#like it still hurts...it hurts so badly...

[bro-atz]

sore all over

in which: san hates seeing you miserable during your period, and he wants to help any way he can.

pair: san/afab!reader

word count: 2.2k

content: smut, pwp, nicknames (baby), established relationship, lowkey kinda self-indulgent shhh, period sex, safe sex, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: thank you @k-hotchoisan @ja3hwa @temptaetions @flurrys-creativity @mercif4l for the input (and the validation i lowkey needed to write this lol)

Not going to lie, San was a little worried when you didn't get out of bed all day. Well, you technically did get up to drag yourself to the bathroom every so often, but then you immediately went back to bed. He knew that you were in a lot of pain because of your period, but he didn't realize that you were going to be completely out of commission that day.

Usually, your periods didn't hit you that hard, but this time around, it was like you were being stabbed in the uterus over and over again. Your entire body was aching like there was no tomorrow, and you truly thought it was going to be over for you because no matter what you did, you were in a world of pain. Hot packs didn't help, painkillers didn't help— nothing was working to alleviate your pain. So, you just curled yourself up into a ball and hugged a pillow to your body while burying your face in the pillow.

"Baby?" San asked as he approached you on the bed slowly from behind you. "Are you okay?"

"No," you mumbled into the pillow. "I wanna die."

"Don't say things like that, baby," San said with a frown.

"How about I kick you in the balls, then you talk?" you couldn't help but retort. "You would wanna die, too, wouldn't you?"

San shivered at the thought of anything hurting his crotch. He shook his head to keep himself from derailing from his original thought and said, "Well, I'm here to help you, baby. Can I do anything else to help you?"

You tried turning to face him, but your back was so sore that it hurt when you moved even a millimeter. Still laying on your side, you grunted in slight pain as you pulled your shirt up slightly and asked, "Can you massage my back for me please? My lower back?"

"Of course I can," San replied.

San knelt on the bed, his knees on either side of you at first as he waited for something, although you had no idea what until he spoke again.

"Shouldn't you lay on your stomach for me to massage your back, baby?"

You huffed in frustration, but before you could even contemplate turning, San said, "Never mind. Don't move— I think I can still massage you well from the side."

"You sure?"

"Yes, baby," San said as he left a light kiss on your temple. "I want you to feel comfortable."

San ended up lying on the bed right behind you, his warm hands resting on the small of your back. He pressed his thumbs into the dimples on your back, and you groaned. It was still painful, but the pressure from his thumbs did alleviate some of the pain, so it was worth the momentary suffering.

Every time San pressed his fingers into your back, you groaned and sighed, the massage actually working better than the hot pack did. You found yourself pushing your body towards his magic touch, sighs of pleasure tumbling out of your mouth as his massage continued.

What you didn't realize, though, was that San was getting harder with every passing second because your moans were incredibly sensual. He knew that you were in pain and suffering because of your period, but he so badly wanted to fuck you in that moment because you sounded so fucking sexy to him with your constant moaning and groaning.

Now that the dull, throbbing pain in your back was slightly relieved, you felt your breasts get more sore. You dropped the pillow you were hugging to the floor and tried to massage your own breasts, but your hands were too weak to get the same level of pressure that San was using on your back. So, you asked, "Can you... Can you also massage my breasts, please?"

"Of course, baby. Whatever you want," San murmured.

San's hands slithered up your shirt, his palms resting flat on your ribs, his fingers brushing your underboob. As he hugged you from behind, he pulled you closer to him, your back flush against his chest. He then gripped your breasts gently, his fingers pressing into your sore breasts and starting to massage them. However, when you moaned in slight frustration, he immediately used more power and gripped your breasts tightly. As he did so, his fingers brushed past your nipples, making you moan loudly and erotically as hell. Embarrassed, you covered your mouth, your face heating up.

"That was so cute, baby," San teased as he buried his face in your hair. "Can you make that noise again for me? Please?"

"N-No. Shut up," you rejected.

Despite you rejecting him, San was determined to make you moan like that again.

"S-Sannie," you moaned when his fingers started pinching your nipples. "I-I'm really sensitive right now, baby..."

"Do you want me to stop, then?" he asked you, his breath tickling your neck and his low voice tickling your brain.

"God, no... Don't stop..."

San chuckled. He pinched the slightest bit harder before tugging on your nipple. You arched your back and sighed sensually as he continued to tug. You reached back for his head and ran your fingers through his hair. You gripped the roots of his hair and tugged his head back slightly whenever he rubbed your nipples in his fingers.

Your eyes began fluttering the more he massaged, and you completely closed your eyes when you felt him begin to leave small little kisses in the nook of your neck. You were thoroughly enjoying his massage and got sucked into your own little world of pleasure, only for your eyes to fly wide open when he pressed his pelvis into your ass.

"Sannie, you're turned on right now?" you couldn't help but giggle as you asked.

You managed to reach back and cup his clothed hard-on in your hand, the man moaning slightly as you did so. His breathing hitched as he replied, "How can I not be when I'm touching you like this... And while you're moaning like that...?"

Finally, thanks to his hard work, your soreness was relieved just enough for you to turn in his arms. You palmed his cock over his pants and whispered, "How about I help you with this, then? It's my turn to help you, after all."

"Actually," San said slowly before gulping nervously. "I think there's a way we can help each other out, baby..."

"What do you mean?"

You were honestly left completely shocked when San suddenly got up from the bed and disappeared from your bedroom. However, moments later, San returned with a couple of towels and a condom.

"Do you think you can get off the bed for a second, baby?" San asked you.

"W-What— You can't be serious right now, San," you said in disbelief, your eyes wide.

"I read online that having sex on your period should help with your cramps," he explained to you.

"But— Won't the blood freak you out?" you questioned.

"It's a natural thing, baby. Why would I be freaked out?"

"It'll get all over you, and it'll stain the bed sheets! Also, it's dirty—"

"That's what the condom and towels are for," he interrupted you. "Don't worry, baby. We don't have to if you don't want to, but I think we could at least try it out."

Honestly, you had read the same information online about the benefits of having sex on your period, and it did cross your mind to ask your boyfriend to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but you didn't think he would be open to having sex when you were bleeding; so him being so willing to have sex with you on your period without you even asking kind of freaked you out a bit, and you would've probably pushed back a little harder had it not been for your hormones turning you on earlier when he was massaging your breasts.

You agreed, and San immediately set up the bed. He laid the towels down on the bed and removed the comforter and pillows to make sure they wouldn't accidentally get stained. He had you strip down to nothing before having you lay down on the bed.

As you laid on the towels, you were already worried about bleeding onto them, and you couldn't help but fidget. Noticing the slightly stressed look on your face, San quickly removed his own clothes and rolled the condom on his twitching, hard cock before straddling you. His fingers held your chin gently, forcing you to look at him as he lowered his body onto yours.

"Baby, don't think about it as blood. Think of it as lube, only red," he said calmly. "And if you're so worried about the color, then just close your eyes, okay?"

With a soft exhale, you nodded. Your eyes fluttered shut as San got closer to you, his lips meeting yours. He kissed you softly and slowly, your mind melting as his kisses got more sensual. You didn't have a single care or worry with the way San was kissing you in that moment, and you were so out of touch from everything else that you didn't realize he was rubbing the tip of his cock along your cunt.

San pushed his cock into you slowly but easily, his cock filling you up. You moaned against his lips, your hands clutching the towels underneath you as you started unintentionally getting nervous again. As a result, you couldn't help but clench your cunt, and of course, San felt your nervousness.

"Baby," San interrupted your chain of kisses with a soft sigh. "Relax..."

His hands reached for your arms. He brought them up and laced his fingers with yours. He kissed you again, and when he felt your cunt finally relax, he started moving. His waist rolled into yours slowly, and the dull pain you felt earlier started melting away thanks to the friction from his cock. You couldn't help but sigh with relief the more he moved in and out of you.

"You feeling better, baby?" San asked you, his forehead pressing against yours.

"A little bit, yeah," you admitted softly.

"Then, can I move a little faster?"

San lifted his face so he could look into your eyes. You opened your eyes and nodded before closing your eyes again— technically, San was blocking your line of sight, but you were still worried that you were going to see red, so you closed them again. San buried his face in the nook of your neck, his breath hitting your collarbone. He started rutting into you a little faster, making you sharply inhale and moan while exhaling.

The wet sound of his waist meeting yours repetitively was honestly freaking you out a little bit. No matter how you tried to think about it, you knew that the wet sound was not your arousal or lube, but before you could spiral thinking about it, San moved his lips to your ear, and he started whispering sweet nothings into your ear, drowning out the sound of him fucking you.

Your entire body started shifting along the towels as San not only sped up but started thrusting harder. He let go of your hands to hook his arms under your legs, pushing them upwards, easing the strain on your lower back as he quite literally bent you in half. You could hear him grunting and moaning softly in your ear with every thrust; you could tell he was close, and honestly, you didn't realize you were as well until he grabbed your breasts again.

San intentionally rubbed his fingers against your nipples, the pleasure from how sore they were building rapidly within you. It was when San rammed his hips into yours as hard as he could, hitting your cervix with the tip of his cock, did you cum. You moaned loudly and pushed your head back while arching your back as you came, San's cock still buried inside you.

As you came, you clenched your cunt tightly, giving San's cock the right amount of pressure for him to cum as well. He moved up so he could hold your waist tightly and thrust a couple more times into your cunt. He groaned and sighed, meeting your same decibel as he filled the condom he had on his cock with his seed. Hs cock twitched and throbbed inside you as he finished, and he dropped his head back into the nook of your neck.

The two of you were breathing heavily at that point. You remained in a puddle on the bed as San got up to take the condom off and properly dispose of it before returning to your side. He wiped his fingers on one of the towels as you finally reopened your eyes to look right into his eyes, still afraid to see the damage done from him fucking you during your period.

"We should get cleaned up, baby," San said. "Why don't I help you?"

San tucked his arms beneath your back and legs, lifting you off the bed. You held onto his shoulders as he walked you to the bathroom.

"Besides," he continued. "We could always go for round two in the shower. Right, baby?"

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[whoreforwonwoo]

Onggg but imagine hard dom!scoups or hard dom!wonwoo like what would they be interested in? But one thing ik for sure is that they're both interested in spanking, edging and overstimulation and at tye end of the night? You're crying with tears falling down your face and pussy battered,,

I was wondering if you'd be want to write what type of hard!dom they were? Would they be interested in bdsm? Bc as far as ik its always the quiet kids and c'mon scoups?? Oh he's just scoups

Omg. I think both wonu and coups would be interested in the same thing but a little different.

Hard dom!Wonwoo

• Spanking: it's a must. There wont be any punishment without spanking. Don't underestimate him though. Even if his hands are thin and not as big. He is skilled. He knows how to make it hurt. His hands won't stop beating your ass until it's sore and red. And ofc he WILL definitely use other tools like the paddle and the whip. He won't stop even if your crying and begging. Even when you're at your limit and close to passing out from the intense pain. He won't care. He needs to drive the lesson into your head. And he'll do anything to do it.

• BDSM: OK but I don't think he is the person to be into bdsm to much. But. If he needs to be rough with you in a particular way. He will use blind folds and handcuffs ofc.

• Overstimulation: OK. But I know that Wonwoo would definitely be interested in this. Like how can he not. He can over stimulate you almost everyday. But let's talk about those nights when he's a little too worked up. He'll tie your legs to the bed and Overstimulate you with a vibrator to the clit and his finger. He won't stop until you're sobbing and your legs are shaking badly. If you move too much. He would slap your pussy or pinch your clit hard. By the end of the night, your pussy is swollen and beaten up. But he'd still fuck you for the next 2 hours on his dick. So yeah...good luck to you.

• Breath play: something this man is totally good at. He would be pounding into you from behind and would just snake his hand up to your throat and squeeze it tightly. He would make you hold your breath for so long. Until you're struggling and and almost at the verge of passing out. He would slowly release your neck and let you cough and choke as you cry out when he starts to pick up his pace again.

Hard dom!Scoups.

• Spanking: this man isn't gonna let you go without spanking. His hands and fingers are big and thick. Don't think he'll go easy on you. He's serious. If you're already across his lap. That means you're in for a long beating. He won't stop until you're sobbing and begging.

• Bdsm: this man is all about bdsm. He wouldn't use tools on you. Nor would he use handcuffs and blind folds. But. He definitely has a good body to use on you. Soooo. I think he would be into fisting. Like mannnnn. He would just fist you one day out of frustration. And no begging and pleading is gonna stop him from pounding his fist inside you. Your pussy forcefully opened by him. It's painful yet so delicious.

• Deep throat: Something I think everyone knows Scoups would be into. I can just imagine him fucking your throat deeply and warning you to not use your teeth. But no matter how hard you tried. Your teeth only touched his dick inside you, and he's gonna make a REALLY BIG DEAL out of it. Trust me. He would slap you across the face hard and squeeze your cheeks together. "Wtf did I tell you. Huh?" He would ask before giving you another firm slap. Another thing is that he's BIG AF. He won't care if you choke on his dick tho. Your his cocksleeve. So he'll use you like one.

