keened into your gag as he fingered you, partly because it felt good and partly out of worry that you’d be caught out again, though that definitely turned you on too.

Roger kept working his fingers in and out of you as he undid his trousers though he had to stop to get them down. He didn’t leave you empty for long though, his own observation about needing to speed things up seemingly spurring him on. Once his cock was free he stepped in close, the hand that was slick with your arousal pumping along it’s length.

“Gonna fuck you now, slut. I know you’re gagged but it’s only tape so don’t scream too loud.”

With one hand on your hip he guided himself into you, bottoming out and leaning over you.

You whimpered as he paused to grind his hips into you, his other hand coming up to your hair.

“Good girl. Gonna keep being my good little whore and take me so well,” he pressed down on the side of your head to keep you in place as he pulled his hips back and snapped then into you, finding a fast rhythm that made you whine. All you could do was grasp at thin air and try to keep quiet as he pinned you down. He made things all the more frustrating by leaning over you to breathe against your ear or mouth at your neck.

 Suddenly the lights came back on. Outside you heard Kathy call you your name.

Roger stuttered out of rhythm for a moment with the shock of the sudden light but soon fell back into it, “Uh oh. Someone figured it out.”

You whined into the tape over your mouth.

Roger pulled you your head up again, his hand wrapping around your throat, though you were still mostly bent over the table, “Should I stop?”

You thought for a moment, eyes darting to the door as Roger kept thrusting into you.

“Y/N?”

You shook your head and Roger laughed before pushing you back down, “Feels too good to stop doesn’t it.”

 You knew it was a mistake as soon as the shadow under the door changed and a second later the knob turned. With a whine you tried to warn Roger but it was no use, the door was opening. He noticed when the hinges creaked and came to a halt though he was still balls deep inside you.

Kathy gave a small yell of surprise and covered her mouth.

“Hi, Kathy was it? Sorry, d’you think you could give us a few minutes?”

“Is she…?”

“She wanted this, it’s okay.”

You nodded as much as you could, feeling as hot in the face as Kathy’s cheeks looked.

“We won’t be long,” Roger said politely.

Kathy looked back at him though her eyes darted away again as she mumbled an apology and left, closing the door behind her.

Roger snorted and began to laugh as you groaned and squeezed your eyes shut as if that would undo things.

“D’you think she knew what was happening and was trying to sneak a peak?”

Again you tried to groan his name but his only reply was to snap his hips into you again, picking up where he’d left off.

“Impatient slut. If you want my cock so bad you can have it. And don’t think I didn’t feel you clench when she came it. You liked being caught.”

You whined in denial.

“You did. I felt it. Y’know, maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll tell someone and they’ll come to see if it’s true. We might end up with qu-ite a crowd. I wonder how many of the men out there would want a go. A, fuck, a cock crazed slut with a drip-ping cunt all spread out and ready to be used. I bet they’d all want to try you. God, keep squeezing like that and I’ll be finished in about ten seconds. I think you’re close too, right? The thought of being used and fill and fucked over and over. M-maybe I should edge you, get you all de-fuck-desperate, and let them in. You’d beg for them then.”

You were panting by now, your stomach tight with the release that was creeping up on you.

“Such a pathetic, fucking, whore. My whore. Mine to use. Mine to loan out. I’ll put a stamp on your arse, ju-st like one of your books. Let them each use you for a while. And then I’d have you again, bound and obedient and fucked out. You l-like the sound of that, don’t you? Yeah, gonna cum thinking about being p-passed around.”

You whined as the dam broke and your orgasm washed over you.

“Good girl,” Roger panted though he kept holding you down as he let himself go.

 Without saying much more Roger pulled your underwear back into place and dropped your skirt down. You stayed slumped over the desk as he fixed his own clothes but then he helped you to stand, carefully peeling the tape from your face.

“There’re scissors over there,” you nodded at the table and Roger moved to grab them, turning you around so he could cut your hands free.

“Can’t believe they were there all along and I tore it with my teeth.”

“Hotter with the teeth.” You rolled your newly freed wrists and then turned back around and slapped his chest, “You shit.”

Roger laughed, “Sorry. I genuinely didn’t know she’d come in and I didn’t plan for her too. I mean it got you off so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“You’re going to wash your hands over at the sink and then you are going to go and apologise to her and then tomorrow you are going to bring her a box of chocolates or something to make up for it.”

“Aright. I’ll apologise. You can’t complain if she wants a go of me though.”

“Roger!”

“Okay, I’m going. I will apologise profusely, and then I’ll wait in the car for you.”

“You cannot want another round,”

“I can and I wouldn’t say no but I actually just meant I’d give you a lift home.”

“Good. Okay”

“D’you want me to buy you chocolates too?”

“It’d be nice,”

“Okay,” he smiled and dragged his thumb over your cheek, “I might have gone a bit far tonight, didn’t I?”

“Maybe a little,”

“But it was good though, right? You had fun?”

“Yes, I did,” you conceded.

“And why was that?”

You rolled your eyes, “Because I’m a slut,”

“And,”

“Because you’re unbelievable,” you sighed.

“Good girl,” he laughed as he leaned forward to kiss you, “I really didn’t mean for us to be caught, I thought we’d have a bit longer. But hey, at least it wasn’t your boss.”

“Small mercies.”

[hoodoo12]

Fortress

A request for “the reader is having a bad time mental health wise and they make a blanket fort together and just. Chill? Maybe cuddles and some reassurances?“ led to this, with some other influences. We could all use some comfort nowadays.

Mature (Dewey Finn/reader)

@thewolfisapartofmysoul  @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @turtlepated @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @mimiscappinisideblog 

Enjoy! `

It’d been bad. So bad. You were tired and more than that, weary. Everything was too much but still you pushed yourself through each day, because it was expected of you, because people counted on you, because there wasn’t anything else to do anyway, during these times.

You got up, went to work, came home, went to bed. On repeat. Day after day. You wanted to see Dewey--really see him--but he’d been following the stay at home orders in his apartment, so all you really had were text messages and the occasionally zoom call. Each time you saw him on the grainy video, his hair looked wilder, his beard more scraggly. 

He listened to your complaining. He made appropriate noises when you told him how tired you were, and how sad you were that everything had been turned upside down. He wasn’t much into traveling, but nodded when you started crying about the fact a trip you’d been looking forward to had been canceled. He might have been bored, but he never voiced that to you. Instead, he reassured you that everything was going to be okay. You never realized how much you missed hugging him or watching him play Guitar Hero. Just being with him seemed like a luxury that you never realized until it was taken away.

The very rare occasions you mentioned maybe some sexting or even maybe possibly some mutual video sex didn’t end well due to embarrassment. Both his and yours.

Dewey Finn wasn’t a dick pic kind of guy.

So there was nothing to do but keep plodding along. Every message between you ended with, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

Until one day, almost two months into this, instead of, “I can’t wait to see you again,” he said, “Why don’t you come over?”

“What?” “Come over. We haven’t actually been together for so long.” That’s what you wanted. Exactly what you wanted. But now that it was officially offered, you worried. “I don’t know, Dew--you haven’t been out, if I got you sick because I’ve been working this whole time . . . I don’t want to be the reason you get sick!”

“I’m not gonna get sick.” His reassurance crashed against the rocks of your worry. “It’s not like there aren’t people around. I get Door Dash. I even go down  to the lobby to get the mail.” His little brushes with the outside world were nothing like yours: you were required to work and deal with random members of the public. It was a huge component of your stress, just having to be out and around people while everything on the news was dire and worrisome. Dewey knew all that; it was one of the things you mentioned repeatedly when you spoke with him. Still, he insisted. “I miss you, baby. I want to see you again. I want to hug you again. Don’t you miss me?” That was something else you lamented to him frequently. For him to toss it back to you was a low, but effective, blow.

“Okay. I’ll come over. But I’m not taking my mask off!”

He pointedly ignored your threat. “Good! Great! Awesome! I’ll have something delivered--you want those street tacos from the place down the road? I wonder if they’d deliver a frozen margarita--” You laughed, told him you’d see him tomorrow at seven, and he blew you a kiss that you returned. Worry was still a companion, but you had to admit you were excited to see him too. 

⁂

It felt weird to be out on the street and now walking up the stairs to someone else’s apartment. For two months it’d been nothing but hurrying to work and home, then a quick shower and trying to keep your low grade anxiety away until you fell asleep to do it all over again. It was that same anxiety that made you carry an extra set of clothes with you; you weren’t going anywhere near Dewey with clothes that had been out in the world, possibly contaminated. You were going to change the second you got in the door before he had a chance to hug you.

At his door, you knocked, heard a muffled, “Come in!” and actually sighed in relief that he wasn’t opening the door for you. That’d give you a chance to put on your spare clothing.

Opening his door and stepping inside the short hallway that served as an entry into the apartment, you were confronted with a barrier only a two, maybe three feet away--basically just enough for the door to swing inward. Dewey had created a wall of cardboard that blocked the hallway completely. Although there was a small entrance at the bottom, near the floor, you couldn’t see into the rest of his apartment at all. 

“Dewey, what the hell . . .” “Come on in, baby!” he called from somewhere deeper in, his voice almost as muffled as before. “There’s some hand sanitizer if you want!”

No lie; he’d left a pump bottle of sanitizer near the hole at the floor. This was weird but oddly intriguing. With a sigh, you quickly shed your outerwear and your street clothes, doused your hands in sanitizer, and slipped into the soft pants and tee shirt you’d brought along for what you’d thought would be an evening of just lounging with Dewey. You hadn’t expected any of what you’d seen so far. 

“Okay. I’m coming in!” you said loudly, crouching to look into the hole. 

It was dark in there. What the heck had Dewey done? “Okay, baby! Can’t wait to see you!”

Keeping your phone clenched in your hand for some light, feeling a little like Alice going into  a rabbit hole, you awkwardly started to crawl on your hands and knees into the entrance.