• Overstimulation: Even if he isn't into edging that much. He is into overstimulation. He would use his tongue on you for hours. Making you cum almost 4 times. After that he'll fuck you in all the positions possible. Trust me. At the end of the day. You've came so much you couldn't even cum anymore. But he won't care. He would spread your legs again, ignoring your pleas and cries for him to stop. He would force orgasm after orgasm after you until you've passed out.

Damnnn....I think I might make a oneshot out of this heheh.

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part two ]

[ a continuation of part one ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw

word count: 1875

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

in any other circumstances, you wouldn’t even dare to imagine holding a man you had just met the same day.

but stan … was different.

when your eyes first locked with his from across the counter, you could tell that he was hurting, and badly. he was trying so hard to cover it up, and it worked for the most part — after all, up until now, nobody had cared about him enough to see through his facade.

but you saw straight through him. and not only that, you actually did something about it. you offered to care for his needs, at your own expense.

his father only ever saw him as an expense.

so, there you were, sitting at the bar, holding onto the maroon fabric of his jacket as he trembled like a leaf.

the scent of cigarette smoke and pine needles was strong in your nose as he buried his face into your shoulder. you could feel his stubble scratching against your skin.

there was a part of you that wanted to speak up and comfort him, but ultimately you decided against it. you didn’t quite know enough about him to be able to speak to his situation.

after a few minutes, stan seemed to be calming down. his breathing became even, although he was still clinging onto you tightly.

“i …”

his voice was cracked and raspy.

“i … screwed up. i don’t … know how i’m gonna fix it.”

your brow furrowed as you listened to him.

“y’know, stan … i don’t know what you’re going through. but can you do me one favor?”

“... yeah?”

“look at me.”

slowly, the brunet lifted his head, pulling himself back just enough to be able to look at you. his eyes were red and puffy, but his gaze was sincere.

you looked back at him, determined. “i’m gonna help you out.”

stan didn’t know how to react. he swallowed a lump in his throat, scanning your face as if to check whether you were lying to him or not.

“... you don’t … hafta do that. i brought it on myself—”

“i don’t care.”

his eyes widened.

“if i can keep somebody from a worse fate, then i’ll do it. let me give you a place to stay, even if it’s just for a little while.” you smiled warmly, squeezing his arm for emphasis. “you shouldn’t have to feel like your life means nothing.”

“… you’re an angel.”

those words made you blush. “i–i wouldn’t say that—”

uh-oh, he’s smirking now. chuckling lowly, he let go of you so that he could cross his arms over his chest.

“what, are you tryna tell me you’re not sent from heaven? think about it. you’re saving my biscuits here, toots.” there was serious gratitude in his tone, despite his teasing. at least he seemed to be in a better mood. “i think i’ll hafta call you that more often, yeah? angel.”

you laughed nervously, trying desperately to distract yourself from your red hot face. “really? h–how interesting …”

stan snickered again, gazing at you for a moment longer with fondness dancing in his brown eyes. then, glancing at the wall clock, he realized the time. “damn, it’s midnight. i should probably stop bothering you ‘nd get to bed, huh?”

“huh, it is late … i should sleep, too.”

“then it’s decided. i’ll see ya tomorrow.” he hummed, standing from his seat and stretching out his arms before cracking a soft smile and turning around to walk towards his room.

you were left to watch him leave, your eyes following his footsteps as he made his way back up the staircase.

approximately eight hours later, you awoke to the sunlight gently filtering through your bedside window, causing your eyelids to flutter open.

the events of last night came flooding back into your mind.

i guess i’ll be seeing a whole lot more of him …

sitting up in bed, you yawned, rubbing your face sleepily.

“mm … what time is it …”

the alarm clock on your nightstand read 8:02 am.

shoot, i overslept—oh, wait. it’s my day off.

that little fact was enough to put you in a good mood for the morning. humming happily to yourself, you began to get ready for the day, picking out a comfortable outfit and a few accessories.

descending two flights of stairs, you wandered into the lobby of your inn, greeting a few different patrons and employees with a cheerful wave. it was breakfast rush hour for the kitchen, and you could catch glimpses of your executive chef running to and fro behind the bar.

he seems pretty busy today. maybe i’ll grab a bite to eat somewhere? hmm, but the question is where …

just then, your train of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone calling out your name.

you whipped around to locate the voice’s source, and there was stan, walking towards you at a leisurely pace. a radiant grin broke out on your face.

“stan! hey, good morning! how’d you sleep?”

raising a brow, he chuckled at your energy. “well, good morning, sunshine. i slept like a baby, thanks t’ you.”

“ah, don’t mention it.” you smiled, placing your hands on your hips. “i’m just glad you could sleep.”

the two of you looked at each other for a second.

why did his stare make you feel butterflies in your chest?

probably unimportant ………… right? yeah.

clearing your throat, you averted your gaze before you started to blush again. “so, um … have you had anything to eat yet?”

“nah. i was just about to, though.” to be frank, he had totally forgotten that he had access to breakfast until you just mentioned it.

“sounds goo–”

you paused mid-sentence, remembering something.

“actually … i was planning on eating out for breakfast today. would you wanna join me? since the kitchen is bustling and all …”

oh, wow. did you really just ask him out to breakfast? it didn’t hit you until after you had said it out loud that it could be considered that way. oops. was that weird? were you weird? augh.

stan had half a mind to tease you senseless for how cute that was, but after thinking about it, he decided against it. he wouldn’t wanna ruin his chances at having breakfast with you.

“you kiddin’? i’d love that.” he nodded his head, flattered and amused. “not many people can say they’ve had breakfast with an angel, ya know.”

your ears turned red.

i walked right into that one. darn you and your smooth talking …

“oh, let’s just go already.” embarrassed, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him along towards the front door. stan laughed heartily, allowing himself to be led.

it wasn’t long before you arrived at one of your favorite diners in town, known for their homey atmosphere and good breakfast. walking into the building, you were met with the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee. the two of you breathed it in simultaneously, sighing.

“reminds me of breakfast as a kid.” stanley mused, thinking of the days when he and ford would poke at each other’s food and giggle. you smiled, watching his expression.

“c’mon, this way.” you beckoned him over towards the table you usually sat at, and a familiar waitress walked over to you as you settled in.

“good morning, loyal patron~ i see you’ve brought a plus one today, yes?”

“uh—yes. don’t go jumping to conclusions, though …”

the waitress grinned innocently. “of course. now, what can i get for you two?”

stan wound up ordering pancakes with bacon and eggs, while you settled on some waffles and a mug of coffee. you could have sworn you saw that waitress giggling to her coworker about something as she went on her way, but you shook your head to yourself in an attempt to ignore it. instead, you directed your attention towards the man sitting across from you.

“so, i’m guessin’ you’re a regular here?” he tilted his head, leaning back against his seat. there was a smirk plastered onto his face that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“you would guess correctly.” you hummed, picking up the salt shaker on the table and fidgeting with it absentmindedly. “have you ever been?”

a rumbling sigh escaped his lips.

“nah … i’m not exactly from around here.”

your gaze was trained on him. so far, he’s kept a laid-back demeanor, not to mention that little smirk that drives you insane—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was way more depth to his character than he let on.

“yeah? where’re you from?”

“...”

there was a brief silence. his chocolate brown eyes, warmly lit by the sun, stared into your soul.

“i’m from new jersey.”

your eyebrows shot up. “from jersey? wow … you’re far from home, then.”

“it’s not home anymore.”

you opened your mouth to say something, but closed it again. stan was staring out the window, a frown creasing his face.

“i … sorry. sensitive topic?”

he turned back to you, a faint blush appearing on his face. “uh … well, yeah, i guess … it’s okay.”

“come again?”

“... it’s, uh—i–i’m okay, if it’s you.”

he was a darker shade of red now, scratching awkwardly at his stubble. he felt so … vulnerable. but somehow, he was okay with it.

at that moment, the waitress came back with plates of food. “order up!”

you watched as you were served, salivating as you saw golden waffles covered in butter and syrup smiling up at you. it didn’t take long for the both of you to start digging in.

“... wow.” after the first few bites, stan had stars in his eyes. “it tastes just like ma’s.”

“was your mom a good cook?”

he snorted. “well, she wasn’t exactly a michelin star chef, but she could make some damn good flapjacks. at least, i sure thought so.” putting another forkful of pancake into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully. you simply propped your head on one hand, watching.

“i always told her she could sell ‘em for a fortune.”

his tone was soft with nostalgia.

“she just laughed. prob’ly cause i was five when i told her that.”

“they must’ve been really something, huh?”

“they were. all my life, i dreamt of selling somethin’ as good as that. i haven’t stopped trying, either.”

he scoffed.

“most of ‘em have been a bust.”

you hummed softly in understanding.

“you’re still trying, though. that’s worth more than any failed effort.”

he looked up from his plate. “... you think so?”

“sure i do.” lifting your mug, you took a sip of coffee. “perseverance is worth a lot.”

stan could barely handle your uplifting words. his heart was squeezing in his chest. covering his flustered face with one hand, he leaned against the table, grumbling.

“... an angel … God sent an angel.”

“what?”

“what? nothing.”

a few hours later, you were walking side by side back to the inn. stan couldn’t help but admire the way the fall breeze tousled your hair, and the gentle smile on his face was speaking his thoughts out loud.

he’d never known that somebody this beautiful could even exist.

maybe ...

maybe he hasn’t hit rock bottom quite yet.

end

author's note:

thank you for all the love on this fic !!! :D

part three ....????? any part three hopefuls out there?

i gotta keep cooking.

if you have any fic or headcanon requests, hit up my askbox! <3

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[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

Louis + his ways of saying "I love you" to Lestat

"Is this an offer, Louis? Have you come back to me, as lovers say?" His eyes darkened and he looked away from me. "I'm not mocking you, Louis," I said. "You've come back to me, Lestat," he said evenly, looking at me again. "When I heard the first whispers of you at Dracula's Daughter, I felt something that I thought was gone forever --" He paused. - The Vampire Lestat

There was so much I wanted to say to him, to ask him. Yet I couldn’t find the words really, or a way to begin. He had always had so many questions; and now he had his answers, more answers perhaps than he could ever have wanted; and what had this done to his soul? Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience. And then, like a fool, I came out with it. “Do you love me now?” I asked. He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. “Yes,” he said. - Queen of the Damned

He grew reflective again and very sad. It almost hurt me to look at him. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but that would only have made him furious. "I love you," he said softly. I was amazed. "You're always looking for a way to triumph," he continued. "You never give in. But there is no way to triumph. This is purgatory we're in, you and I. All we can be is thankful that it isn't actually hell." - The Tale of the Body Thief

I came towards him, planted my hands on his desk and looked into his face. "I was so sure you would understand this. And by the way, I wasn't born a monster! I was a born a mortal child, the same as you. Stronger than you! More will to live than you! That was cruel of you to say." "I know. It was wrong. Sometimes you frighten me so badly I hurl sticks and stones at you. It's foolish. I'm glad to see you, though I dread admitting it. I shiver at the thought that you might have really brought an end to yourself in the desert! I can't bear the thought of existence now without you! You infuriate me! Why don't you laugh at me? You've done it before." - The Tale of the Body Thief

"Have you suffered in my absence?" I asked, looking back at the altar. Very soberly he answered, "It was pure hell." I didn't reply. "Each risk you take hurts me," he said. "But that is my concern and my fault." "Why do you love me?" I asked. "You know, you've always known. I wish I could be you. I wish I could know the joy you know all the time." "And the pain, you want that as well?" "Your pain?" He smiled. "Certainly. I'll take your brand of pain anytime, as they say." - The Tale of the Body Thief

I stopped. I put my arm around him. I held him close to me. “I’m Lestat,” I said in a low voice. “Your Lestat. I’m the same Lestat you’ve always known, and no matter how I’m changed, I’m still that same being.” “I know,” he said warmly. I kissed him. I pressed my lips to his and I held this kiss for a long silent moment. And then I gave in to a silent wave of feeling, and I took him in my arms. I held him tight against me. I felt his unmistakable silken skin, his soft shining black hair. I heard the blood throbbing in him, and time dissolved, and it seemed I was in some old and secret place, some warm tropical grotto we’d once shared, ours alone in some way, with the scent of sweet olive blossoms and the whisper of moist breeze. “I love you,” I whispered. In a low intimate voice, he answered: “My heart is yours.” - Prince Lestat

I couldn’t believe I’d heard right. I stared at him as helplessly as I had in the hallway of the townhouse when I’d first seen him, trying to grasp what he had said. He leaned close to me, and he put his hand on my arm. “ ‘Wither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people’; and because I have no other god and never will, you shall be my god.” - Prince Lestat and The Realms of Atlantis

When I was finally led down the stairs, Louis came with me. In the darkened passage before my resting place, he embraced me and held tight to me, his lips pressed to my ear. I was aware of my hands moving over his hair, embracing his neck, drawing him ever closer, in a way I had never done in our long years in New Orleans. We joined in the posture of lovers, brothers, fathers with sons. “I love you with my whole soul, and I will always love you,” he confided to me. “You are my life. I have hated you for that and love you now so much that you’ve been my instructor in loving. And believe me when I say you will survive this, and that you must for all of us. You will survive because you always have and you always will.” - Blood Communion

[sonotpattismith]

My Lost, Fearless Leader.

(Yuta Okkotsu x Reader)

As the men masqueraded, I hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned, because love’s never lost once perspective is earned.

word count: 9k

warnings: angst, me never making it easy for poor Yuta

a/n: inspired by Peter by Taylor Swift. Lowkey a self-insert as I too am a therapist, tee hee. I hope y’all enjoy it, I absolutely love writing for Yuta even though I make him suffer every time 🥹🫶🏻

masterlist.

Dear Okkotsu,

I know you only landed last week, but you left me with so many questions when you said goodbye. At the risk of sounding too forward, I thought for a moment that you would kiss me before you left. You had a look in your eye, one I’d never seen before, and I even thought I saw you square your shoulders like you were about to charge into battle.

Inumaki offered to give me your number when I asked about you, but I feared too quick of a response if I were to text you. After all, I love to torture myself. Somehow a letter felt safer, more disconnected. Still, I hope you have the time to write back to me while you’re out there growing as you so desperately wanted to.

You still have me in your corner here in Tokyo.

With kind regards,

L/N.

Dear L/N,

I hope this letter gets to you soon, though I know it has some way to go— I don’t want to leave you waiting again. I wondered if I should just text you, but you’re right, maybe this is best for wimps like me who were too scared to kiss the girl they like before traveling oceans away. There’s more courage in me hiding behind a pen than I ever had standing in front of you.

No matter how badly I wanted to show you how I felt, I didn’t feel worthy enough when I looked at that scar on your face— one I should have been able to prevent. There’s so much for me to learn about this world, and Gojo-Sensei says Kenya is where I need to be. I trust him implicitly, and I only hope here I’ll be able to grow into someone worthy of coming back to all of you at Jujutsu High. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I hope to become someone worthy enough to indulge myself in you as well.

I hope you can find it in you to wait for me all the way in your corner of Tokyo.

Respectfully,

Okkotsu.

Dear Okkotsu,

You were right, your letter did travel far, and after two weeks, I feared I may not ever hear back from you.

What happened with Geto Suguru wasn’t your fault, and, if I remember correctly, you were the one that saved all of us that night. It breaks my heart that you feel you don’t have a place here with us. I never thought you needed to prove yourself, and if that’s the only reason you went thousands of miles away— then you should board the next flight back over.

If I had known it was the scar on my face that stopped you, I would have covered it just for you. No one else around here is willing to take the blame for me when I break one of Maki’s spears— that alone should earn you a spot right beside me over here. Speaking of, I hope the bump on your forehead has gone down.

Luckily for the both of us, patience is my best virtue, but I do hope you don’t make me wait terribly long. You don’t have to be the strongest.

Holding my breath,

Y/N.

Dear L/N,

Maybe eventually I’ll work up the courage to call you, but our weeks of waiting in between will just have to do for now.

I think you’re beautiful— regardless of your scar, and I hope I didn’t send the wrong message when I said it’s what stopped me. I only meant that it reminded me of the kind of guy that deserves your attention, one that has brought about more good than he has bad in his life.

I’ve hurt so many people, and it wouldn’t be right of me not to try to make up for the wrongs I’ve caused. It’s only been a month, but Miguel has taught me so much, and I’ve seen so many wonderful things. I’m not sure if you’re interested, but I’m sending you some pictures of all my favorite parts.

I hope Maki has been merciful to you, and, yes, my bump is gone. Still, the little scar there reminds me of you each time I see it. So, I suppose I should thank her.

We’ve been talking so much about me, but I want to hear how you’re doing back in your corner of the world. How have your classes been going? I almost miss hearing everyone arguing with Gojo-Sensei every morning.

I don’t want to be the strongest, but I want to be strong enough to be worthy of you. The last thing I want is to keep you waiting too long, but however long it takes for me to be able to make a mark on those who have shown such faith in me.

Thinking of you,

Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

Surely that’s not you in that picture beside the giraffe? It’s only been two months— what are they feeding you over there? I had to do a triple take. You look well, Okkotsu.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s really you behind that ink. You were never so bold when you were here. Do you have a ghostwriter? I have my doubts, but I still hope all those thoughtful words really are coming from you.

I can see how hard you’ve been working, and I hope you’re beginning to find in yourself the pride I and all us here at home have always had in you. I don’t think anyone blames you for the unfairness that’s clung to you thus far, and no one expects you to make up for any of it— at least I know I don’t. If you really insist on doing so though, maybe you can start by giving me a call every once and a while? I’m sure you're busy, but I’d love to hear your voice again.

Classes have been going well. We’re almost going into our second year now, and everyone still talks so fondly of you. We wish you were here to start the year with us. I certainly miss having someone who was equally as clueless when it came to this world— it felt like you were the last shred of normalcy I was hanging onto. It’s okay though, I suppose I have some growing to do too.

Also, you don’t need to be so formal with me, I think you’ve earned the first name basis. Unless of course, you need to build up the courage for that, too.

I only felt it was fair to send some pictures of all of us here as well— though they’re nowhere near as badass as your safari photos. Please keep sending them— I’ll cherish the ones I have here for now though.

Still waiting for you,

Y/N.

Three months following Yuta’s departure from Tokyo, you first received an actual call from him. You had just turned in for the night, muscles aching from the mission you and Maki had just returned from only an hour or two prior. Truthfully, you were having a difficult time with the added responsibility that was accompanying your new year at Jujutsu High.

Last year, at the very least, you had Yuta there who seemed on a fairly level playing field with you. Still, he held more of a determination to move forward in his life as a sorcerer than you did. After your encounter with Geto Suguru that had left you partially blinded in your right eye, it was difficult for you to find that gusto you had when you first arrived.

The deep lulls of slumber had just begun to penetrate your exhausted mind, and you could swear a more pleasant dream was just beyond your reach. When your phone began vibrating underneath your still cool pillow, your brows furrowed at the intrusion. The sound caused an electric-like jolt in your body that had you shooting up as if someone had just pulled the fire alarm. Calming your racing heart, you reached down to snatch the device up. Your eyes squinted to adjust to the blue light emitting from the screen, and you saw a number you didn’t recognize. Under the caller location though, it indicated that it was coming from Kenya.

Sitting up with a gasp, you gaped down at the device, uncertain excitement bubbling in your stomach and up your chest. Without a second thought, you swiped to answer the call. Amidst your anticipation of who you thought might be on the other line, you forgot to greet the caller.

“Um… uh- hello?”

A smile spread across your cheeks at the sound of his timid voice.

“A call from Kenya,” You began teasingly, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “I wonder who it could be.”

There was an abrupt shuffling on the other line, and you could already picture him pacing around whatever space he was currently occupying.

“You got me!” Yuta quipped nervously, quickly checking the time on his phone upon hearing the sleepy tone that laced your voice. It wasn’t too late over in Tokyo, and he figured if he didn’t call you now while he still had the nerve to do it, he never would. Okkotsu had determined during his time in Kenya that his confidence somehow peaked right after a successful mission. Naturally, this was when he calculated it would be the best time to call you with the lowest possibility of making a stuttering fool of himself. “Di-Did I wake you? I can call back another-”

“After you took three months to gather all that courage up?” You joked with a fond smile, reaching down to toy with the corner of your pillow. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “I think I can stay up for a few minutes.”

He was grateful, so eternally grateful that you couldn’t see the way the blood rushed up his neck and into his face. Pressing a cool hand against his cheek as if it would make the heat die down, he forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It had been too long already since he last spoke, and the silence on the call was becoming overbearing as he thought of anything to say.

“You there, Yuta?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh-- still here.” The boy chuckled pathetically, pounding his balled up fist against his thigh, willing himself to quit being such a loser. Shooting up to begin his short trek around his room once again, he took a deep breath. “I-I wanted to thank you. You know, for writing to me the past few months. I think they’ve been kind of motivating me, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, lying back down on your pillow to stare stupidly up at the ceiling of your dorm. In hearing that shy voice that you had been missing for so long, you had forgotten about the aching, abused muscles that had been assaulting you just minutes prior. In its place was the rushing endorphins of your child-like crush on the boy on the other line. “So, when you come back strong enough to beat Sensei’s ass, I can take partial credit, right?”

His soft laugh filled your once silent room, inciting the overwhelming butterflies in your stomach to erupt in a fluttering haze.

“It’ll all be you.” Yuta joked halfheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck in relief that he’d gotten past the awkward silence unscathed. He flopped back down onto his bed and looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. “Uh… speaking of Sensei, how is everything over there? The exchange event is coming up soon, right?”

This made your smile slowly wane.

“Yeah, it’s next month. There was some drama with the first years, but everyone else seems to be pretty excited.”

“Everyone else? It sounds like you’re not including yourself in there.”

You sighed gently. Yuta was always so determined about growing as a sorcerer, so these types of events were always right up his alley. Not to mention the manner in which he absolutely wiped out the sister school at last year’s event. It actually caused a bit of second-hand embarrassment to watch the whole ordeal play out— no matter how quickly it concluded. After the atrocities of the past few months though, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be excited for the goodwill event.

It wasn’t that long ago that you watched all your friends meet near death at the hands of Suguru Geto, and you weren’t too far behind. They had all seemingly moved on from it all so fast— all of them except for Yuta Okkotsu. It seemed that all it had done was given him more ammunition to spark his journey of self discovery. You wished it had had the same effect on you. In truth though, all it sparked was a fear that your life, along with your friends, was constantly at the mercy of a crueler fate than most your age would be subjected to.

It felt wrong. Yuta shouldn’t have felt the need to bear the weight of you and your friends’ injuries all on his own. He shouldn’t have needed to go off to search for some unknown answer to all the insecurities his grueling life had thrust upon him. Still, it was so important to him. You could see the way it gave him purpose, a will to keep going despite all that he’d been through. It wasn’t his fault, but you always wished you could have found that same purpose within slaying curses and putting your life on the line.

A soft call of your name on the other line pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts. Shaking your head, you attempted to lighten the mood.

“Last name again? So formal. I thought we were past that, Okkotsu.”

“Oh-- right, sorry.” He stammered out before trying your first name out on his lips. It was delicate in the way it rolled off his tongue, sending warmth straight through your chest. Recalling your sudden silence once his nerves subsided, his lips pulled pensively into a thin line. “Um, have you been doing okay? You know, since…”

Brows rising just a hair, you were shocked at how easily he read through your sudden change in tone. Your lip quivered into a slight frown. A deep breath was suddenly pushing down that biting urge you had to tear up.

“Yeah, I’ve been okay. Just… wish you were still here is all.” You confessed into the dark, lonely dorm room. “I think you were the only one who understood how overwhelming this all was.”

Yuta felt his chest constrict at your earnest confession. Part of him felt guilty for not being there, but he knew deep down that he was doing the right thing by building himself up before he allowed himself to come back— especially to you. Still, the boy knew where you were coming from. It wasn’t easy being the newcomer in a world where your peers had a fifteen year head start on.

The two of you understood each other—empathized with one another. You both strived to make sure the other was doing okay; whether that be sneaking out late at night to practice with one another in hopes you both wouldn’t make fools of yourselves in training the next day, or just being someone that the other could glance knowingly at when one of your classmates mentioned something it seemed that everyone else was privy to, except you two.

“I’m getting stronger everyday.” Yuta offered earnestly, a soft, empathetic smile playing on his lips— the kind you could just hear through his gentle tone. “And I know you are too. We’re gonna kick some major butt one day, y’know?”

The boy was relieved when your glittering laugh filled his speakers, and he found himself laughing along with you. A comfortable silence blanketed over you two, and for a moment it felt as though you were laying right beside him, your gentle breaths lighting a fire within his soul. The courage that he thought he had lost upon hearing your voice for the first time in months was slowly flooding back to him, and he began pensively rolling his bottom lip between his fingers.

“Hey,” Okkotsu called out feebly, resting his hand down on his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his fingers. Reaching down to your discarded letter beside him, he picked up the picture you’d sent along with it. It was of all the second years, and he wondered with a smile if you had Gojo-Sensei take it for you all, and, if so, how much he complained about not being included.

You stood in the middle of Inumaki and Maki, Panda standing proudly and towering behind you. His thumb reached out to graze softly over your face. In the photo, one of your hands was teasingly covering your right eye, and he blushed as he remembered your earlier conversation about that scar. You hummed in acknowledgment on the other line. “Did you mean it? You know… when you said you’d wait for me?”

“Did you mean it when you said you were gonna come back for me?” You countered quickly.

Yuta exhaled nervously, the churning in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out. Staring back at your smiling face in the photo, he nodded breathlessly.

“Of course, I meant it. I meant every word.”

“Then so did I.”

Yuta Okkotsu’s reassuring promise helped ground you in your studies of jujutsu for a while longer, but you could still feel the aching insistence in the back of your mind that told you this wasn’t where you were meant to be. Your friendship with the sorcerer continued to grow even over the thousands of miles that separated you.

He’d call you whenever he had the chance to, and you’d text him about updates on what all his friends had been up to without him. Although both Inumaki and Maki kept up with him regularly, he allowed you to retell stories he’d more often than not already heard from them.