Dewey had created some kind of cardboard tunnel. Where he’d gotten all the cardboard and duct tape was beyond you, let alone figuring out how he’d even come up with something like this. He’d never mentioned anything like it to you in any of your conversations. 

Scooting along, it was longer than you expected, with a couple of switchbacks and one place tall enough you could stand in, although you had to turn sideways to squeeze along the corridor he’d created.  Occasionally he’d call out to you, saying you were doing great, that it was just a little further; that he couldn’t wait to see you. 

It almost sounded like he’d put cameras up and was watching your progress, but you hadn’t seen any. The shaking of the structure as you made your way through it must have been advertising where you were enough. 

Finally, after crawling on his floors through an semi-creepy cardboard tunnel for what seemed like too long for the size of his apartment, you saw a light up ahead. 

After one more corner, you found that, although still enclosed in a dome of cardboard, it opened up to a larger--for lack of a better word--cavern. A pile of blankets and pillows filled the space. A lamp, with its electrical cord snaking out to somewhere that wasn’t inside this cave, lit the area. Sitting in the middle of all of it, was Dewey on his mattress, grinning like a fool. He wore no mask, and you saw he’d trimmed his beard. 

“You made it!” he greeted you, holding his hand out for yours. The space wasn’t tall enough to stand up in. You crawled out of the tunnel and next to him, sitting up. For a moment, all you could do was hug and then you couldn’t help but want to kiss him, so you ditched the mask you insisted you would wear. It made your heart pound to feel how strongly he returned the affection. Finally though, after kissing him so long your lips tingled, you had to pull back and ask, “Dewey, what is all this?”

He shrugged. “Just something I did for you, baby. We can’t travel anywhere, so this was the best I could do like an adventure. Here--I got those tacos.” He reached to his side and grabbed a paper bag. “Contactless delivery,” he assured you as he pulled individually boxed food out.

With a smile, you accepted one. While the two of you shared the messy meal, he told you about how he’d planned out this whole thing: a vague outline of how he wanted it to be, collecting cardboard from the neighbors and bodega around the corner, ordering <i>so</i> much duct tape. The construction had taken some time, and he’d given up living space to create the structure. You let him talk, happy to hear about something that was creative and unique. It was nice to focus him and what he’d done for you, instead of the anxiety that threatened to drag you under. 

Finally, full of tacos and still so happy to just be with him, you lay back on his mattress. After shoving all the garbage back into the bag it’d arrived in, Dewey joined you. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “One more thing!”

You expected that to lead to another kiss, but were wrong. Dewey stretched around and fumbled with the switch for the lamp, Managing to turn it off, the small space was plunged into darkness. Reaching for him to help settle him beside you, you said, “Dewey, what--”

“Shhh. Just look.” Faintly, as your eyes adjusted, luminous specks became clear on the cardboard above and around you. There was no pattern to them; it was like he’d flicked a brush of paint randomly at the cardboard. But here and there were actual stars of varying sizes, drawn in the little-kid way of one line crossing over itself to make the five points. 

In the absolute dark, the pale green-white of the paint gave a passable impression of a starry sky. 

Dewey settled snuggly beside you. It was comfortable in this nest of blankets, with him so close. 

“I wanted this to be a safe space for you. Something far away from out there,” he whispered. “Just you and me and a galaxy above us.”

Lucky for you it was dark, because then he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes. You were pretty sure he knew anyway, as you buried your face in his shoulder and neck and made them both wet, but he didn’t say anything of it. You managed to give him a whispered thanks in return, and spent the rest of the night pressed against him, sheltered in a cardboard cave. fin

The inspiration for this came not only from the prompt, but from Will Blum’s self-made quarantine project: “Floyd Collins”. Check it out (and the ‘making of’ documentary called “Through the Mountain”, also available on YouTube); it is amazing and truly a labor of love. 

[honeypirate]

In the end part two

Izuku Midoriya pro hero x fem pro hero reader

Okay so I wanted to write a part two because I kept thinking about it hahaha it’s shit but I wanted a happier ending. For Midoriya.

Comfort from waking up after being in a coma.

Part one here

Your eyes pop open and look up at a white tiled ceiling, you try to talk but you can’t get any words out, you start to panic, to hyperventilate as your mouth and throat recognize the presence of a tube, your hands fly to your mouth as the beeping from the machines add to your panic.

A pair of hands grab yours and hold them down gently “y/n y/n look at me please look at me” you look up and focus on a very familiar pair of emerald eyes, you squeeze his hands and he sees just how panicked you are in your eyes “y/n just try and relax Everything is okay just don’t look away from me keep your eyes on me” you nod quick and squeeze his hands again as nurses and doctors run into the room, nurses silence the beeping and a doctor comes up to you “just relax miss l/n it’s okay I just need to remove this tube” you don’t look away from Izuku as the doctor removes the tape and then slowly and gently pulls the tube from your throat. Once it’s free a nurse wipes away the spit and you take the tissues from her and cough into them, you begin to cry from how scared you were in that moment, from the overwhelming panic you felt.

Izuku wipes your tears as the doctor asks you questions. “I’m deeply sorry for you have to experience that. We didn���t expect you to wake up on your own. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks” your eyes flash back to Izuku and you can see how ragged he looks, he looks like he hasn’t slept that entire time, his hair is a mess and he’s wearing a sweatshirt that you stole from him a long time ago. He must have got it from your apartment. You wish you could hug him. He smiles at you with relief in his eyes, he knew exactly what you’re thinking, desperate to hug you as well.

After the doctors do a few quick tests they remove your IV and then leave you alone with Izuku. You watch as he stands from his chair he was at to stay out of the way and crosses the room to you, you smile gently and feel tears start to fall again. “Oh no don’t cry” he cups your cheeks and brushes away the tears “sweet girl” he says “I was so worried but I never lost hope. I knew you’d come back to me” you reach up and grab his hands, holding them in your own. “I was so scared that night” you whisper “I thought. I throught for sure I’d never see you again.” Your voice cracks “you saved me Izuku” his eyes swell with tears, as hard as he was holding them back he couldn’t any longer “I wish you didn’t have to go through that” you reach up and wipe his tears away.

Now you’re two crying people who are desperately in love with each other, both holding each other’s faces wiping away the tears. You can’t keep your feelings hidden any longer, you couldn’t when you knew how easy life could change “I love you Izuku” you whisper and his eyes widen for a second before your words really hit him, his tears flow harder as he leans down, placing a chaste kiss to your lips, your tears mixing together, when he pulls back he takes a big breath with a smile and says “I love you y/n” he says with a laugh, you start to laugh with him “look at us” you say and he laughs a little harder along side you.

When you both calm down, stopping crying and laughing, he helps you out of bed and into the bathroom. Your muscles are stiff from not using them for so long and your legs start to shake after a few minutes. Change into some comfy clothes he had brought you a while ago, in hopes it would help you wake up somehow to know you had some of your things here. When you open the door again he’s right there, taking your arm and helping you back to the bed. He hands you your phone he kept charged and you called your parents, you ended up crying again and telling them that you want them to come over the next day since you just wanted to go home and get comfortable. “Let me speak to Midoriya” you mom says and you laugh holding out your phone to him “it’s for you” he laughs and takes it “hello mrs. l/n. Yes. Yes I will. Yes. Thank you” he hands the phone back to you, his cheeks flushed, you mouthed “what did she say?” At Izuku and he just grinned, unbeknownst to you he’s been talking to your parents every day since you were in the hospital since they live in America and can’t travel. He’s confided in your mom many times about how much he loves you and how scared he was. “I’ll tell you later” he whispers as you continue your conversation with your mom.

After you finish your call you text all your friends and you send out a few messages on your social media’s so your fans know you’re alive and you look at emails and then groan at the number. You sigh and hand your phone to Izuku “can you take this? I’m overwhelmed” he nods “of course” he slips it in his pocket and then pulls you into a hug, rubbing circles across your back as you take deep breaths, the smell of him filling your senses.

A nurse came in after a little while with a wheelchair and your discharge papers. Izuku has your other things in a bag over his shoulder and he follows you out of the hospital with the nurse.

Izuku takes you to your apartment and runs a bath for you, he helps you into the bathroom and then hesitates, “can I ..” he gestures at you and you chuckle, raising your arms above your head, knowing he just wants to take care of you.

He helps you out of your shirt and your bottoms, taking your hand as you step into the hot bubble bath “this is perfect Izuku thank you so much” his face is red from seeing you naked but he feels good that you trust him and love him. He wants to help you feel loved and cared for. He kneels behind the bathtub and wets your hair, gently massaging in the shampoo and conditioner, tears were softly falling down your cheeks as you experienced this moment with him. You felt so loved and taken care of.

You washed your front and he took the wash cloth from you to wash your back, his cheeks getting even redder. He helps you out of the tub and wraps a towel around you, kissing your forehead and pulling you into a hug not caring about the water on your skin and hair. “I’m going to lay out some clothing for you” he says and you nod against his chest. As he disappears you brush your teeth and run a separate towel through your hair. before your legs and arms begin to shake. “Zuku” you say before you find yourself falling to the ground. 

“I’m here sweetheart” he says and catches you, easily sweeping you up into his arms as he carries you out to the bedroom “sorry I took so long” you shake your head, a frown on your lips as tears spring to your eyes yet again “no. Don’t be sorry. You have been,,, so good to me, I can’t ever thank you enough” he sets you gently on the bed and crouches down to look at you closely, a small smile on his lips “I would do anything for you, for nothing at all. I’ve been so lucky for you to give me your heart, to trust me to take care of you. I love you. I will always take care you.”

 you don’t realize you’re crying again until he’s wiping your tears away “come on, lets get you dressed and then I’m going to carry you to the couch where we can watch movies and order take out” you smile and nod “good girl” he stands and grabs the clothes he has laying out, helping you put on your shirt before slipping your underwear up your legs, helping you stand and keeping you steady as you pull them all the way up. he places your hands on his shoulders as he helps put your sweats on you before sweeping you up again. you chuckle softly and he smiles, the sound making him feel the first real happiness he’s felt in weeks. oh how he’s missed your laugh. 