He could tell that you were struggling to find and hold your place as a sorcerer. You always listened enthusiastically when he’d tell you about the new techniques he was learning or the missions he’d been sent on, nodding along on the other line and hanging onto every word he said. Still, when he’d await to hear the progress of your training or how your latest mission had gone, you didn’t have the same enthusiasm in your tone.

It had been almost a year since he’d been gone. The two of you had never implicitly discussed the nature of your relationship, but your lingering promise to each other seemed to be enough to keep your hearts locked safely away for the other’s return. As the months dragged on though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth staying in the world of jujutsu that seemed to so expertly traumatize you and your peers.

You insisted on video calling him for once, eager to once again put a face to the voice that had been filling your every night for the past few months. Maybe, you thought to yourself, if you saw those warm, inviting eyes again paired with that timid smile, you’d find it in you to hold out just a bit longer.

“Ca-Can you see me?” Yuta’s ever anxious voice filled your quiet room once again. The palm of his hand briefly covered the camera before it was moved away, and it appeared as though he had propped you up on a dresser of some sort. He stepped back, hunching over so his face was still in the frame, staring hesitantly into the screen.

A brief exhale of disbelief left you at the sight of him. He had changed so much over the past year; from the inches he’d sprouted up, to the new broadness of his lean shoulders, right down to his more maturely parted hair as it swayed in his face.

His features appeared sharper than when you’d last seen him, a testament to how much he’d grown physically as well as mentally. The dark circles you remember being everpresent under his long, midnight-blue eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and you wondered just how hard this Miguel character had been working him. Despite his apparent lack of sleep though, he grinned cheerfully upon seeing your face.

Forgoing your previous concern, an ecstatic smile of your own lit up your face as you took him in. You had always thought he had a sort of innocent, gentle cuteness to him, but time and knowledge seemed to have morphed those characteristics into the sharp, hauntingly striking ghost of the boy you once knew presented before you. For the first time since knowing him, you thought you felt more nervous than he did at the moment.

“Wow! You look--” He paused, a slight flush filling his face, and suddenly he was that timid boy again, staring down at you with the false promise of a kiss. Your heart melted at the sight. Yuta was still looking nervously back at you, mouth hanging open as if his mind was running faster than his tongue could process. You raised your brows expectantly at him, hiding your amused smile. “Uh—pretty! You— you look really pretty.”

A soft blush fell across your cheeks.

“Thanks, Yuta.” You laughed softly, eyes fluttering across his face admiringly. “You look like you’ve… grown.”

“Oh, me?” He laughed skittishly, hand coming up to rustle through his jet black locks. His brows were furrowed slightly as he looked down at his own appearance as if he was only just now noticing the growth spurt he’d had in the past year. “Yeah! I guess—”

“Is that blood on your shirt?” You suddenly noticed, leaning forward so your squinting eyes could get a better look at the dark matter that clung to his white top. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and in an instant, his fumbling hands were working to unbutton his uniform shirt. It was no use though, the white t-shirt underneath was also stained through.

“Sorry, I just got back from a mission.” He admitted dejectedly, grabbing the phone and sitting on the floor, resting his back against the bed behind him. “I would’ve showered, but I didn’t want to keep you up too late.”

You sat back against your headboard tentatively. It was incredible to you how he was never phased by the violence and bloodshed that shrouded this lifestyle. There were so many nights that you lay awake, eyes unblinking as you tried to forget the horrors you’d witnessed just long enough to get some sleep.

“How do you do it, Yu?” You asked timidly.

Yuta took in the way your wide eyes glimmered with the threat of unspilled tears. There it was again— that underlying fear in your tone and demeanor that told him that something wasn’t quite right, and it hadn’t been right since you came so close to death.

“What do you mean, love?” He wasn’t sure where that term of endearment came from, maybe from the concern that had been pooling in him for months and had now suddenly burst upon seeing that broken look in your eyes. Either way, it was too late to take it back now.

“Act like everything’s normal when you come home covered in blood and guts and watch people die— watch your friends—”

“I’m doing this for my friends.” His response had a defensive edge to it, but his wide eyes were gentle, taking in your vulnerable state carefully. “And for the people I’ve had to watch die. Bad things will happen whether I’m a part of them or not. How can I sit back and do nothing when that’s all I’ve done my entire life?”

You suddenly felt small in your corner of the world. He was selfless, fearless, purposeful in his mission as a sorcerer, and you couldn’t fault him for it. Moreso, you faulted yourself for lacking that same drive.

“I just– sometimes I feel like this isn’t for me. I’m not like you, Yuta. I don’t think I’m strong enough for this. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Yuta continued to insist upon believing in your growth, just as you had believed in his. His persistence in your strength of character only served to break your heart more. You knew the deeper his faith in you ran, the more crushing his disappointment would be when you inevitably let him down.

In the weeks following your dismayed conversation with him, you weren’t answering his calls as often, afraid he would be on the other line hoping to hear of your growth and the things you’d overcome— but you had none to show for. You usually texted him with false excuses that you were on a mission, or that you were simply too tired to talk that night. No matter how hard you tried to pride yourself in your little victories, your faith in your abilities as a sorcerer was waning quickly before your eyes.

He had always said that he was the one undeserving of his place in this world— of his place beside you. The stronger he grew though, the more you only noticed the opposite.

It was a month after your phone call that you received a small package from Kenya, recognizing the stamp immediately as one of the various animal themed ones Yuta seemed to keep stockpiled just for you. Chewing at your bottom lip, a sense of guilt washed over you, knowing you hadn’t been keeping up with him as much as you once did. Despite this, he continued to try, desperate to get through to you somehow before you slipped from between his fingers all together.

Ripping open the orange, padded envelope, you overturned the contents onto your bed. The wooden beads of a bracelet clacked softly against one another as they fell upon the comforter, a letter landing gently atop it. You ran your fingers along the thin bracelet, thinking maybe if you concentrated long enough, you’d be able to feel the warmth of his fingers lingering from when he’d carefully placed it into the envelope for you. You picked up the accompanying letter.

Dear Y/N,

It seems like they’ve been keeping you really busy over there in your corner of the world! I had so much I wanted to tell you, but I thought maybe it’d be best to put it all into a letter so you could read it at a time that’s best for you.

Gojo-Sensei says that I’ll probably be coming back soon, maybe in the next couple of months even. If all goes well, I hope to be joining everyone for our final year. It’d be nice to all be together again. It’d be nice to actually see you again.

You don’t have to tell me everything, but I know you’ve been going through a hard time recently, and I’m sorry I’m not there to help you. You were wrong the other night on the phone— you are stronger than you think. This life isn’t easy, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not fit for it just because it hurts you right now.

When I felt I had no strength left in me to keep going, it was you who lent me some of yours until I could stand again. I’m sending it back to you now, so please use it to keep moving forward until I can lend you some of mine. Please, keep waiting for me.

The beads on the bracelet I sent you represent all the things I wish for you. The red represent bravery and strength, the kind I know you have in you still. Until you find them though, let these be a reminder. The yellow are for growth, and until you can see it coming your way, let these motivate you.

I got one just like it for myself, so I can be reminded everyday of the things I love about you. I’ll keep it on me always, and I hope as you’re waiting that you’ll do the same.

Still yours,

Yuta.

Tears were streaming freely down your cheeks and staining the precious letter before you. With wobbling lips, you bit back a quiet sob as you carefully slipped the thin bracelet onto your wrist. Strength. Bravery. Growth. They were all pillars that seemed so far away from you, but Yuta was convinced you held them just within your grasp. If anything, the beads would serve as a reminder that someone important was counting on you, and you’d rather suffer the uphill battle than disappoint him.

The next morning, you woke early to speak with Gojo. He was lounging lazily in his large, plush chair, laptop sat carelessly on his lap when you came in. As if expecting you all along, he looked up from his bored typing to offer a sly smile— the type that told you he was always steps ahead of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo greeted, closing his laptop and setting it haphazardly on his desk. Leaning back, he laced his fingers casually in his lap, jutting his chin toward the seat in front of him.

Hesitantly, you sat down. Your posture was rigid as you stared back at his half-covered face. Although your sensei had never given you a reason to fear him, you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of how he might react to your request.

“I… I don’t know how to say this.”

He stayed silent, allowing you to collect your thoughts. The small smile tugging at his lips said he already knew what was plaguing your mind. Fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, you were reminded of the importance that you stand your ground here.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for being a sorcerer.” It was out there, and it hung heavily in the air around you. Looking down at your twiddling fingers, you felt that familiar lump building in your throat. Your sensei was silent before you. Glancing up at him through tear soaked eyes, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat. “I’m not like the others. I can’t bounce back like they do. It scares me; the death, the fighting, the loss— it terrifies me, Gojo. I can’t do it anymore. I-I just—”

“You’ve been struggling for a while now, haven’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question— an observation he’d been holding onto for some time. The older man wasn’t oblivious, he could see when his students were beginning to slip away; physically and mentally.

“How did you know?” You briefly wondered if Yuta had mentioned something to him during their regular check in calls, but you doubted it.

Standing abruptly from his chair, he strolled leisurely around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You remind me of someone, is all.” Gojo’s cryptic message left more questions than answers. Though you had grown used to his dodgy answers and coded messages, now was really not the time. Before you could express your annoyance, he continued. “You’re not stuck, you know.”

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him in disbelief. Standing up to face him as he stared out the window, your mind was racing at the possibilities.

“You mean— I could leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’d talk to the higher ups today for you if that’s really what you want.” Still, the edge in his tone indicated that he wasn’t about to let you off that easily. As if sensing your apprehension, he tilted his head playfully toward you, a fond smile on his face. “I’ve seen what this gig can do to people. I don’t need to see you fall victim to it too.”

“I mean— I…” You were stumbling over your words. For the past few years, you were sure that your future was set for you— one you were apprehensive about living, but one that was secure nonetheless. Where would you go from here?

Gojo hummed pensively— invitingly. God, how you wished he would just spit out what he clearly wanted so desperately to say. Of course, he always wanted his students to come to their own conclusions, set their own fates.

“The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.” The sensei announced dramatically, taking another lap around the room. You shivered at the mention of that night. He leaned toward you with a raised brow. “That’s when this all started, am I right? You almost died, if I remember correctly.”

“I would have if it hadn’t been for—”

“Yuta Okkotsu.” He cut you off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and for a moment you thought you saw his head tilt down as if to look at the bracelet you were currently rolling between your fingers. Nodding softly, he continued. “Still, you cut it pretty close. Must have been traumatizing. Partially lost your sight, almost lost your friends, your life.”

You nodded silently, unsure of where he was going with this long winded rant. Of course, him giving you a simple out was just too easy for Gojo-Sensei’s ‘everything is a life lesson’ style of teaching.

“Tell you what, why don’t I set up a meeting for you to meet with a counselor? Someone who specializes in all our creepy-crawly problems?”

“Like… like therapy?” You questioned with furrowed brows. A therapist for sorcerers? You didn’t even know such a thing existed. Still, the prospect sparked a certain hope in your chest, one that the six eyes saw instantly. He didn’t bother to conceal his victorious smile.

“Yup. Nice, comfy couch and everything.” He advertised as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. His long fingers began typing purposefully against the screen before he looked up at you again. “Of course, she’s kind of running a one-man show, so her schedule is pretty tight. I can pull a few strings for you though.” His words rang in your mind with a faint echo. That suggestive, underlying tone in his voice, it was beginning to seep through, and your gut was telling you his suggestion was a lot more calculated than you would ever give him credit for. “That kind of work is in high demand, you know— what with all the new curses popping up since Itadori came along.”

Gojo was continuing to drop hints, but you had already heard him loud and clear. This was something he thought you could do— somewhere he knew you would fit within this hectic world. As a teacher, it was his job to train the up and coming sorcerers for the perils that lay ahead of them. In the same prospect though, he had also become incredibly adept at discovering their potential and nudging them toward it— even if it wasn’t as gently as he thought.

The following week you met with the therapist Gojo had supposedly pulled so many strings to get you in to see. She had a small office just minutes away from the school, and you wondered why she wasn’t on campus. She hadn’t suggested it to you first, though she was well aware of what Gojo was trying to do when he set up this meeting.

So, amidst your explanation of everything you had been experiencing since that night, you dropped in questions. How did she know this was the right path for her— how closely did she work with Jujutsu High— how did she get where she was?

By the gentle and encouraging manner in which she answered all of your questions, you had a gut feeling once again that Gojo had already been three steps ahead of you. You were set to transfer out of Jujutsu High the following week.

Your sensei funded your education through an outside university, who’s higher ups had connections with the school. Kaori, the god-sent sorcerer counselor who’d seemingly fallen from the heavens right when you needed her, was more than happy to take you under her wing as well. In truth, she was relieved to have some help around the office given the influx of referrals she’d been receiving recently.

Everything had been falling into place, yet there was still one last loose end you had yet to tie up from your life as a sorcerer. You looked down at the box of letters you’d kept over the past year or so from Yuta.

Following his last letter, and how determined he seemed to be that you would make it as a sorcerer— you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you had given up. After everything he’d done to grow himself into the man he was now, a fearless and loyal sword to his friends and the innocent— and you had given up. In the end, despite his insistence that it was him not worthy enough to stick around, you realized it had been you all along.

You weren’t worthy of Yuta Okkotsu.

Your trembling finger hovered over his contact, but you couldn’t do it. Clicking your phone off, you stared up at the ceiling of your now empty dorm room and allowed the hot tears to burn your cheeks, dripping down your neck and into the hem of your shirt. He was still finishing up his training, growing into a man he could be proud of, experiencing the things that made him feel alive. It would be selfish of you to drop this on him now.

Setting down the box on your desk, you pulled out a spare sheet of paper and sat down to draft your last prose to Yuta Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you will have already heard about my departure from Jujutsu High. I wanted to call you and tell you everything that’s been on my mind, to give you a proper goodbye, but I didn’t want to interrupt your progress overseas.

I wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me over the years. I’ll cherish each bit of it as long as I live. You kept me holding on through my lowest points, even if it wasn’t the life of sorcery that I was holding onto.

I know I’m cowardly, but I just couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you that I had given up. You’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to hold your place here, and I suppose a part of me feels foolish for giving mine up so easily.

Your passion for undoing the wrongs in this world is so beautiful, and although I couldn’t share it with you, it only ever made me love you more. Please never take it for granted. Continue to fight to hold your place here, because you hold more power than you could ever come to know. I can feel it, even when you’re not here.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t wait for you.

Forever yours,

Y/N

When Yuta Okkotsu arrived back at Jujutsu High three months later, he had already been sitting on the news of your departure for two weeks. His friends thought it best to at least prepare him for when he returned, but he figured so much when you stopped responding to his calls and messages. No amount of preparation could have stopped the hole from opening up in his chest upon reading the letter you’d left in his dorm room. It sat neatly on his untouched pillow— a ghost that haunted him the second he stepped in.

He tried with fervor to be excited for his return, smiling along half heartedly when his friends shoved a party hat on his head and insisted upon celebrating all the birthdays they’d missed. Those haunting blue eyes only stared lifelessly at the cake before him, his soul still sat on the edge of his bed where he’d read your letter.

Forever yours.

Yuta wondered if those simple two words meant the door was open for him to swing in and come find you as he so ardently promised he would. Gojo-Sensei said you were happy though— working toward your place in the world. It was one he no longer felt he had a place in— not when his life consisted so wholly of the very things you were running from.

Months passed, and the both of you tried so desperately to move on. Despite being content in the roots your lives had sprouted, there was always a missing piece that stopped the both of you from blossoming. You always held your breath in hopes he’d come back to you like he said he would, and he always hoped you were still waiting for him despite his insistence that you were happier without him. The both of you were only kids when you’d carelessly thrown out such a vow, after all.

Gojo felt whole-heartedly confident in his whim to have Kaori train you. There was a spark in you, one that wanted to heal those that this world had so carelessly wounded, even if that meant you having to heal yourself first. In the end, it was the right decision, and he prided himself in the fact that there was a happy medium to keep your talents within the jujutsu world still while also fulfilling your purpose. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that lingered ever present though, and that was the infuriating case of you and Yuta Okkotsu.

It was getting depressing— watching the boy mope around pretending to not have the very obvious chip on his shoulder all the damn time. Your old sensei still kept up with you and your progress often, seeing as the school worked closely with Kaori to refer in need sorcerers on a regular basis.

Each time he’d pop in for a visit or called unexpectedly, you’d always ask how everyone back at the school was doing. Sure, you really did hope your old friends were doing okay, but you were really holding your breath for when he’d mention Yuta. Gojo always spoke of him so highly, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly each time, thinking of how proud you were at how much he’d accomplished— just as he said he would. Still, the six eyes never missed that morose glimmer in your eye as you’d nod along to his stories.

“Have you ever tried sleeping at night, or are those dark circles just a part of you now?”

Yuta was snapped from his stupor when his sensei dropped unceremoniously beside him as he looked on at his friends ahead of him. As if having just been reminded of his perpetual exhaustion, he reached up subconsciously to rub at those aforementioned dark eyes.

“Oh, haha,” Yuta’s halfhearted attempt at a laugh only served to drive Gojo’s purpose right home. “Yeah, guess my sleep schedule never really adjusted back to normal, huh?”

“You aren’t performing like you should be, Okkotsu.”

He gaped exasperatedly at his sensei, blinking a few times as if maybe he just hadn’t heard him correctly. Frankly, he had been kicking ass lately, and everyone around him knew it too. Still, if Gojo-Sensei was telling him he was falling behind, it was seemingly the only opinion that mattered. Even if it wore him down till only his skeleton remained, he would keep getting better until he could prove himself to the man who took a chance on him.

Already picking up on the look of determination on the boy’s face, Gojo put out a solemn ‘slow your roll’ hand in front of him. Sighing in amusement, the sensei thought the boy would crush a semi-truck between his hands if it’d make him grow— meant he could prove himself.

“Your mind isn’t here. Hasn’t been since you got back. I can tell, you know.”

Okkotsu’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. No matter how much he worked to train physically, to learn to control his cursed energy and techniques, there was always that one lingering barrier that seemed to keep him from reaching his potential. Of course, he knew he had been more distracted since your departure, but he figured— hoped— it would pass eventually. He thought maybe if he ignored it long enough, pushed down that frenzy to rip his hair out by the roots and bellow out every frustration he’d held in for allowing you to slip away, each day as the urge melted away into dreams of you at night that woke him with a crater in his chest— maybe eventually it would fade just as you did.

“Try to get some rest, clear your mind. Do what you gotta do.” Gojo emphasized, leaning down to tower over his apprehensive prodigy with a knowing smile. His covered eyes flicked down to where Yuta’s fingers were rolling the beads of his colorful bracelet pensively. He hummed in amusement. “You know, I know someone who has that same bracelet.”

His student perked up ever so subtly upon hearing this. The prying man quickly moved to grasp his wrist and inspect the bracelet closer. It made Yuta feel exposed, wanting to crawl under his covers and not come out again if it meant no one else would lay their eyes on the one connection he still had to you. Gulping thickly, he snatched his wrist back, covering the wooden jewelry protectively under his other hand.

“Oh, you know her, don’t you?” Satoru feigned remembrance, snapping his fingers dramatically. “She used to go here.”

The stunned boy stammered out your name in question. It still felt so natural, so effortless rolling off of his tongue despite the prolonged period that had passed since he’d uttered those syllables.

“Yeah! Saw it on her just last week.”

All the blood seemed to drain from Yuta Okkotsu’s face. His wide, haunting eyes suddenly transfixed hazily on the smiling man before him in a manner that would have been terrifying had it been directed at a stranger. You still wore the bracelet he got you? The prospect had his mind spinning, and his stomach churning anxiously. The poor guy looked as though he would short circuit at any moment; brows twitching into a deep furrow, the corners of his lips fluttering in uncertainty. He blinked a few times before looking up at his sensei with a new sense of determination clouding his eyes.

“Where did you say she went?”

Bingo!

The clock’s ticking mocked you menacing as you raced to finish your assessment notes within the hour. Kaori was always merciful with you, understanding that you were still learning and would likely take more time with things, but you couldn’t help but urge yourself to do better.

It had been almost a year that you had been studying while working alongside the counselor, and you had blossomed in a way you never thought would have been possible. Granted, you weren’t able to do any of what you had lovingly labeled as ‘the fun stuff’ yet, you had adjusted surprisingly well to the countless intake assessments and documentation your mentor had entrusted you with. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having a second counselor there with her, but anything helped ease the weight of her overwhelming caseload. She knew it was good experience for you too.

Despite her hectic schedule, Kaori still found time to meet with you often to check in regarding the struggles that brought you to her in the first place, insisting it would be a crucial step in your training as well. Slowly but surely, you were beginning to rebuild that confidence in yourself and your own purpose in this monstrous world. It felt cathartic, being a part of the process of healing for those torn down by the very things that hurt you so long ago as well. It was meaningful— fulfilling.

You wondered if this was how Yuta felt when he was out there, helping people as well, just in his own way. A sharp pang struck you each time your mind wandered too far though, and you were always quick to reel it back in.

Your bottom lip was caught ruthlessly between your teeth, and it seemed the clacking of your keyboard was fighting against the ticking of the clock for dominance. A small spark of defeat struck you as you heard the door of the office creak open. Looking up at the time, your brows furrowed in confusion. You were sure that you had already completed the last intake Kaori had scheduled for you today. Scrambling into the drawer beside you to pull out a new form, you hoped you would at least look somewhat prepared whenever the unexpected patient came to your desk.

“Hi, there!” You called out from your tucked away cubicle, fumbling to save the document you were working on. “I’m back here, you can come on in.”

Slow footsteps approached closer and closer before pausing in front of your desk. Pushing the hair from your eyes, you looked up with a warm, inviting smile.

Oh.

The smile on your face slowly faded as Yuta Okkotsu towered over your desk. It wasn’t the version of him you once knew; this one was taller, more refined, more calculated with the manner in which he held himself. His wide, midnight-blue eyes regarded you carefully, but his face revealed nothing. Your mouth opened and closed pathetically, your mind desperately trying to catch up with the way your day had suddenly progressed. Stepping forward, he calmly sank down into the chair in front of you, hands gripping the arms casually.

“Yu—”

“I heard you offer counseling for sorcerers, right?” He was suddenly smiling sweetly at you, but there was a controlled glint in his eyes— holding him back. Not allowing you to respond, he continued. “Well, I have some things to get off my chest, so it’s lucky I found you, huh?”

You sank back into your chair, allowing the papers in your hands to slip from your fingers and swoosh softly onto the desk. Nodding gently, you urged him to go on, anxiety balling up in the pit of your stomach. He launched off on a long-winded story, one you already knew like the back of your hand— you lived it, after all. Your already knowing the climax didn’t stop the furious blush that overtook you as he recalled the letter he’d found in his dorm upon his arrival back to Tokyo.

“She always had this sweet way of signing off all her letters to me.” Yuta recounted with a soft smile, eyes glimmering as they looked back at you. Yours, on the other hand, were holding back the dam of tears that had been building up for countless months. As the first tear slipped down your cheek, you saw his resolve start to crumble, gaze chasing the drop as it raced down your skin. His bottom lip trembled. “She signed that last one— she signed it off ‘forever yours’, but I never saw her again.”

“Yuta—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t happy?” He finally snapped, his own tears swimming in his eyes. Bracing his hands on the desk, he leaned forward desperately. “I would’ve understood, I would’ve—”

“I tried! I tried to tell you, but you were so sure that I was going to get through it. How was I supposed to look you in the eyes after you gave up so much of your life to train to be better? How was I supposed to tell you I was giving up?”

“You promised me!” His cry rang out in the quiet office, shoving his chair back to stand over you once again. You heard Kaori’s office door open abruptly, likely startled by the perceived altercation. Despite his dominating presence and lingering stance, you couldn’t find it in you to be intimidated by him. You shook your head softly toward your mentor, letting her know you were fine. As the door hesitantly shut once again, Yuta was sinking closer to you despairingly. “I would’ve come back for you— I wouldn’t have cared where I had to look, okay? I wouldn’t have cared that you left everything— but you weren’t supposed to leave me.”

His wounded tone finally caught up to you, and you let your head fall down onto your crumpled hands as you cried. Yuta sighed softly, almost regretting his stinging confession. Quickly looping around the desk, he settled down on his knees in front of you and turned you to face him.

“I’m sorry, Yuta.” You cried, falling into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you from your chair. He was stronger than you last remembered him being, but his touch was just as delicate. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. We’re here now, right?” He assured gently, pulling you away from his chest so he could look at you with a smile, tears still clinging to his lashes. His cool hand ran down from your shoulder to your wrist, and he traced the bracelet that hadn’t come off your wrist since you received it. A soft flush covered his cheeks. “You kept it, huh?”

“You kept yours, too.” You laughed breathlessly, wiping at your cheeks with one hand and grasping his bracelet with the other.

“I told you, I always meant everything I said to you. I still do.” His words almost made you break down again, but you worried if you started boo-hoo crying again that Kaori might just burst through the door with more determination than she had last time.

So instead, you took a moment to glance over his matured face, shaking your head in amusement upon seeing those familiar dark circles still hanging under his eyes. Your heart clenched as your eyes ran across the small scar that Maki left on his forehead. When you met his gaze once again, it gave you pause. Yuta had that look in his eyes— the same one he had all those years ago before he left for Kenya. The rapid patter of your heart could be felt in your throat.

Despite your nerves, your lips twitched up into a knowing smile. You reached up tentatively to place a hand over your right eye, covering the scar that had stopped him all those years ago. He pursed his lips at this action and shook his head. In an instant, his long fingers were wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.

“Don’t.” Yuta said simply before leaning down to capture your lips in his, more assuredly than his sixteen year old self ever could have dared to, but just as sweetly as the boy who promised to come back to you would have.

[bbydoll18xx]

This Is Me Trying

'I just wanted you to know that this is me trying.'