After a good meal you’re feeling more like yourself, you sit on the couch with your feet up on Izuku as he tells you thinks you’ve missed. Like how a new hero is interning with his agency and how Bakugou finally confessed his feelings for Ochako. you could hardly believe you missed so much. “I hope you don’t mind but I’ve been coming here to shower, I just wanted to feel closer to you” he’s shy and look at his hands, blush dusting his cheeks. You turn your body to move closer to him, cupping his cheek and turning his face towards yours, you kiss his nose “I don’t mind. My home has always felt better with you in it” his face blushes deeper and he kisses your lips softly. “I’m so happy, so relived you’re here” you smile “I’m here to stay” you say and he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tight.

“I can’t wait to get stronger and come back to work” you say cuddling into him “I’m glad you still want to be a hero but I would understand if you had a change of heart” he runs his fingers through your hair and you lean back to look at him “thank you for saying that” you caress his cheek and he blushes “but i’m a hero, I have to get my strength back so I can fight along side of you and protect people.” he places his hand over yours “that’s the girl I fell in love with” he places his forehead against yours and you close your eyes “let’s go see Recovery Girl in the morning. she might be able to take care of the damage done to your muscles and then I can help you start training as soon as you want” you chuckle and reach up to place your hands on his neck “that’s a good idea. will you stay here with me tonight?” you rub your thumbs softly against his skin “I was hoping you would ask me that” he whispers and before he can say anything else you close the last few inches between you both and press your lips into his

he sighs and cups your face gently, smiling into the kiss, when you break away his eyes are filled with a mix of love and bliss, “i love you” you whisper and he blushes “I love you” he says back to you and your heart fills with electricity, you’ve been dying to tell him that for months, it feels amazing to finally have it out in the open and reciprocated. you just wish it was under a better circumstance. 

You watch a move while cuddling, his hand in yours and your head against his chest, when it ends you’re already falling asleep against him. he chuckles as he turns off the tv, picking you up easily “I cant believe im falling asleep. You would think i got enough of it the last three weeks” you say as he carries you to bed. he tucks you in and turns to leave but  you pop up, fully awake and grab his hand “don't leave!” you shout and then blush, embarrassed at your outburst, you drop his hand and look down at your hands in your lap “I’m sorry” you whisper and he reaches out, tilting your chin up to look at him “don’t worry” he leans down and kisses your forehead “I’m going to shower and then i’ll come right back here to you” you blush deeper, feeling a little worse for your outburst. “okay” you whisper and he leans down, kissing your forehead before re-tucking you in “I couldn’t leave you and I don’t want to. Don’t worry my sweetheart”

when he gets back after his quick shower you’re still in the same position, he thought you were asleep until he slid in next to you and you pulled him to you, cuddling in to his chest “finally” you whisper and his heart flutters, you were waiting for him. “you make me feel safe” you whisper “I’ll always keep you safe, no matter what” he says and you kiss his shirtless chest “always my hero” you say before finally feeling relaxed enough to fall asleep. 

[okaybutlikeimagine]

ok by i cannot stop thinking about billy just losing his fucking mind to dream on by aerosmith. like his dad just went too far or he found out about him and steve and now hes tearing his room apart like a mad man, throwing records and smashing bottles and shit. and its not even just like angry hes like /crying/ like he cannot even for a second know peace and happiness and this has been on my mind for MONTHS

TW: physical abuse, blood, homophobic slurs ((f-slur)), verbal abuse, mental breakdown, cussing

Honey, ever since i got this i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either ohmyGOD???? This is legitimately a PEAK Billy “i’m absolutely sick of all of this and i need out NOW” Hargrove anthem!! God if i could direct this i would but unfortunately i’m bound to words on my silly little blog so i hope this will do, love. ♥ (@venomdean)

Because it’s absolutely explosive. I kind of hate to think about it, but I feel like Billy is like a landmine. He’s a pot always threatening to boil over. He’s on constant vibrate just about ready to pop. He’s always on the edge of going absolutely feral because the only certain thing he’s felt for years and years is pain.

And you’re right- on both accounts. Neil finds out… and he goes too far.

Because Neil has been hearing all around town that Billy has been running around with “that Harrington boy”. You know, the son of that really influential family, the boy who “has all the opportunities in the world” but “seems to be amounting to nothing… what a shame. You know, his parents couldn’t even pay a school to take him. What a pity. I knew it would happen though...”

And Neil just hoped it wasn’t true. He hears it every time he goes to the grocery store. The voices follow him down the aisles, either from mothers who whisper about how “That’s Neil Hargrove. His son is that curly haired one I told you about. The different one.” or from teens who hiss about how “That’s Billy’s dad. Wonder if he knows his son is probably a fa-”

And one day Billy comes home happy. And i’d encourage you to really think about that and just enjoy it for as long as you can because Billy is happy. So happy he’s beaming. He feels like he’s glowing from the inside. He forgets that anyone other than Steve even exists. For a second he forgets his own existence, he’s so enamored and infatuated and near obsessed, really. Because he spent the whole afternoon with the boy, which isn’t necessarily a rare occurrence but it’s always an exceptional one, and today was especially joyful because something about their mutual existence just felt so…. So good. Yeah they had sex in the camaro like the teenagers they are and then again in Hansen’s field because it’s fucking massive and Hansen’s away on some trip and they blasted hippie music and fucked in a field of flowers and pretended like they were at Woodstock just existing in the skin of the other like they were made for it. Like they were made to share each other’s bodies and they were finally completing their infinite and perpetual task. And Billy would never be able to say these words or perhaps even string them together but it’s about the feeling.

Because that’s just the feeling he has. The nameless feeling.

And they fucked and they thought about smoking and they thought about drinking but they stayed high on each other and that was enough. They were laying there among the daisies happier than anything else in existence and Billy’s not even sure why. But they laid there and Billy felt the sun lay a large blanket of the softest warmth right over him and he absolutely reveled in it, allowing his hand to grace Steve’s fingers and then he rolled over to lay his head on Steve’s shoulder and he can’t believe he does that without feeling like a stupid fucking sissy but… but Steve’s always there. Always always always there. Stronger than he looks and warm and supportive and there. And Steve started to curl some of Billy’s hair around his finger and Billy pretended to bite at him like he was irritated and Steve whispered something about love and you and me and California and after graduation… i should have enough money by then. Let’s do it. Just you and me.

And Billy’s whole world froze. Froze in warmth, incubated in love, goddamn teeming with adoration as he got up on his elbows and evaluated Steve’s face just to be sure it wasn’t a joke and saw that it wasn’t and absolutely 100% beamed. Because the words and Steve’s eyes and the warmth of the sun on his back painted, stroke by stroke, the image of the two of them in California. On the beach. In the soft sand. Enjoying the sunlight. Playing in the waves. Billy teaching Steve how to surf, Billy dragging Steve under the boardwalk, Billy and Steve getting sticky with popsicles and soft serve and fresh watermelon and strawberries, Billy rollerskating hand in hand with Steve just like he used to watch all those couples do back when he was 9 years old and questioning everything. Billy and Steve existing freely. Openly and honestly. It can only have gotten better. He’s sure of it. It can only get better from this stupid hick town. He knows it.

He needs it.

And so they make out some more and the rest of the afternoon is a whirlwind up until he’s got Steve pressed up against the Camaro making out with him on that backroad and then again in front of Steve’s house and he’s letting his skin light up over every little promise of you and me in California… that Steve whispers into his skin, his ears, his mouth...

He feels fucking invincable.

He walks into his house with a forcefield. A smile he never sports. A bounce in his step he never maintains. Goddamn happiness. Not even just confidence, it’s pure bliss on his face and not even Neil’s ugly mug can ruin it. Not even Neil storming down the hall, electricity following his path, can ruin it. Not even Neil scowling, glaring daggers, lip snarled, teeth bared, can ruin it. Not even whatever gross, growling worlds Neil is spitting his way can ruin it.

Billy is blissed out on the future and the idea of pure bliss with a boy he thinks he knows he loves that he doesn’t feel it until even moments after. He doesn’t see it til it’s over. He doesn’t know it til he can’t defend himself. He doesn’t care until he does.

It’s a mistake.

When Billy thinks back on it afterwards, after everything, he heaves and hisses and snarls at his past, blissed out self. He wants to punch himself in the face for such a mistake. This is a lesson he learned years ago. Back when it all first started. Back when he was so young.

But current Billy is blissed all the way up until his world flashes black. Until his ears ring. Until his hand flies to his face of its own accord to press at the pain to get it to stop. Second nature.

“You stupid fucking homo.”

And Billy’s vision bleeds red. It’s anger, it’s rage, it’s betrayal. His vision tunnels with vitriol. With scorn. Fight or flight kicks in and every smart part of Billy is yelling run but the dumber, closer, stronger parts say fuck him fuck him fuck him I don’t deserve this.

So his fist swings, rearing back and surging forward. Animalistic nature.

He thinks he makes purchase, but if he’s honest, the rest is a too quick blur. A mess of motion. Someone presses fast-forward on his VHS tape. The moments bleed together.

It’s a montage of angered words. Words beyond anger. Words that poison his system. Words like “homo” and “fag” and “disgrace” and “military school” and Billy checks in right there because-

“You’re going to military school, you worthless piece of shit.”

Billy spits in the man’s face. Longtime craving.

And then the world blacks out again. It’s blurrier now. His face is warm. There’s liquid gushing out. His wrist is sore and the ground is being taken out from beneath him and he realizes he’s being grabbed and pulled and then dragged because his body is feeling weak. Call it a mix of everything.