Azzi Fudd x Reader

Based on this request (sorry it took forever lol)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.1k

Themes: depression, mild alcohol abuse, hurt/comfort

A/N: hiii so here i am trying out writing for someone other than Paige, and I really hope you like it! If this is a decent success I may write for other people as well :) And of course it was time to write a fic to go along with my most favorite song of all time (folklore stans rise up)

Lets do thisss

also sorry this is lowkey kinda depressing i am a sad girly

~

Your lack of sleep was showing in deep purple bruises under your eyes that no amount of even the heaviest concealer could adequately cover. You haven't slept well in days, and today’s shift had not helped your exhaustion. The day was filled with incessant neediness, people cussing you out, and an endless amount of shit.

Literally and figuratively. 

You walk into your apartment, just wanting nothing but to fall into Azzi’s warm and loving arms, but you’re met with the still darkness of an empty home. Your girlfriend was in Las Vegas playing against the Aces, and she would not be home until tomorrow afternoon. 

She had promised to call you after the game, but you weren’t sure if you would even make it through your shower, much less wait up for her by the phone for another three hours. 

Your eyes fill with tears, the feeling of overwhelming loneliness mixing with your exhaustion, and as you throw your stuff on the floor, dredging your body into your bathroom, letting the downpour of water drown out your own tears. 

You had become quite accustomed to hiding your feelings behind bright smiles and fake laughs, desperate to clutch onto the need to prove to everyone that you were okay.

Even if you really weren't.

Your girlfriend had enough stress on her, and the idea of her needing to worry about you, too, was enough to send guilt shooting through your entire body. 

You had kept up your facade all throughout college, choosing to take long, solo car rides until you had to pull over, the tears swimming in your eyes nearly blinding you. And when you were strung along to the bars with Azzi and the rest of her teammates, you drowned your sorrows and fears with liquor, numbing your thoughts and your body until you were delirious. 

You were the golden girl. 

You knew what jokes to crack for which group of people you were around at the time. Your grades were stellar. And you had bagged the prettiest, sweetest girl in probably the entire universe. 

So, you resented yourself for feeling anything other than being on top of the world, because it was actually quite the opposite.

It got worse once you graduated. 

Azzi was often gone, traveling for away games, and that left you alone to process the unimaginable emotions that came with your budding nursing career. Feelings of loss and incompetence clouded your brain constantly.

Today was no different. 

You had lost a patient, a kind, gentle woman who finally let go, taking her last breath while gripping your hand, completely alone. 

It broke you, and the devastating reality had sunk into your chest, crushing all of the air out of your fragile lungs. And you were now gasping for air, leaving you feeling bereft and vulnerable, like an open wound. 

Maybe that’s all you’d ever really be, and you could not help but think that you were the festering wound in yours and Azzi’s relationship, threatening to slowly tear it apart until the two of you were left standing in the tattered shreds of what used to be. 

You wanted things to be okay so, so badly, but the overwhelming feelings of loneliness and longing had set in, chilling you down to the bone. And you were scared. 

So you would just continue on pretending. 

Azzi comes home the next day, and you put the mask back on the second she walks through the door. You’d be lying, though, if her presence didn’t make you feel the tiniest bit whole again. You melt into her arms, drinking in her presence, as she rubs your back soothingly, her face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

Maybe everything would be okay, if only you could be honest with her.

~

Azzi lays in bed next to you, and you indulge in the way her smell has permeated the soft bedsheets again, after days of the scent slowly becoming less and less potent. She smells warm and comforting, and you nuzzle into her, desperate for her to fix every little part of you that was screaming out in insecurity and despondancy.

A low sigh escapes your throat, secretly wanting your girlfriend to pick up on your mood, and because she knows you better than anyone else, she does. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” She questions, her tone filled with concern and worry. She places a hand on your cheek, coaxing you to look into her eyes, and the glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the kindness emitting from her deep brown irises. 

“I–” You begin, taking a deep breath and then stopping. Trying to put all your emotions into coherent words was quite the task. And honestly, you were terrified of how Azzi would react. 

Her thumb strokes your cheek, as she sits up fully next to you in the bed, eyes still peering into yours. 

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” she murmurs gently, and something clicks inside of you.

It was Azzi. You could tell her anything, and it would never even come close to dimming any of the love she felt for you. 

In that moment, all the anxiety you felt about coming clean seemed silly, like it had been built up in your head to great heights, and here it was now, crashing down all around you.

“I’ve been really depressed,” you mumble, your cheeks feeling warm from her touch and the prickling of shame. “For a long time, actually. And I really fucking miss you. I hate feeling like a needy girlfriend, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

The confession pours out of you, and as the air stills between you, your heart races as you watch Azzi’s face contort into a look of hurt and confusion.

“Oh, baby,” she breathes, scooping you up and setting you into her lap, legs draped over hers as she interlaces your fingers with hers. 

“I’ve been missing you, too. And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to sacrifice your career for mine,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your temple. 

Your shoulders sag in relief, and you connect your lips in a kiss. There were numerous unspoken words shared as your lips entwined in a sheer display of passion.

As you break apart, you gaze back into those dark brown eyes, pupils now blown wide. “Guess this means we’ll have a lot more time to be doing this,” you giggle, wagging your eyebrows at Azzi.

She shakes her head fondly. “Just want my sweet, happy girl back,” she whispers in your ear.

Little did she know, you already were.

~

I really hope everyone enjoyed this. I have been toying around with a lil Pazzi fic, so let me know if you'd be interested :)

xoxo katy

Taglist:

@fullladypanda-blog, @omg-imtumbling, @tenaciousglitternerd, @oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half , @patscorner , @dietcokesmom , @tndaqltoifwy

Want to be added to my taglist? Comment or send me a message!

[ssa-dado]

6 - Synthesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, slow burn

Summary: After an intense case, you and Hotch struggle with unresolved tensions from a previous argument. On the train back, Hotch overhears Peter comforting you about a recent tragedy, realizing he’s been blind to your pain. Later, Hotch unexpectedly shows up at your apartment, opening up and apologizing for his emotional distance, leading to a heartfelt moment of mutual vulnerability. That evening, you attend Peter’s welcome-back party, feeling lighter and reconnecting with the team. That's when Peter makes an unusual bet with you.

Warnings: death, grief, emotional abuse, domestic violence, family dysfunction.

Word Count: 7.6k

Dado's Corner: Phi posting two chapters in less than 12 hours? More likely than you think. I was supposed to wait until tomorrow, but I just couldn’t help myself. Thank you all so much for the love and support you’ve shown for the series so far! Each of you holds a special place in my cold little heart. Please don’t hate me after this - it hurts me, too - but hey, there’s some interrogation room Aaron to sweeten things up. I’m particularly proud of this cute, lovely chapter. It doesn’t make me want to jump out the window. Not even a little bit. Embrace the pain.

previous part ; masterlist

Gideon smiled knowingly, his eyes shifting between you and Hotch. “Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis,” he mused, almost as if he were speaking to himself but loud enough for you to hear. “Funny how life always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

●

The observation room was dimly lit, casting long, uneven shadows over you and Peter as you stood behind the two-way mirror, your heartbeat seemed to echo in the quiet, barely audible over the hum of the fluorescent light. You watched Hotch on the other side, preparing to interrogate the suspect, he appeared calm as usual, wearing his mask of stoicism proudly on his face, but you could tell the tension was palpable.

The room beyond the glass was stark, the suspect sat at the metal table gleaming under the harsh light with a smug expression, arms casually draped over the back of his chair, utterly unbothered. Te view was borderline infuriating.

The hair on your arms stood up, not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had settled over the case. You couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you were grasping at straws, the weight of the local police’s blunders pressing heavily on your chest. They had fumbled, and badly. Critical evidence had slipped through their fingers, lost or contaminated in the chaos. You didn’t even want to hear the whole story—you were too furious, your senses shutting down as the same detective who had once doubted your work stumbled through a pathetic apology. All you had now was Hotch. No physical proof, no solid evidence to tie this man to the crimes you knew he’d committed.

Your gaze flicked back to the suspect, his arrogance nauseating. He knew the game, knew the system, and worse, he knew how to manipulate it to his advantage. There was a clock ticking in your mind, every second precious, the sense of urgency suffocating. If Hotch couldn’t break him - if he couldn’t find a way past the layers of lies and smug indifference - you’d lose him. You couldn’t afford that, not now.

Peter’s jaw clenched as he observed the scene, his frustration evident. “This was a mistake,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We warned them not to bring him in without something solid. Now we’re stuck trying to clean up their mess.”

You nodded, your mind still reeling from the argument with Hotch the night before, as if all of this mess wasn’t already enough for your nerves to handle. The tension between you two had lingered, unresolved and heavy, adding another layer to your frustration. You tried to shake it off, but it clung to you, making it even harder to focus. “Yeah, and now Hotch has to pull off a miracle,” you said, your voice tinged with both a tinge of annoyance and worry. “He’s got one shot to get this right.”

Peter turned his attention back to the interrogation room, his eyes narrowing as Hotch sat across from the suspect. “If anyone can do it, it’s him. I’ve seen Hotch work multiple times, and somehow he even looks sharper, more intense.”

Inside the room, Hotch began his interrogation with a measured calm, his eyes locked on the suspect, who lounged back in his chair, exuding a quiet confidence. Hotch started with the basics, the routine questions meant to establish rapport, but the suspect was playing his own game, answering with a smug smile and evasive nonchalance.

Hotch leaned back, crossing his arms as he observed the suspect’s every move, every twitch. “You’ve been careful,” Hotch said, his voice steady but probing. “I’ll give you that. You’ve covered your tracks well. But you slipped up, everyone makes mistakes, especially when they think they’re untouchable.”

The suspect smirked, feigning boredom. “You’re wasting your breath, Agent Hotchner. You and I both know you have nothing on me - no evidence, no witnesses. You’re grasping at straws.”

Hotch’s gaze remained unflinching, but you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he leaned in just slightly, narrowing the space between the two of them. “You’re right, we don’t have physical evidence, but we do have you, and that’s enough. Because here’s the thing - you’re not as smart as you think you are. You’ve made this personal, and personal is messy.”

The suspect chuckled, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as if this were a game to him. “Oh, please. I’ve seen every tactic in the book, and I’ve got an answer for all of them. You can’t intimidate me, Hotchner. I know my rights. You’ve got nothing.”

Hotch’s expression remained stoic, but there was a flash of determination in his eyes. “You think this is about intimidation? You’re missing the point. This isn’t about fear, it’s about you and the mistakes you’ve made. You’ve left a trail, little hints of who you really are. You think you’ve hidden them, but they’re there, buried in the details.”

The suspect’s confident facade faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered, scoffing. “You’re reaching. This isn’t some TV show where the bad guy breaks down in a dramatic confession. I’m not saying a damn thing without my lawyer.”

Hotch’s demeanor shifted, a cold, calculating edge creeping into his voice. “Your lawyer? You think your lawyer’s going to save you? They’ll do their job, make sure you’re comfortable, make sure you feel safe. But at the end of the day, they’re not in here with you, they’re not the ones facing the consequences of your actions - you are. And you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Hotch methodically chip away at the suspect’s arrogance. Each line of questioning was a carefully placed strike, designed to weaken his resolve, but the suspect wasn’t giving in easily. He deflected, twisted Hotch’s words, and tried to turn the conversation back on him.

“You think you’re so righteous, don’t you?” the suspect sneered, leaning forward with a glint of disdain in his eyes. “Sitting there, acting like you’ve got the moral high ground. You don’t know me, Agent Hotchner. You don’t know a damn thing about what I’ve been through, the people I’ve dealt with - you think you’re better than me?”

Hotch didn’t flinch even if the last words reminded him of the argument he had with you down at the lobby. “No, I don’t think I’m better than you, but I do know who you are. You’re the guy who blames everyone else when things go wrong, the guy who hides behind his intellect because he’s too scared to admit he’s just another coward trying to prove he’s not afraid. But guess what? That act doesn’t work on me.”

The suspect’s composure slipped, his anger flaring as Hotch hit a nerve. “You don’t get to judge me! You sit there like you’re some kind of saint, but you’re just as flawed as the rest of us. You have no right—”

Hotch cut him off sharply, his voice cold and unyielding. “You’re right. I’m not perfect. I’ve made my mistakes, and I own them. But I’m not the one hiding behind excuses, you are. You’re the one who thinks he can play God, decide who deserves to live or die based on your twisted sense of justice. But here’s the thing: you’re not in control, not anymore.”

From the observation room, you felt your chest tighten. Hotch was relentless, pushing the suspect further than you’d ever seen him push anyone before. It was as if he’d tapped into something raw and unforgiving, something that drove him to keep going, to tear down every last defense the suspect had.

Peter glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “I’ve never seen him go this hard. It’s like he’s on a mission.”

You nodded, the tension from last night’s argument still simmering inside you. You knew why Hotch was pushing himself like this: because of you, because of the unresolved words between you, and because he needed to prove something, maybe even to himself. “He’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”

Inside the room, the suspect’s attitude was crumbling. Hotch leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with a quiet menace. “You think you’re untouchable, that you’ve covered all your bases. But I’ve spent years in courtrooms taking down men just like you, men who thought they were too smart to get caught. I know every trick, every lie, every pathetic attempt to weasel your way out of the truth.”