And he’s being dragged to his room and the world shatters when they cross the threshold because this place is the only place in this damn house he feels somewhat safe in. And he feels himself hit the ground heavily, right in front of his mirror. Feels himself being pulled up to be seated. Hears a rustling. Hears a weirdly familiar sound his mind can’t process. Sees something metal in the mirror before his hair is being grabbed and pulled taught and then there’s slack and the pressure is gone and-

“How could you fucking do this to me?”

More hair pulling, more growling, more yelling, some spit.

“You’ve been running around with that prissy boy. How long, huh?”

Then there’s slack and-

“Everyone talks about you two. Disgusting.”

Pulling pulling pulling pulling… something tickling his arms.

“Saw you two… outside his house, huh? You’re a disgrace.”

Wetness. Billy’s face is wet. His eyes burn. His throat burns. There’s slack again.

“You’re going to military school. Tomorrow. You’re out of here.”

Pulling and sawing and yanking and slack. Over and over and over and over-

“Hope I never see you again, you fag.”

Billy sobs. It wrenches through his chest. Pulling and slack, pulling and slack, over and over and-

It stops. Billy’s weak. His body is shutting down. It must be. It feels like it. The vision in the mirror is blurry but he knows the damage that’s been done. He can tell. He can feel. There’s nothing touching his shoulders anymore. Nothing against his neck. Something tickles down his arms. He shakes, weakly moving his hand to swipe the feeling away from his arms and grabs at tufts of hair.

There’s that ugly fucking mug, right in his face. It’s a strange look he wears. Billy’s vision is blurred. His lip snarls upward. Instinct.

“Where did I go wrong?”

The words are whispered in his face on hot breath. They hang in the air between them.

Billy shatters.

The door shuts loudly. Another door shuts after that. A car starts. Billy’s still sitting on the floor.

His muscles in his legs begin to contract, and then his arms. His vision clears and sharpens. He pushes himself up off the floor, avoids looking in the mirror, walks up next to it to his stereo, moves to turn on the radio…. Auto-pilot.

Music fills the room. Lilts through the air. Cuts through the humidity of the once cool night. The altercation warmed everything up. Must have.

There’s the sound of a keyboard and the plucking of a guitar. A familiar rhythm. It flows out of his stereo and through the room like it has a life of its own. It’s a spectral kind of presence, slinking out of the speakers, lurking in the corners, filling up the forgotten spaces with its haunting rhythm. Billy turns the music up louder. Stands in front of the stereo. Lets the music consume his space. Exist with him until they can’t co-habitate.

The chord gets more complicated. The chord runs. Billy’s feet feel like they’re going to betray him and let him fall through the floor. His head feels like it’s in another realm. A mirrored realm of darkness and vines… a world teeming with threats that wouldn’t think twice of making attempts on his life.

He sways in place.

When the voice starts his feet move. They betray his thoughts but they don’t compromise his balance, necessarily. He’s moving backwards.

Every time that I look in the mirror….

He can’t.

All these lines on my face getting clearer…

He knows he can’t. Not if he wants to keep his sanity. His breath gets shorter. His head is dizzy just from moving, even though he’s slow. Maybe it’s because he’s going backwards.

The past is gone

His head betrays him now. Swings itself over the edge- looks over to the left.. Billy’s eyes take a second to focus but it’s only an instant after that before his hands shoot up to his head. Grab at tiny curls. Grab at randomly long tufts. Grab at whatever they can reach which is almost nothing.

He’s shaking. His hand is shaking as his fingers grasp with a kind of desperation Billy has never known but is suddenly wracking his body in a way that overwhelms every piece of him until he’s nothing but fingers grasping for what should be where they’re reaching but is nowhere to be seen. He can’t see anything but himself in the mirror. The world blacks out but him and the mirror. His feet are still moving him somewhere. He’s looking at the mirror at an awkward angle.

He hits the couch in his room. His fingers clench and unclench. He flops down onto it.

It went by like dusk to dawn...

Clenching and unclenching until his fingers get sore and he slams his hands onto the couch to stop thinking about it but how can he when his… his reflection...

Isn’t that the way?

He’s grabbing at his blanket beneath him harshly. He fists it and his mouth opens in a grimace and his eyebrows furrow so hard his head hurts and his lip shakes and…

Everybody’s got their dues in life to pay~…

The voice is rising and the music is rising and the specter fills up the space with something passively threatening, something that gently nudges Billy’s shoulders, something that presses at Billy’s head, something present.

Billy’s fisting hard at the blanket. His fingers are sore. He pulls at it. His finger slips into a moth hold or two. The voice reaches the top, along with the guitar and then they both topple over the peak and there’s the sound of a rip and something under Billy gives out. He pulls harder, hearing more tears, fingers dipping into the rips he’s created in his blanket.

I know nobody knows… where it comes and where it goes

Billy looks down at his fists tearing his blanket and they stop, pull away… thoughtless. His hands shake to do something, maybe grab at his aching head and they do, he does- no, they do, his hands do, but they feel uneven tufts of curls and it’s a jolt. His brain shocks itself. He pulls his hands away with a cry because what is this. He’s become alien to himself. He sees the mirror in front of him but he’s not sure who he sees in it. It’s not him.

I know it’s everybody’s sin…. You’ve got to lose to know, how to win…

The music is with him. Towering over him. The presence is daunting. Feels like it’s challenging him to something as a separate chord climbs and falls as soon as it starts. The spectre falls down. Settles with him. Next to him. He stands. He’s unsettled. Nothing in the mirror is right nothing is right nothing is right. He shoves the flat part of his knuckles on his thumbs into his eyes to fix it, fix something, fix this image that doesn’t feel right. Fix this creature he doesn’t recognize. His mind is swimming.

He walks around the room. He’s not sure if this is easier or harder than before, but he still stumbles.

Half my life’s in books’ written pages… Lived and learned from fools and from sages…

He tucks his chin into his chest, his knuckles still pressed to his eyes, the world black and scattered with the spots he’s pressing into them. His stomach is twitching with sobs that meet up in his throat and push out of his mouth. They’re small. That same droning chord is persistent, rising and filling up into the room, aiming to devour him in something. Drown him.

You know it’s true-

The end grows into a growl and takes with it a feeling that’s animalistic. The specter grows feral. Billy opens his eyes.

His chest heaves. His eyes burn as they water. His mouth twists up in misery. Because he sees it. There. At his feet. Under his boots. He’s fucking stepping on it.

All the things…

His hair. In curly tufts on the ground beneath his feet and in front of them.

Come back to you…

He’s stepping on it.

He looks up and he recognizes his face now and he… he…. He’s….

He’s distraught.

And he rounds on absolutely anything he can reach. Whatever is in arm’s distance behind him and it happens to be his lamp and he grabs it and he throws it with all his might to the ground and-

Sing with me, sing for the year-

-and it shatters. His mind is racing and he has no thoughts past the music. The presence is dark. It’s a shadow. It’s all around him. It’s in his vision.

-sing for the laughter and sing for the tear...

He’s swinging. His eyes are blurry from his own hot tears and they sear his cheeks as he grabs at whatever he can- vaguely registers the necks of bottles and the grooves of records against his palm and beneath his fingertips as he hashes through the world around him, trying to tear through the shadows consuming him and the tears are flooding everything out and he’s just swinging and smashing and-

Sing with me, it’s just for today… maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away~

He’s swinging and crashing and smashing like he’s being challenged. Threatened.. Whatever exists in this room with him is menacing. Malevolent. Feeding off his pain. Sipping it through his tears. He punches the wall and then the drums hit and they stop and the guitar is back and-

“Billy?”

It’s a voice. Billy’s sure it’s his own somehow. Sure it’s the song somehow. Sure it’s this presence somehow, whatever is it, floating through the chords of the song like a friend seeking a kill.

“B-Billy? I… Uhm…. Please stop.”

It’s small. Feminine. Familiar. Shaking.

“Please don’t hur-.... You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Maxine.

Billy strides to the door and throws it open. The violent thud it makes as the knob hits the wall fills something in Billy’s chest. It springs more tears in his eyes. His chest is sobbing.

“Billy?”

There’s something Billy can’t place in Max’s eyes. If his mind were even a tad clearer he thinks he’d recognize it… categorize it under worry or concern or care or even something deeper...

But the guitar chord hits a high note and the shadow specter of the music seeps into his mind and he’s a husk.

The chorus picks up again, singing about singing and Billy is standing there looking at this tiny red head standing in his way and she’s blurred by his tears and-

“Billy, what are you doing-”

“Mind your damn business, Maxine.”

“What happened-?”

“Mind your business.”

The music is rising. It fills Billy’s throat.

“Did… did he-? Do…?”

“Do what?” Billy spits down at Max, leaning over her, invading her space. Max’s eyes flood with fear and it makes Billy step back. The shadows of the song step away. He sees through the blur to find the girl.

“Do that?” She asks, voice small and soft and shaking and weak. Eyes filling with tears of their own and it fills Billy’s gut with bile and he’s so sick of it. So sick of everything. Thinks he might be sick. So fucking done. Broken. Feral.

Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away~

Billy’s eyes are filling. He glares as hard as he can while his eyelids are all mushy and swollen.

“Get out of my way, Maxine.”

She’s cowering.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Just get out of my way.” He growls and takes his arm and shoves and she stumbles back and the music is building and then he’s storming down the hallway, punching the walls and cracking every picture frame he passes and the voice is following him, sounding just as loud to him in the hallway as it did to him in his room as it chants-

Dream on… dream on… dream on… dream yourself a dream come true~

And he throws pillows off the couch and shatters a lamp on the ground with a shove and his blurry eyes search fervently for what he wants as the guitar wails and runs down and-

Dream on… dream on…. Dream on… dream until your dream come through~

And the guitar gets darker and he’s got it. Grabs it off the mantle. Looks as steadily as he can with shaking and blurry eyes at this thing in his hands. This picture frame... with their stupid family in it. This stupid thing they call family to convince others. It never convinced him. He’s not sure how it could have convinced anyone. His tears are so hot on his face they feel like they’re boiling and his nose is leaking and his saliva is runny and his chest is heaving and he’s-

“Billy?”

He’s thunder. He’s lightning and he’s rain. The music followed him down the hallway and follows him with heavier footsteps back up as the voice screams on with-

Dream on… dream on… dream on… dream on…

And each chant sees Billy taking the frame in his hands and slamming the corner of it into the wall of the hallway as he walks, goes back to his room, ignores Max as she cries to him some kind of garbled nonsense and the music is filling his shoes like a dark puddle and his eyes are drowned.

And the voice that was once singing is now screeching into the air, into the corners of his room, into the darkest parts and Billy looks at the stupid faces of these stupid people he’s been forced to love and thinks of how the only happiness in his life is going to be taken away from him and probably has been permanently taken away now because he’s fucking hideous with bruises and almost no hair and he’s wailing. Deep from his chest, right alongside the voice from the stereo, hurling the picture frame at his mirror blindly as he screams and hitting his target and hearing a loud crack as it shatters and he’s just screaming. Everything inside of him rising and bubbling and boiling over and over and over some more and he’s sure his body will never settle. He’ll never know peace. His mind and his body and his heart will never rest like it did this afternoon in that field with the warm sun and the blue sky and a love underneath him that was all his own for once for fucking once in his miserable life and he opens his eyes and he’s disgusted he’s a disgrace, he’s bruised and bloody and nearly bald and his fingers and knuckles are bruised and bleeding and in that cracked mirror is the most miserable version of himself and he can’t bear to look.

Sing with me-

He grabs the mirror.

Sing for the year-

He throws it to the ground. It covers his fallen hair.

Sing for the laughter-

He stomps it with his boot. Hot tears stain the toes of his shoe.

Sing for the tear-

He reaches for his bedsheets. He needs to take a few steps to get there.

Sing with me-

He tears at them, ripping all the way down. As far as he can.

Just for today.

His chest heaves. He rounds on his makeshift vanity. Swings his arms violently until it’s all on the ground as his feet, discarded and broken and cracked.

Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away-

He looks up from the ground. Up to Max, who’s hugging the door frame and shaking, watching with horror or what Billy thinks must be the equivalent. Something equivalent to it. The music and it’s guitar and the specter it’s conjured up is still rising, expanding, residing in every space of the room, pushing Billy out of the space and he’s struggling, fighting, mind getting so nervous and worried as it looks at Max that it needs to look away, needs to distract.

The song repeats itself as he reaches and throws and rips and tears everything in sight. Posters, picture frames, books, cassettes. He steps on everything, smashes everything, tears pour out and out and out, his mind is running and racing and throbbing in pain in hurt in worry in all of its unease and he picks up a hand weight and rounds towards the window and chucks it as hard as he can and-

The sound of the shattering of the window breaks everything. Breaks any resolve still left within him. Lets the shadow and spectre of the music out and into the night as the room is pitched into a bitter and unforgiving chill. Let’s all of Billy’s breath out of his lungs as he heaves and heaves and heaves like he’s going to hurl. He stands there, looking at the window, pictures something faint and distant and at one time hopeful in his mind before he turns around to Max and it’s just music now, the last of the words have been sung, and he mutters a dark and languid and miserable:

“Don’t wait up for me.”

And then he strides to the window and steps on the small table he has in front of it and jumps out and walks into the unfriendly night, a storm. More than a husk. Once again a human. At least, feeling something closer to human.

And then it’s just Max. She rushes to the window, the music turning into a haunting kind of alarm that doesn’t seem alert or at all worried or hurried or serious. A lazy alarm that warns you of an error in the system. She stands in front of the broken window, exposed to the cold, cutting her hand on the glass in her hurry to watch after Billy, watch as he leaves, watch as he stomps his way out of their house and out to the street and down the street and she’s crying. Her mind is spinning. Her face is heavy with tears and sorrow and fear. Her heaving subsides slowly as the music does.

She’s alone in this house. Truly alone. Not even the presence of Billy lingers like usual.

And then she runs to the phone to do the only thing she can think of- she dodges the carnage strewn across their house and runs to the phone and calls the only person she can think to call. The only person she thinks will for sure be able to help him from doing something crazy like leaving with nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever random cash he carries in his pocket.

Another song starts up slowly. The phone picks up.

“Jim Hopper speaking.”

[swordlesbean]

this means war | 80s catradora mega mixtape [listen]

track listing and lyric selections under the cut

tape 1: raised on you

| 01 shadows of the night pat benatar |

we're running with the shadows of the night / so baby, take my hand, it'll be all right / surrender all your dreams to me tonight / they'll come true in the end

| 02 the best tina turner |

give me a life time of promises and a world of dreams / speak the language of love like you know what it means / it can't be wrong / take my heart and make it strong, baby / you're simply the best, better than all the rest

| 03 right by your side eurythmics |

give me two strong arms to protect myself / give me so much love that i forget myself / i need to be right by your side

| 04 wish upon me suzi quatro |

wish upon me / count on me to infinity / my love will be here / when the stars burn out / so reach out and touch me

| 05 raised on you heart |

let's go tell the world / to quit turning cold / just let me be raised on you / don't have to change just now / we can laugh about the load

| 06 everywhere fleetwood mac |

i'll speak a little louder / i'll even shout / you know that i'm proud and i can't get the words out / oh, i wanna be with you everywhere

| 07 only you yazoo |

all i needed was the love you gave / all i needed for another day / and all i ever knew / only you

tape 2: falling out

| 01 the last beat of my heart siouxsie & the banshees |

reach out your hands / don't turn your back / don't walk away / how in the world can i wish for this never to be torn apart? / close to you till the last beat of my heart

| 02 don’t turn around bonnie tyler |

i'm gonna be strong / i'm gonna do fine / don't worry about this heart of mine / just walk out that door / yeah, see if I care / go on and go now but don't turn around / cause you're gonna see my heart breaking

| 03 falling out kim wilde |

what can i say now after all is said and done / you cut me up in pieces when the shooting first begun / what did i do to you to make you turn away? / cause now there's nothing left for me / there's nothing i can say

| 04 borderline madonna |

you let me down, when i look around / baby, you just can't be found / stop driving me away, i just want to stay / i've given all i can / cause you got the best of me / borderline / feels like i'm going to lose my mind

| 05 love is a battlefield pat benatar |

you're begging me to go / then making me stay / why do you hurt me so bad? / it would help me to know / do i stand in your way? / or am i the best thing you've had?

| 06 i call your name roxette |

i close the door behind me, and i turn the lights all down / there's no one there beside me, i call your name

| 07 who will you run to heart |

you're sure the life you're living with me / can't go on one single minute / and there's a new one waiting outside this door / and now's the time to begin it / you found a new world / and you want to taste it / but that world can turn cold / and you better face it / who will you run to when it all falls down?

| 08 get up and go the go-go’s |

i was on the inside / looking out for you / but you're the one to make the change / there's nothing i can do / now's the time for you to move / actions shout out loud

| 09 stop draggin’ my heart around stevie nicks ft. tom petty & the heartbreakers |

i know you really want to tell me goodbye / i know you really want to be your own girl / baby, you could never look me in the eye / yeah, you buckle with the weight of the world / stop draggin’ my heart around

| 10 breakdown grace jones |

it's okay if you must go / i'll understand if you don't / you say goodbye right now / i'll still survive somehow / why should we let this drag on?

| 11 edge of a broken heart vixen |

it won't be easy, but i've got to be strong / and if i wanna cry i don't need your shoulder / i been living on the edge of a broken heart / don't you wonder why i gotta say goodbye

tape 3: moth to a flame

| 01 i love playing with fire joan jett & the blackhearts |

i love playing with fire / i don't wanna get burned / i love playing with fire / don't think i'll ever learn

| 02 action reaction missing persons |

action reaction, the girl knows just what to do / action reaction, she gets some reaction from you / she's gonna take you by surprise / she's gonna hit you right between the eyes

| 03 bring your love down (didn’t i) yazoo |

if you think you need a change / well, i'm sure we can arrange for you to get on your own for a while / but i don't need to worry, cause you'll get back in a hurry / i know that you like my style / you play your games but the fact remains / i'm the only one that can hold your reins

| 04 moth to a flame olivia newton-john |

here again drawn like a moth to a flame / an invisible force pulling me close to you / i can't break free / there's some kind of hold over me / like a magnet, you attract me like steel

| 05 who’s that girl madonna |

she's trouble, in a word get closer to the fire / run faster, her laughter burns you up inside / you're spinning round and round / you can't get up, you try but you can't

| 06 regrets eurythmics |

i've got a delicate mind / i've got a dangerous nature / and my fist collides with your furniture / i'm an electric wire / and i'm stuck inside your head

| 07 who’s problem? the motels |

so, whose problem am i / whose problem am i / whose problem am i / if i'm not yours?