The suspect’s face tightened, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to maintain control. But Hotch was unrelenting, his gaze piercing through every layer of the man’s defenses. “You don’t want to admit it, but you’re scared, I can see it in your eyes. You’re terrified that the truth is going to come out, that all your carefully crafted lies are going to fall apart right in front of you - so, here’s your last chance. Tell me the truth. Tell me why you did it.”

There was a beat of silence, a heavy pause as the suspect’s composure finally shattered. His shoulders slumped, his defiance giving way to resignation. He looked up at Hotch, defeated and angry, his voice breaking as he finally confessed, each word a bitter surrender. “Fine. Fine, you want the truth? I did it. I killed them. But you have no idea why. You don’t know what it’s like to be powerless.”

“No you’re right, I don’t.” Hotch sat back, a flicker of triumph in his eyes, though his expression remained guarded: he had what he needed. The confession was out, raw and unfiltered, pulled from the depths of the suspect’s desperation.

Peter let out a low whistle, still reeling from what he’d witnessed. “That was... intense. I’ve never seen Hotch like that, he’s kind of intimidating.”

You nodded in agreement, your gaze still fixed on Hotch as he calmly gathered his notes, preparing to leave the room. You could see the toll it had taken on him, the emotional weight he carried even as he walked out victorious, and as much as you wanted to celebrate the success, the confrontation from the night before still lingered, leaving you with the unsettling realization that this fight wasn’t just with the suspect - it was within Hotch himself.

When Hotch stepped out of the interrogation room, the tension in his posture seemed to ease, but only slightly. His face was set in its usual mask of calm control, yet there was a heaviness in his eyes, a flicker of something raw that he couldn’t quite hide. Peter clapped him on the back, a mix of admiration and relief in his expression. “Hell of a job, Hotch. You tore him apart. I’ve seen you work, but that was something else entirely.”

Hotch gave a tight nod, his jaw still clenched, but his gaze was already shifting past Peter, landing on you. His eyes were searching, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction, seeking some unspoken acknowledgment from you. “Thanks,” he said, his voice measured but tinged with exhaustion. “It had to be done.”

You stood there with your arms crossed, leaning against the wall, trying to maintain a composed exterior, but inside, you were anything but calm. Watching Hotch in that room, ruthlessly tearing down the suspect’s defenses, stirred something deep within you. It was impressive, yes, but also unsettling. You had never seen him so relentless, so driven - and you knew exactly what was fueling his determination.

As Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, there was a silent understanding between you, a shared acknowledgment of the emotional battlefield you both were navigating. The words from your argument the night before still echoed in your mind, sharp and unresolved, like an open wound that hadn’t had the chance to heal. The case had forced you both to set your personal issues aside, but now, in the aftermath, they were still there, hovering between you like a shadow neither of you could ignore.

Peter glanced between the two of you, sensing the charged atmosphere but choosing not to comment. He knew better than to pry, but even he could tell that whatever was going on between you and Hotch went deeper than the usual tension of a difficult case. “We got what we needed,” Peter said, trying to break the silence. “That’s what matters. Now we can finally put this bastard away.”

Hotch nodded, but his eyes never left yours, and in that moment, it felt like the rest of the room had faded away. It was just the two of you, caught in a silent standoff where neither of you knew how to take the next step. You wanted to say something, anything that would bridge the gap that had formed between you, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the emotions you’d been trying so hard to keep in check.

The triumph of the confession felt hollow against the weight of what was still left unsaid. You and Hotch had always been able to read each other, but now, standing on opposite sides of this unspoken rift, it was as if the connection you’d relied on had fractured. There was so much you wanted to ask him: why he’d pushed so hard, why he seemed so desperate to prove something today, and why he couldn’t let his guard down, even for a moment. But instead, you just nodded, swallowing back the questions that burned at the back of your throat. “You did what you had to do,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though it wavered slightly. “Good work, Hotch.”

Hotch’s gaze softened for a brief second, a flicker of regret or maybe gratitude crossing his features, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Thanks,” he replied, his voice lower, more personal than before. “We all did.”Peter’s presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone, but it didn’t ease the tension that thrummed between you and Hotch. As Hotch turned to leave, the weight of your argument still hung heavy, unresolved, and painful. You watched him go, the distance between you feeling wider than ever, despite being just a few feet apart.

And as you stood there, with Peter by your side and the echo of Hotch’s footsteps fading down the corridor, you realized that the hardest part of this case wasn’t just about catching a killer, it was about facing the fractures in your own relationships, the ones that no amount of profiling or interrogation could ever fix.

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks was a dull, constant noise that filled the otherwise quiet cabin. You sat alone, your head down and your pen moving steadily across the paper as you filled out your case report. It was a task you’d thrown yourself into, your way of avoiding the one thing you weren’t ready to confront: Hotch.

Hotch sat a few rows behind you, his back to you, mirroring your actions as he worked on his own report with a similar intensity. It was almost poetic how the two of you were so much alike: both of you throwing yourselves into your work to avoid the harder truths, and neither willing to make the first move toward reconciliation.

As you focused on your writing, you heard footsteps approach. You didn’t need to look up to know it was Peter; you’d recognized the casual confidence in his stride from a mile away. He slid into the seat beside you without asking, his presence a familiar and oddly comforting interruption.

Peter glanced at your half-filled report, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You never could sit still, could you?” he said, his voice soft but laced with a hint of fondness. “Always working, always thinking.”

You tried to muster a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just trying to get this done before we get back,” you said, your tone evasive. You knew why he’d come over, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the conversation you’d been avoiding since you’d seen him again.

Peter watched you for a moment, his expression shifting from casual to serious. He took a deep breath, glancing at the report before returning his gaze to you. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I’ve been wanting to tell you this since I got back, but I didn’t want to bring it up while we were in the middle of the case.”

You stiffened, knowing exactly what he was going to say but hoping he wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your dad’s funeral,” Peter said, his voice heavy with regret. “I wanted to be, but I was stuck overseas. I hate that I wasn’t there.”

You clenched your jaw, staring down at the paper in front of you, your pen hovering uselessly above the page. The memories of that day flooded backstanding at the grave, the heavy weight of loss pressing down on your chest, and the overwhelming feeling of being completely and utterly alone. You’d been surrounded by people, but none of them had truly understood, none of them had been him.

“It’s fine, Pete,” you said, though your voice was shaky. “You were doing your job. Besides, it’s not like it would’ve changed anything.”

Peter shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “No, it’s not okay. You were always there for me, even when we were just kids trying to figure out what the hell we were doing with our lives. And I couldn’t even show up when you needed me the most.”

Peter studied you, his eyes searching yours. He could see the cracks you were trying so desperately to hide, the way you were holding yourself together with sheer willpower. “I should have been there,” he insisted gently. “I know how much you went through with him… I remember everything you told me about him.”

A knot formed in your throat as you thought back to your childhood, your father’s relentless work ethic, his unyielding drive for perfection. He had been your hero in so many ways, but he’d also been your downfall. You’d inherited his toxic trait of overworking yourself, the constant need to be better, to be more. It was how you’d coped with the chaos at home, the screaming matches between your parents that had been your daily soundtrack. Your mother, exasperated and exhausted, would often switch languages mid-argument to keep you in the dark, to protect you - or maybe just to exclude you - from the mess they had created.

“I was just a kid, you know?” you said quietly, your voice tinged with bitterness. “All I wanted was to understand why they were always fighting. I started learning every language my mom switched to, Italian, Spanish, anything that would give me a clue, but instead of finding answers, I just… found more reasons to stay away.”

Peter’s eyes softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he listened. “You drowned yourself in books, in knowledge, just to escape,” he said, his voice low. “I remember you telling me that once, how you’d sit in those lecture halls at the university, absorbing everything because it was better than being home.”

Your childhood had been filled their voices rising in heated exchanges that always seemed to end in silence, your father retreating to his study to bury himself in more work, and your mother seeking solace in her books. To escape the turbulence at home, you’d thrown yourself into your studies with a fervor that bordered on obsession. You’d devoured literature, philosophy, psychology, anything that could distract you from the reality of your parents’ failing marriage, to gain a semblance of control in a world that often felt chaotic and out of reach.

You had become fluent in the languages they used to hide their pain from you, and in doing so, you became fluent in the art of distancing yourself from your own emotions. The habit of overworking, of pouring yourself into every task with unrelenting focus, was something you had learned from your father, a toxic legacy that you couldn’t quite shake, even now. It had been the source of countless arguments with your mother, who had begged you not to follow in his footsteps, to find balance, to live a life that wasn’t dictated by the demands of work. But it was easier said than done, and as the years went on, you found yourself mirroring his habits more than you cared to admit.

You nodded, swallowing hard against the emotion that threatened to choke you. “I kept pushing myself, kept chasing after something I couldn’t even name. My dad… he always told me that hard work was the only thing that mattered, he never slowed down, never stopped, and neither did I. Even when their marriage fell apart… even when he got sick. I just… I couldn’t stop.”

You hesitated, your eyes welling up with tears that you refused to let fall. “I didn’t even cry at his funeral, I just stood there, feeling nothing. And I haven’t been to visit his grave since.”

Peter gently reached out, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, tightly hugging you. “It’s okay not to be okay, Y/N,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this all on your own. The least I can do is be the shoulder you can lean on.” Peter squeezed your shoulder gently, his eyes filled with compassion. “Your dad was tough, but he loved you, Y/N. And you don’t have to prove anything to him, not anymore. You’re allowed to grieve, to feel lost, to not have all the answers.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. “I know. But sometimes it’s hard to remember that.”

Hotch sat just behind you, his back facing yours, he had intended to keep to himself, to give you the space you needed, but the quiet murmurs of your conversation had carried over. He couldn’t help but overhear Peter’s words, and as he listened, a wave of guilt and realization washed over him.

Hotch had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to see through the masks they wore, but he hadn’t seen through yours. He hadn’t seen the pain you’d been hiding, the grief that had been eating away at you just beneath a slim surface. And suddenly, your words from the night before came crashing back: how he didn’t know you, how he’d never bothered to look beyond the professional facade you’d built.

His own mind flickered back to his childhood, the memories of his father’s anger, the violence that lurked behind every door. Hotch had spent years burying and hiding those scars, never letting anyone see how deeply they ran. He had kept it all locked away, just as you had, believing that the only way to survive was to keep moving, to never let the pain catch up.

For the first time, Hotch truly understood why you had lashed out at him. You had seen in him the very thing you feared in yourself: the relentless drive to work, to control, to avoid facing the hurt that lingered beneath. He realized now that you were so much more alike than he had ever imagined, both of you haunted by the ghosts of your pasts, both trying to outrun the pain that always seemed to catch up.

As Hotch stared out the window at the passing scenery, he felt a deep sense of remorse. He wished he had known, wished he had been able to offer you the support you so clearly needed. But all he could do now was hope that you would one day trust him enough to let him in, to share the burdens you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Peter’s voice broke the silence, pulling Hotch from his thoughts. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that? But it’s okay to let someone else be strong for you, too.”

You nodded, wiping away the tears that had finally escaped. “Thanks, Pete. It’s just… it’s hard.”

“I know,” Peter said softly. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Hotch listened to the quiet exchange, the raw honesty between you and Peter striking a chord deep within him. He knew now that he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that the walls he had built were enough to protect him or you. As the train sped toward Quantico, Hotch made a silent promise to himself: he would do better, he would be better. For you, and for himself.

Because in the end, you both deserved more than just the comfort of solitude. You deserved to be understood, to be seen, and to finally let go of the burdens you had carried for far too long.

Peter on the other hand had always been the kind of friend who could read you like a book, even when you tried to keep the pages closed. And after this emotional confrontation he knew he didn’t have to push further. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way you were holding yourself together by the thinnest thread. So, he did what he always did best, he tried to lift your spirits, if only for a moment.

He leaned back in his seat, studying your expression with a knowing smile. “You know, Y/N, you don’t have to unload everything on me right now. You’re allowed to keep some things to yourself. You don’t owe anyone your pain.” His tone was light, but there was a deep, unspoken understanding beneath it. He knew you were struggling, and he wanted you to know that it was okay to take your time.

You gave him a small, tired smile, grateful for his patience. “I know, Pete. It’s just... hard to talk about. I’ve been so focused on work, it’s easier that way. It’s all I know.”

Peter nodded, his eyes softening with empathy. “I get it. But maybe it’s time to leave work behind, just for a little while. You don’t have to think about everything right now. Start small. Maybe try coming out of your room every once in a while?” He said it with a teasing grin, nudging your shoulder playfully, hoping to coax even the smallest laugh out of you.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head at his attempt to lighten the mood. “I know, I’ve been a bit of a hermit lately. I guess it’s easier to just shut myself away.”

Peter’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, lucky for you, your presence is strictly required at my welcome-back party tonight. The team’s putting it together, and you have no excuses not to come. I already told them you’d be there.”

You groaned, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Seriously? Peter, I don’t know if I’m up for-”

He cut you off, holding up a hand. “Ah-ah, no excuses. We’ll be back by early afternoon, you’ll have plenty of time to rest, take a shower, and then you’re going to show up and have a good time, even if I have to drag you there myself.”