| 08 state of mind suzi quatro |

fire burning in my heart / tearing me apart / you're the fire / you knocked my defenses down / bare as the day i was born / you're the one

| 09 breakdown girlschool |

i'm gonna make you understand / that i've seen it all before / i twist your mind and break your heart / and you still come back for more

| 10 long time joan jett & the blackhearts |

you can always wake the beast in me / that's the thing that never lets me be / it's gonna take a long time / to get you off of my mind

| 11 winter kills yazoo |

pain / in your eyes / makes me cruel / makes me spiteful / tears are delightful / welcome your nightfall / how winter kills / i tear at you, searching for / weaker seams

tape 4: goodbye to you

| 01 cat-o’-nine-tails L7 |

you're scratching me, baby / right down to my heart / claw the couch now that we're apart / think i'm allergic

| 02 had enough joan jett & the blackhearts |

you rain storm cloud / you ain't no friend / don't wanna see your face again / had enough of you / you ain't for me

| 03 winning the war ‘til tuesday |

you fight just for the sake of it / you know what hurts the most / you might have once been faking it / but now it cuts too close / winning the war and losing every battle / you close the door on happy ever after

| 04 cry wolf stevie nicks |

you can try, but you can't get me into the fire / cause i'm all out of sympathy / and, baby, i can't walk this wire / find yourself somebody new / to catch you when you fall

| 05 thorn in my side eurythmics |

to run away from you / was all that i could do / thorn in my side / you know that's all you'll ever be / so don't think you know better / cause that's what you mean to me

| 06 state i’m in bananarama |

can we carry on / or must we still pretend / that we're really friends / those feelings have gone / but we're not the same / and we're both to blame / there's nothing left to tell you / nothing left to give you

| 07 goodbye to you scandal feat. patty smyth |

baby, it's over now / no need to talk about it / it's not the same / my love for you's just not the same / and my heart can't stand the strain / goodbye to you

| 08 this means war joan jett & the blackhearts |

it hurts me so to fight with you / but since you closed the door / this means war, and you will see it's senseless / this means war, and soon you'll be defenseless / cause you can't win this war

| 09 harden my heart quarterflash |

darling, in my wildest dreams, i never thought i'd go / but it's time to let you know / i'm gonna harden my heart / i'm gonna swallow my tears / i'm gonna turn and leave you here

| 10 don’t watch me bleed ‘til tuesday |

i guess you gave as good as you got / i guess this love is dead at last / but i paid such a lot / don't just kiss me goodbye / don't watch me bleed

tape 5: change of heart

| 01 change of heart cyndi lauper |

here i am just like i said i would be / i'm your friend just like you think it should be / did you think i would stand here and lie / while our moment was passing us by / oh, i am here waiting for your change of heart / it just takes a beat to turn it around

| 02 sorry me, sorry you jefferson starship |

out on the edge / such a dangerous place to be / when darkness falls / and you got no way to see / don't turn away from me / you say you're sorry / i'm sorry too

| 03 we can change belinda carlisle |

i swear we don't have to hurt anymore / throw the old ways out and close the door / nothing remains the same / we can't hold on, but baby we can change

| 04 fighting divinyls |

gotta stick to the fight when you're hardest hit / is when things hurt the most that you must not quit / i'm losing my resistance and i'm coming after you / this time i gotta cause worth fighting for

| 05 before this night is through bonnie tyler |

come inside, close the door, come to me now / we'll find our way, we know how / let the past be the past, let it all fall away

| 06 something to believe in the bangles |

i lost direction in the darkness / couldn't stop myself from running / i could feel the sun on my back / but i was afraid to let the light in / now i can't run anymore / now i see this gift you bring me

| 07 surrender gloria estefan |

you've got the key / so open up your heart and be my destiny / come back, baby, come back / surrender to me

| 08 (we want) the same thing belinda carlisle |

no matter what we say / no matter what we do / beyond the battle lines, baby, we know what's true / we dream the same thing / we want the same thing / and all that we need is to see it together

| 09 never heart |

we can't go on, just running away / if we wait any longer, we will surely never get away / anything you want, we can make it happen / stand up and turn around, never let them shoot us down

| 10 nothing’s gonna stop us now jefferson starship |

let em say we're crazy, i don't care about that / put your hand in my hand, baby, don't ever look back / let the world around us just fall apart / baby, we can make it if we're heart to heart / we can build this thing together / standing strong forever / nothing's gonna stop us now 

| 11 we belong pat benatar |

we belong to the light, we belong to the thunder / we belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under / whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better / we belong together

[blackberrysap]

     it was difficult for her to discern day from night, night from day in what could have been weeks, or months. her way of clocking it is by the company that keeps her. well-rested toubabs in laboratory coats, with electric flickers of innate intrigue in their blue eyes. it would be an hour(s) long chain of harrowing swears in an alien tongue, and summoning sapped brawn to hammer petite fists against a prosaic glass. after which, she sometimes reasons that death is a preferable option to living. 

   only by the karmic force prescribed by x’hal, is she an impuissant prisoner. the notion that she’ll have the power to someday be free to break gore out of the pink-pigmented fleshes of her rat-faced torturers with her bare black-glossed nails was a chance on the decline. it is up until they are finished using their barbaric tools to dissect what kept man in the unknown is when her weary eyelids tend her off into the reprieve of the night. 

     she has no warm memories to fall back on for comfort. no friends, lovers, even family yearn for. she expected no hero dressed up in colorful tights and a cape on broad shoulders to come rescue komand'r. just deep desires to possess a fire like a fish in need of the endless brilliant blue oceanic marvel. she was the unlucky child of her dearest mother's litter of three to be born without one. a bad stroke of genetics didn't hinder her from trying to catch a flame and hold it in her hand though. 

     it was that hardheadedness that swelled her aspirations for more. it was that same hardheadedness that got her lucked up. she scoffs at the grievous irony of it. her eyes may be closed but she has yet to fall asleep, so she plays the tape of her life over in her mental rolodex and hits repeat when she reaches her poignant predicament. a touch of sadness overcame her; a lone tear breach through the dam of her eyelashes and streaked down her dark cheek.

     oh, how she despised this wretched planet and its people—may they all burn to cinders and be nothing but ashes in space! the thought of finding the heaven the earthlings believed they're destined for and the triumphant simper she'll hold when she seduces their god to condemn all their souls to hell tickles her. now, that's a dream worth having, she mused. 

     the sound of a door opening disturbs her out of her nefarious orgasmic meditation. no, she groans, uttering a native obscenity in a whisper. she knows it is not time yet. not time for the big bad and gutless snow roaches to come probe at what makes her, her. she opens her eyes and slowly sits up on her bunk to see just how many people are clocking into work this time. to her surprise, it is just one dark silhouette she sees. what does that matter though? she asked. fighting off even one measly human felt like she was a little tameranean scrapper trying to rock a mammoth-sized warrior to sleep. 

     when he closes the door behind him, the darkness of the room is his coat of cover as her special little cage rendered her exceptional sights a nugatory feat. though, she has does not have to wait long to see her guest. " oh, now what's this? " she hissed. the mystery person is a man familiar she's pretty familiar with. 

     he was not a crusty pale ape, but a handsome soldier with the smooth, velvety skin the color of earth's buttercups. and part of the reason why she ended up as at!

    he seemed to be the head of security. if not, he was the most notable. she did not see much of him, but she felt an eerie presence watching over her, always, when the white coats went back to their homes. the times he did make an appearance, komand'r was able to distinguish the curiosity in his eyes as well, but there was something about it that set it apart from the probers. she just doesn't know what yet. 

    ❝ are we here to save your sweet queen, my prince? ❞ the question was posed sweetly like she was about to break the awkward ice between them with a song laced with honey. but not that was the case. there was a glaring sardonic touch she adds to it. unless he was a braindead grunt that couldn't read the room, he could not mistake anything she says to him as the whimpers of a desperate paltry princess, yearning for a shining knight towed out of a fairytale.   

     the coyness lurking in the innocent mask of komand'r has her lips tugged into a capering small smile. to suggest that her alien nature may be akin to a cat pawing at the caged canary (in this case, a caged cat pawing for the canary) would be an understatement. playful, but one wrong misstep and if she feels so inclined to release her claws to end the game, he'd be swallowed up in seconds flat.      

    ❝ or, have you finally found your spine to say what you have to say to me? ❞ she muses, batting her dark violent violet eyes in a kittenish manner. it'll be a nice break from the suffocation of silence, despite harboring 'creative' ideas for the security guard.

@falsedking

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 9: Hisashi Wakes up and Chooses Violence

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

        Tomura’s hands shook as he sat in the matron’s office in a stiff, uncomfortable plastic chair next to his brother. What could she possibly want? He had heard horror stories whispered in the hallways, nervous looks exchanged among his few friends at the mere mention of her name. Of people coming back from one of her more severe punishments looking... off. They’d jump at loud noises, or cry at the sight of a measuring tape. Tomura knew they were just ghost stories, meant to scare kids away from doing anything too stupid. Or, at least, he’d think they were just ghost stories if he hadn’t seen the haunted look in Jose’s eyes after the incident on Christmas.

        As if sensing his mental spiral, Hisashi put a hand on Tomura’s shoulder. A gesture of reassurance. As thanks, Tomura gave him an unsteady smile. Hopefully, this wasn’t going to be too bad. Maybe she just wanted them to run an errand? Still, it was strange that she’d pull them out of lunch for something like that.

        The door behind them opened, and Tomura nearly shot out of his chair with fright at the unexpected sound. It was only his brother’s steady hand that kept him from doing so. Matron Abra cleared her throat, and slid into the seat across from them behind her desk. “I expect you both know why you’re here?” she asked, shuffling stray papers.

        “No?” Tomura squeaked. The matron paused and raised an eyebrow at him.

        “No ma’am,” Hisashi replied politely, though Tomura suspected that the teen would rather be scooping up dog poop with his bare hands, “We were just sent into your office without explanation right before lunch, at the end of class.”

        Matron Abra let out a distressed sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I really should invest in more competent staff.”

        They just sat in silence for a moment, Tomura didn’t really know what to say to that.

        “With all the political issues going on, I trust you know what I mean -” Hisashi nodded, Tomura had no clue what she was talking about, “ - It’s been impacting several industries, that means it’s been harder to get supplies like food and water into the orphanage.”

        Tomura shifted in his seat uncomfortably, “Is there anything we can do to help?” he asked, the thought of anyone going hungry scared him. He couldn’t go through that again. Hisashi shot him a look, a warning.

        The matron shook her head, “No, I’m afraid not. However, I called you both in here today to inform you that your medications may be.. delayed.”

        “What do you mean?” Tomura asked, and the matron looked at him as if he had declared Europe a country.

        “I mean that you may have to go a while without your prescriptions,” the matron huffed, clearly trying to remain patient, “There’s nothing we can do.”

        Tomura glanced at his brother for his input, only to be met with… a serene smile? Why? No. The set of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed. Hisashi was anything but calm.

        “Thank you,” Hisashi said, voice tight and cordial, “for informing us. You do know that my brother is non-functional without his medications, correct?” The Matron nodded, so he continued, “I expect this establishment to be able to provide him with adequate accommodations. After all, it is the bare minimum as laid out in the ADA. That is, of course, unless something unfortunate were to happen to this lovely institution.”

        “Are you threatening me, you little urchin?” Matron Abra sneered.

        Hisashi batted his hand in the air, seeming almost carefree if it weren’t for how sharp his smile was, “I would do nothing of the sort, beloved matron.”

        Her eyes narrowed, the tension in the air was electric, coiled, like a snake prepared to strike. Tomura awkwardly coughed, “I think our lunch period is almost over, shouldn’t we be headed back to class Matron Abra?”

        The matron opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then closed it with a clicking of teeth. “Fine,” she finally bit out. 

        Tomura hurriedly collected his things and gave her a small bow, “Thank you for the heads up, Matron Abra!” He scampered out the door, desperate to put as much distance between himself and whatever feud was budding between his brother and the woman as possible. Tomura heard the door shut, he looked over his shoulder, it seemed that Hisashi had followed him.

        “Are you okay?” His brother asked, putting his hands into his coat pockets.

        Tomura chewed on the inside of his mouth, “I’ll be okay, I think. I’m worried though. I haven’t gone without medications in a long time.” It was while his family had been homeless, drifting from shelter to shelter. The pain had been unbearable and most of his memories from that time were of being stuck in bed, filling in coloring books.

        From above them, the church bells rang. It seemed like they’d missed lunch. Hisashi nudged Tomura’s shoulder with his own, “C’mon, I’ll walk you to class.”

        Normally, Tomura would have protested at being babied in such a way, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Instead, he nodded and kept in step with his older brother. The hallways soon flooded with loud, rambunctious children. The flood of people only parted for a handyman working in the middle of the hall, trying desperately to fix the damage Jose’s basketball had wrought. Caution tape surrounded the blue-collar worker, and live wires sparked dangerously around his head like a halo as he worked to fix the mangled lighting. Tomura was surprised, he hadn’t realized it had been so bad.

        They were almost to his class when his foot caught on something and he tripped and was sent sprawling on the carpeted floor. Laughter filled the hallway. Tomura groaned, disoriented. 

        “Wow retard, are you so stupid that you can’t walk straight?” he heard a familiar voice jeer. Bruce. Tomura sat up and tried to collect his papers from where they’d been scattered. The bully continued, “It’s no wonder that you hang out with those freaks, they’re the only ones who’ll-” Desperately, Tomura tried to tune him out.  This wasn’t anything new, he’d been antagonized before. People like Bruce just wanted a reaction. If he stayed quiet maybe he’d just go away?

        A foot kicked him on his rear, and Tomura face planted. His face heated up with embarrassment. “Hey, you deaf and dumb?” Bruce crowed, “You should know better than to ignore me!”

        Suddenly, Tomura smelled burnt flesh and heard a bloodcurdling scream. He got to his feet and spun around, heart racing. Bruce looked like he was dancing. Like one of those frogs in old school cartoons his mother would let him watch sometimes. Standing over him was Hisashi, sparking wire in hand and dark eyes glacial. 

        “Hey kid, what the hell?!-” The electrician shouted, but Tomura didn’t listen.

        He tackled his brother to the floor, frantically trying to get him to stop, “Hisashi you’re hurting him!” Bruce collapsed to the floor with a wet thud once the electric current stopped animating his smoking body.

        Something hardened behind the teens eyes, “He was hurting you, how long has he been doing this?” Hisashi discarded his makeshift weapon, “When were you planning on telling me?”

        “I- I thought you already knew!” Tomura stammered, panic making everything too bright, too sharp.

        “Oh, but if I knew would you really think I’d just stand by and let him torment you?” Hisashi crooned, he cupped Tomura’s cheek with his left hand, “Truly, this is your fault for not telling me sooner, if you had I wouldn’t have needed to do something so drastic.”

        Tomura felt tears leap to his eyes as they widened, “What..?”

        “What is the meaning of this?!” Tomura heard Matron Abra yell, her voice growing louder as she drew closer.

        Seeing that the threat of bearing witness to a murder had passed, Tomura scrambled off his brother and rushed to see if Bruce was okay. The teen’s heart was beating. Thank God. Hisashi stood up, dusting his hands off on his jeans, “Well, you see dearest matron, poor Bruce here tripped on a stray tile and fell into one of the live wires. Really, you should fire this electrician, who leaves something so dangerous dangling around for someone to walk into?”

        Distantly, Tomura wondered if the electrician was related to Finn as he watched the man’s face rapidly shift between reds and violets. “Why you little-!”

        The man was cut off as the matron clutched the collar of Hisashi’s shirt - an impressive feat seeing as how he towered over her - and sneered, “How stupid do you think I am, brat?”

        Hisashi just raised an eyebrow in response. For a moment, Tomura thought he was about to be struck across the face.

        “Tomura,” Matron Abra said, as if just remembering he was there, “Come to my office after dinner, I’ll need your account of what happened. Go to class.”

        He was taken aback by her use of his first name, “Yes Matron Abra. What’s going to happen to my brother? Will Bruce be okay?”

        Her lip curled, “Did I tell you to stand here and ask questions with obvious answers like a slack-jawed moron? Go.”

        For once, Tomura did as he was told. He tried to steady his breathing to no avail. It was hard to believe that had just happened. Was this all really his fault? Couldn’t he have prevented this? He knew his older brother had poor impulse control. The preteen chewed on the inside of his mouth anxiously as he stood in front of his classroom door, just a few rooms down from where the incident had happened. He hesitated before opening it, the barrage of questions his peers would throw at him might be just as bad as what he just saw.

                                                -@~*^*~@-

        Hisashi hated small spaces. He hated the way his pulse quickened, how panic caught in his throat as he spent hours clawing desperately for an escape. 

        The first time he had been locked away was when he was five, when his father caught him crouching over a dead rabbit. Their apartment in Japan was small, cramped. It stood to reason that their closets would be too. No matter how much he cried, pleaded, begged, his father would look at him with that hardened look in his eyes. With disgust. It was something burned into his memory. He hadn’t understood it then. All he could focus on was the throbbing pain of rejection and betrayal. The days he spent there without food and water blurred together. The last he remembered of the incident was being let out before his mother returned home from a long business trip.

        It began to be a frequent occurrence after that. His mother would go away on business trips or vacations and he’d be shut into that closet over the tiniest infraction. All the while, his father would stand outside the door, vowing to fix him.

        When they moved to their house in America, before the economic crisis, the closet was traded for the basement. It was larger, yes, but the dark was just as oppressive and suffocating as the closet’s wooden walls. The damp, stagnant air would reek with the smell of his waste discarded into a bucket his father had left. A courtesy, the man had called it. From time to time his father would come into the room and turn on the light - a single lightbulb dangling from a wire - and read passages from the Bible. At the age of six, Hisashi grew angry. This wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this! He was a wild thing then, and would hiss and spit and scratch and bite when his father approached his underground prison. That was when the beatings started. He’d beat him on the head, on the torso, on the legs, on the arms with an old yellowing phonebook. The entire time he would rant about how broken Hisashi was, how ungrateful he was and how dare he. Resentment was cultivated within him then. He wanted to lash out, to hurt, to scream.  He’d inflict suffering on small animals, something that, contrary to popular belief, hadn’t started until after they moved. Their squeals and writhes gave his suffering form. An outlet. Gave him control over something outside of himself. Of course, after the third family pet disappeared, his father caught on to what was happening and his punishments grew much, much worse.

        This all came to a head when he was seven and his mother caught him in the act of burying their dog. When she confronted him about it he cried and wailed and wept, crushed by the weight of grief and guilt. That dog had been his. His father was right, Hisashi was broken. The imprisonments became more frequent, any time his mother wasn’t home and brother was preoccupied Hisashi would spend his time curled up in the basement, watching ants skitter across the cold stone floor. They sent him to therapy for a few years and he learned how to reign himself in, to appear perfectly normal so he could have more freedom. The therapy appointments stopped right before the economic crisis pushed them out of their house. His parents were overjoyed when his psychiatrist declared him miraculously cured. Hisashi wanted to wipe that smug look off of his father’s face. 

        When they drifted from shelter to shelter he took a sick sort of pleasure in watching his father suffer. In watching his cheeks grow gaunt and eyes dull as he got turned down from job after job. It was his brother and his aggressive optimism despite worsening illness that spurred Hisashi to action. Tetsuya and Hana could burn in hell for all he cared, but Tomura didn’t deserve this. Never this. That night, he’d stolen his first wallet.

        It should have been obvious that Matron Abra would have known the exact punishment to dole out. She had a talent for needling out weaknesses from those in her care. Hisashi sat in the janitor’s closet. It was dark, and cramped, and various cleaning supplies poked him at awkward angles. All of his concentration and willpower went towards keeping his breathing even, no matter how much he felt like he was teetering on the edge of a panic attack. 

        “You’re staying in here until you understand what you’ve done,” the matron had hissed when she shoved him into his new prison, a perfect echo of his father’s own words, “We’ll find a much more suitable punishment for you yet.”

        Hisashi didn’t want to mull on those last words. Agonizing over a future that had yet to pass would get him nowhere. He didn’t feel remorse for what had happened to Bruce, the brat had it long coming, and the wire was just convenient. If it hadn’t been there he would have settled for more… hands on measures. No one was allowed to harm what was his like that. He swallowed, thoughts once again snaking back to his current predicament. It was unfortunate that the closet was pitch black, there were no windows, no source of light, not even from the crack that should have been under the door. Otherwise, he’d be in the process of MacGyvering his way out by now.

        He buried his head in his knees and breathed deeply. Hisashi hated small spaces, the way the walls would close in, giving him the sensation of being buried alive. Of suffocating.

A/N: Alternate title: You fucked up a perfectly good villain is what you did, look at him, he has claustrophobia. I've been wanting to write this chapter for a while! I ended up writing most of it in two sittings (which is unusual because my attention span is terrible) then gave it a little polish yesterday. This weekend I planted some seeds to start a garden, our growing season is in the winter here, and I hope my babies survive this time. Anyways, I'm going to stop rambling. As always, feel free to leave a comment!

AO3

Next Chapter

[janekfan]

Stipulations

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366131/chapters/64217887

(Kind of heavy? Maybe? If you've experienced some of these themes? Or all of them? At once? I just love to project all over these characters soooo...sorry Jon. You must bear the brunt of my emotional ills :D

Basira is an interesting character to me. Like she's been kept in the dark, Jon has lied and been weird and is "eating" people's fears and I get it? But 177, oof. Take your victim blaming elsewhere! Especially considering she's used him for his powers before and is hypocritical when it comes to Daisy. So yeah. Got feels. Here they are all spilled over a page :D )

Weary, the avatar of the Beholding slipped between shadows in the Institute’s dark corridors, lingering at the door behind which were the key to relieving his acute suffering. He didn’t even notice that his trembling fingers were gripping the handle so tightly they ached, or that his face was pressed against the rough surface of the wood until a sharp sound from behind jolted him out of his ravenous longing.

“Jon.”

Basira. Judging from the livid expression on her face, she’d been repeating his name and was not well pleased with what she saw if the hand on her gun was any indication.

“Step. Away.” And the only reason he did, he could was the whisper of fear the Eye could sense, and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. “Stop.” Whatever was left of Jon obeyed, his own fear of her very real consequences overriding the desire to takefeedriptearsatiate hunger pangs so deep and ingrained that a part of him he couldn’t remember what it was anymore to not feel starved. Who was he without this need?

Who was he that Basira needed to be afraid of him?

“Ba--”

“Shut up.” He did, with the muted click of teeth and a dry swallow. Without the singular focus of what lay behind the door he felt shaky, weak. Like at any moment his legs would give way and he’d be left here on the floor. It happened sometimes. “What are you doing?” What was he doing? She turned from him. “Nevermind. Come with me.”

“Wh’where?” The fierce glare over her shoulder made him flinch and he followed her without any more questions into his office.

Oh.

“Sit down.” Gratefully. The last time she’d had him stand and, well.

“B’Basira.” He tried again, ashamed of the pleading note that crept into his voice. He wasn’t well. He. He didn’t want to do this but even so, her disgusted disappointment was cutting. He didn’t need to Know to know that she thought him pathetic, that she thought if only he was stronger they wouldn’t have this problem, this inconvenience. This was the only thing he was good for. If he could turn his powers into a tool for them then it proved there was still something human in him, right? Basira was helping him hold onto it, that’s why she asked this of him, because it was helping. From a folder under her arm she pulled a mugshot, sliding it across the desk. Jon didn’t look. He didn’t have to.

“Where is he?” He tried to resist, like she was the one who held the power of compulsion and not him, but he wanted to help. More than anything, he wanted to help fix what he’d done. The headache behind his eyes worsened when the Eye opened, demanding payment he didn’t have to give and dredging up what he needed to Know like drawing water from a depthless well. Static rose in a tide, angry, loud, greedy and he didn’t, there wasn’t enough left, like wringing blood from a stone.

Feed your god, or your god will feed on you.

Basira’s lead pooled on his tongue and fell from his lips and it tasted like ash and ink as the static finally overwhelmed him, rising in a wave, deafening, roaring, punishing him for daring to demand Knowledge for free.

Later. Minutes. Days. Weeks. Years later Jon woke to the rasp of a statement slipping under his door and he descended on it like a vulture, ugly and clawing, weeping with this taste of relief, no matter how small. He read it again and again, the metaphysical equivalent of licking his plate clean and when the static faded and the green was gone from his eyes, Jon jerked back to awareness with a sharp gasp, nauseated with dread realization. Curling up right where he was, Jon covered his face in both hands, stifling his noise and hiding his tears even though no one was left but him.

Hollow in his very bones, like a bird, Jon wished more than anything to fly away from this prison, to somewhere, anywhere, that did not hurt. He wandered familiar halls as an apparition of hunger, subsisting on sips of air and the dust of infinite statements and it felt like punishment. To be kept alive by the Beholding even as it killed him letter by word by sentence by paragraph by--

The tea kettle. Cold. Like him. Frozen and shivering and missing so badly his heart throbbed painfully in his narrow chest. Jon ended up here more often than he wanted to admit. It was a comfort. Security. The last remnant of someone who tolerated him, proof someone had once known him enough to care for him.

Someone else he’d thrown away.

Despite their strained relationship, he was so thankful he still had Basira, that she hadn’t left him in this place alone, even though he knew she couldn’t leave because of him. But he’d always been selfish; there was no reason would that change now. But he could make it up to her. If he was good, if he was helpful, she would reward him and that was more kindness than he deserved. Because he wasn’t supposed to have statements anymore. He was beating this “addiction” she called it. If he could be strong, she wouldn’t have to keep them under lock and key and she knew he wasn’t. He was lucky she was there to do this for him. To protect him when everyone else had gone.

On the days where he couldn’t make it to the tea kettle, Jon lay as still as possible in his office, the migraine caused by demands he didn’t have the resources to spend and spent anyway so bad it took up all the space he had left for worrying about other things. On those days, the hunger was almost quiet, body too full of aches for any one part of him to direct his attention.

Then he lost his ribs. No. Not lost. He had one. Gave the other away. For Daisy. For Basira and he walked into the earth with every intention of rescuing a very important person. The Buried, the Choke, took all the hungry away and replaced it with fear and when he found Daisy and hooked their fingers together in the damp filth of this place, this eternal coffin unending, he never let go.

And still he failed her.

Until he was saved by the familiar hum and hiss of the tape recorders burrowed into his ears and refused to be ignored and they walked out.

Mostly whole.

Daisy. His salvation. His chance to prove he could still be good, passed triumphantly into Basira’s waiting arms. Despite himself, Jon knew he was beaming as much as he still could, hoping for a morsel of praise, the yearning for it almost as debilitating as the emptiness inside him. There was nothing, as he knew there would be, as Basira whisked Daisy away for medical attention and assessment which of course, was a much higher priority than soothing the ego of a monster. The room reeked of the Lonely, made his skin itch and his blood burn because he recognized a familiarity, had laid unconscious claim to it as an assistant. He was the Archivist. It was his job to protect his assistants and though he’d done a piss poor job of it thus far, it didn’t stop him from wanting to unleash his latent power on such a brazen entity that dared touch what was his. He would very much enjoy taking it apart when the time came.

Shaking his head to clear it of these new and aggressive thoughts, Jon stumbled away to clean up, ready to retreat into his sanctuary and rest for a little while until he could be useful again.

It was no longer the kettle he visited. It was the door.

Locked.

Barred.

Basira had forgotten him in favor of Daisy. Of course, she needed her. And didn’t need him for leads and without that slim hope he might get a statement out of it, he found himself going a bit mad with hunger. He Knew where they were in the building, none of them could leave it for long, and the last ounces of his dwindling control were funneled into stopping himself begging for her help.

Basira didn’t, she wouldn’t like that.

Calm. Quiet. Useful. Out of the way. He could be those things. She liked those things.

Jon couldn’t leave the door. Not now when the proximity quelled the myriad whispers overlapping in his mind like a thousand trains of thought. If he listened hard enough, curled up close enough, he could hear them tucked away in their folders and envelopes nestled in boxes, rows of boxes, so many boxes he could eat and eat until, until maybe--

“What are you doing?” With sore, heavy eyes Jon looked up into Basira’s harsh and unforgiving stare and wished for a glimpse of understanding or kindness. “What have you done to your hands?” His hands? It wasn’t him examining his torn up fingers, skin slowly knitting back together, it wasn’t him feeling the twinges of splinters dug in under his broken nails or noticing the smears of red, ruby, rust blood adorning the door like an animal tried to claw their way out. But it was him. Wasn’t it? Trying to claw his way in.

And he didn’t remember doing it.

“I...I, I d’d’dunno.”

“You “dunno?”” She didn’t believe him. And why would she when all he’d done is lie. Like a cat, he was lifted by the bunched up collar at the back of his neck, pushed, stumbling, down the corridors and held at arm's length. Even so, the warmth from her hand, the electric shock her touch sent racing down his spine was heady and distracting. He hadn’t been touched in so long and far too soon it was over as she shoved him into his chair in his office in his wing in his cage of his own making before backing away and locking the door behind her.

Quiet, quiet, quiet.

If he was quiet she would let him out. He just needed to be patient. That’s all. He was selfish, taking time away from Daisy when she needed it most. Basira did the right thing, protected him from himself. He was lucky to have someone who cared like that, to make the hardest decisions for him and so sorry that he kept causing her problems.

He curled beneath his desk, the small space comforting and contained, keeping all his pieces together as he lost hold of them one by one. So tired, so sick, he tried to sleep and it just wouldn’t come where he was huddled around the aching empty abyss in his body. It was all he could think about, a statement, just one. Please. Anything, a taste. Pacing like a caged tiger when he had a rare burst of frenetic energy, laying on the floor of his office when he collapsed, tugging listlessly at the handle of the door. Crying, crying, crying in his hiding spot but always silent. It wouldn’t do to be heard. Unseen and not heard. That was the best way. And then she would let him out.

She always let him out.