You rolled your eyes, but his enthusiasm was infectious. There was a warmth in his insistence, a reminder that you weren’t alone and that there was still joy to be found, even in the smallest of moments. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there. But only because you’re the most obnoxiously persistent person I know.”

Peter laughed, giving you a mock bow from his seat. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, Y/N, it’ll be good to see you outside of the office for once. We all miss you, and I promise, you’ll be glad you came.”

You nodded, feeling a small flicker of anticipation amidst the exhaustion. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to look forward to something that wasn’t work, something that didn’t involve endless reports or painful memories. It wasn’t a solution to all your problems, but it was a start—a chance to reconnect with the people who mattered, to take a breath and remember that there was more to life than the shadows that had been chasing you.

As you looked at Peter, his familiar smile reminding you of all the good things you’d shared over the years, you felt a small surge of hope. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The train ride back to Quantico had felt endless, but the weight of the unresolved emotions made the journey back to your apartment even more suffocating. Peter’s words lingered, tugging at wounds you hadn’t dared to touch, and Hotch’s distant presence weighed heavily on your mind. The familiar solitude of your apartment was supposed to be comforting, but tonight, it felt more like a reminder of all the things you’d been running from: your grief, your past, and the fragile, fraying connection with the person who had come to mean so much to you.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, letting it fall with a thud that echoed through the empty space. You leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling the cool surface against your palms as you tried to ground yourself. You wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. It was as if you’d locked them away, buried them beneath layers of duty and distraction.

But then there was a knock at your door, soft and tentative, almost like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they should be there. You hesitated, wiping at your eyes quickly as if to compose yourself, and moved to answer. You half-expected to find Peter, still worried about you after the train ride, or maybe even no one at all, just a mistake. But when you opened the door, it was Hotch who stood before you.

He looked different, more vulnerable and uncertain than you had ever seen him. His usually composed demeanor was frayed, and there was a rawness in his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. He stood there awkwardly, clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright, his face etched with a mixture of hesitation and determination.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a fragile thread, one wrong move away from snapping. Hotch looked down, swallowing hard as if searching for the right words. He wasn’t in his usual pristine suit but rather dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, his attire as out of place as the uncertainty written across his face.

“Hotch?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, tinged with both surprise and concern. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you, as if he was struggling to find the right words, struggling to let down the walls he had spent a lifetime building. He stepped inside, and you quietly closed the door behind him, your heart pounding as you waited for him to speak. He took a few slow steps into the living room, glancing around as if trying to ground himself in the unfamiliar space.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice strained and brittle, every word heavy with unspoken pain. “I know this isn’t… I shouldn’t have just shown up like this, but I needed to talk to you. About… about what you said last night, and today on the train. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation with Peter.”

This wasn’t the composed, confident man you knew at work, this was Aaron, someone you never got to see, someone who was barely holding it together. “ You were right, Y/N. You were right about everything.”

You stood there, frozen, as his words hit you like a wave. You had never heard Hotch sound so vulnerable, so broken. He was always the strong one, the unshakable agent who never let his guard down, but tonight, he was just Aaron, and he was struggling.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep things separate,” he began, his voice trembling. “I thought if I could just focus on the work, I could ignore everything else—everything that hurt, everything that felt out of my control. But I can’t keep doing that. It’s not who I am, and it’s not who I want to be anymore.”

Hotch’s hands shook as he tried to steady himself, his eyes brimming with emotions he had kept buried for so long. “My father... he was abusive. He was cruel in ways that I can’t even put into words. He’d tear me apart with his words, his fists, anything to remind me that I was never good enough. I grew up in a house that felt more like a battlefield than a home, where silence was never safe and every day was just another fight to survive.”

His voice cracked, and you could see the weight of those memories in his eyes: the fear, the shame, the endless need to be perfect because nothing less would ever be enough for a man who thrived on control. “I tried so hard to protect my mom, my brother, but I was just a kid. There were nights when I’d lie awake, praying he’d leave us alone, praying I’d be strong enough to make it stop. But it never did. And I swore that when I grew up, I’d never be like him. I’d never let anyone see that weakness.”

You listened, your own tears finally breaking free as his pain washed over you. You had never imagined Hotch’s past had been so brutal, so deeply scarred by violence and fear. He had always seemed so put together, so composed, but now, you could see just how much he had been hiding, how much he had been carrying all this time.

“I thought if I kept that part of myself locked away, I’d be able to move on. I thought… I thought if I became Hotch, the profiler, that it would erase all the things he said I’d never be. But it’s just made me more closed off, more afraid to let anyone in. And I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t even know how to stop.”

He looked at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, and you could see the desperation there - the plea for understanding, for forgiveness, for something he couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know how to let people in, Y/N. I don’t know how to not be this… this guarded version of myself. But if I’m going to try, if I’m going to let anyone see me, I want it to be you. Because you were right when you said I don’t know you, but I want to. And you deserve to know me, too—the real me.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside you, and without thinking, you closed the distance between you and pulled him into a tight, desperate hug. Hotch tensed at first, unaccustomed to such unguarded intimacy, but then his arms wrapped around you, and you could feel him finally letting go. His head bowed against your shoulder, and his entire frame shook with the silent sobs he’d been holding back for too long.

You clung to him, your own tears mingling with his, and in that moment, it felt like the dam you’d both been holding back had finally broken. You were no longer the stoic agents who always had the answers, always kept it together. You were just two people, scarred and hurting, trying to find solace in the only way you knew how: by holding on to each other.

Hotch’s hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he held you closer, as if you were the lifeline he had been searching for. He whispered apologies between his tears, his voice cracking with the weight of his regrets. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you.”

You shook your head, burying your face into his neck, your tears soaking through his t-shirt as you let out all the grief you’d kept buried: the loss of your father, the unresolved pain of your parents’ broken marriage, the way you had thrown yourself into work to keep from falling apart. You had been running for so long, hiding behind your accomplishments, just like him.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Aaron,” you whispered through your tears, the use of his first name slipping out naturally in this moment of raw honesty. “I had no idea. I was so angry, and I—”

He shook his head, his voice soft but firm as he whispered back, “You don’t have to apologize. You were right… about all of it. I needed to hear it. I needed to face it.”

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped up in each other’s pain and understanding, the weight of your shared burdens finally feeling just a little bit lighter. There were no perfect words, no easy fixes, but in that embrace, you found something neither of you had expected—comfort, solace, and the beginning of a new kind of trust.

“It’s okay,” you whispered through your tears, clutching him tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

For the first time, it felt like you were truly seen, truly understood, and the relief of it was overwhelming. You didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to be strong or perfect or put together. You could just be, and he could just be, and that was enough.

Hotch pulled back slightly, your eyes finally met, both of you still teary but no longer hiding. There was a silent understanding there, a promise that from now on, things would be different. “No more walls. No more hiding.” He murmured, his voice shaky but filled with a quiet determination.

You nodded, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. You didn’t know what the future would hold, but as you held each other in that quiet, tear-stained moment, you knew that you weren’t alone anymore. You had each other, and that was a start. It was messy, and it was painful, but it was real. And in that, you found hope - hope that maybe, together, you could begin to heal. You weren’t just partners in the professional sense anymore; you were something more—two people learning to let each other in, to lean on each other’s strength when your own wasn’t enough. And in that simple, fragile moment, you both knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone, that your new friend would be right there at your side.

The evening had settled over the city, and the Irish pub next to your apartment block was buzzing with energy. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel a glimmer of lightness, excitement bubbling at the thought of spending time with Hotch, Peter, and the rest of your colleagues from the BAU. After everything that had happened, the weight of unresolved emotions had eased, if only slightly, and you found yourself looking forward to reconnecting with your team outside the pressures of the job.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d stopped by a bookstore, the small shop tucked between a row of cafes and boutique stores you often passed but rarely visited. As you browsed the shelves, your eyes fell on a book titled "Hegel for Dummies." It was a perfect, lighthearted gesture, a small symbol of your newfound friendship with Hotch, and a callback to the night you’d spent poring over Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs at the library. You thought that maybe, after his recent dive into architecture, he might take an interest in philosophy too, especially Hegel, one of your favorites. The book felt like a tiny olive branch, a way of letting him into your world a little more, just as he had let you into his the night before.

You imagined him reading it, piecing together Hegel’s ideas on thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, and maybe learning something about you in the process. And who knew? Maybe one day, if you were lucky, he’d hand you one of his favorite books, offering you another glimpse into the parts of himself he rarely showed.

When you walked into the pub, the warm light and chatter were an immediate comfort. You spotted your team at a long wooden table near the back, and to your surprise, you saw Gideon sitting there, crutches leaned against the wall, his leg injury having kept him out of the latest case. Rossi was beside him, the two of them looking as inseparable as ever, trading stories and laughs over pints of beer. It was a sight that immediately lifted your spirits.

“Look who finally made it!” Rossi called out, waving you over. “Come on, we saved you a seat.”

You grinned, making your way through the crowd. “Rossi, Gideon, you two didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

Gideon leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, you didn’t think we’d miss the party, did you? Besides, someone has to make sure Peter doesn’t get too full of himself.”

Peter shot you a wink, raising his glass in greeting. “They’re just here to bask in my glory, Y/N. But don’t let them fool you, they’ve been talking about you all night.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you took a seat between Gideon and Peter. “I’m sure they have. So, what did I miss?”

Before anyone could answer, Hotch walked in, his presence as commanding as ever, though there was a new softness in his eyes when he spotted you. You exchanged a smile, a silent acknowledgment of the night before, and of the steps you were both taking toward something new, something vulnerable.

“Hotch!” Rossi greeted, patting the empty seat beside him. “Come sit, we’re debating where Peter’s new desk should be. Since Y/N’s parked herself at his old one, we might need to reshuffle the whole bullpen.”

Hotch took his seat, glancing at you with a teasing smile. “I think she’s gotten too comfortable. I doubt she’s giving it up.”

Peter leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial whispering into your ear “Wanna make a bet?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “See that woman behind Hotch’s shoulder? If she doesn’t come talk to him, you get to keep your desk.”

You eyed the woman briefly, noticing her casual yet elegant demeanor, but she seemed engrossed in her own conversation. Hotch was engaged in a discussion with Rossi, showing no sign of noticing her. You were confident this would be an easy win, especially given Hotch’s typically reserved nature. “Alright,” you said, turning back to Peter. “And what do you get if you win?”

Peter’s grin widened, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. “A date. With you.”

The unexpected proposition caught you off guard, and for a moment, you felt your cheeks warm. You glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was serious, but his expression remained light, teasing. You brushed it off with a laugh, pretending he was just messing with you. “Okay, you’re on.”

But no sooner had you accepted the bet than the woman, as if she had somehow overheard your conversation, moved toward Hotch with an expression of surprise. You watched in stunned silence as she approached, her voice soft and familiar. “Aaron? What were the odds?”

Your heart sank as Hotch’s face lit up, a rare and genuine smile crossing his features, his cheeks flushed slightly, and there was a familiarity between them that made your chest tighten. You felt Peter nudge you, his voice breaking through the shock. “Looks like you owe me a date.”

You barely registered his words, too fixated on the interaction unfolding in front of you. Hotch returned to the table with the woman by his side, her presence seeming to fill the room in a way that made you feel suddenly small and out of place. Hotch’s voice cut through the noise, introducing her with a casualness that belied the weight of the moment. “Everyone, this is Haley.”

You barely managed to hold your composure, the pieces of this unexpected puzzle falling into place as you processed Hotch’s flushed expression and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. This wasn’t just anyone, this was someone from his past, someone who clearly was very close and definitely had shared some sort of romantic history with him. The bitter thoughts stung more than you wanted to admit.

Before you could say anything, Gideon, ever the observant one, leaned over, catching sight of the corner of a book sticking out of your open purse. “Hegel for Dummies?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, amusement flickering in his voice as he picked it up to inspect.

You nodded, still too stunned to fully engage, your mind elsewhere. “Yeah. It’s… it’s just a little joke,” you managed, though the words felt hollow in the moment.

Gideon smiled knowingly, his eyes shifting between you and Hotch. “Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis,” he mused, almost as if he were speaking to himself but loud enough for you to hear. “Funny how life always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

The words hung heavy in the air, and as you sat there, watching Hotch interact with Haley, you couldn’t help but feel the truth in them. Life was messy, a constant push and pull of opposing forces, and you were caught in the middle of it, trying to make sense of what it all meant.

[flashthescalesian-art]

Okay but an EPIC: The Musical AU where Odysseus brings Astyanax along instead of killing him, and Polites immediately decides to be the fun uncle for this baby. B U T during the whole Cyclops thing, instead of dying, Polites just gets really injured, so Odysseus carries him back to the ship and tries to tend his injuries. (Astyanax is safely with a few other members of the crew, don’t worry). Polites is still hurt too badly to survive for long, so Odysseus begs the gods for help, and Hermes shows up with something (a potion/elixir/whatever you wanna call it) that’ll heal Polites.

It doesn’t immediately make Polites better (I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort, don’t come at me), but he survives and heals, and he and Astyanax are both fine until the events of Thunder Bringer. Except instead of dying with the crew, they both wash up on Calypso’s island with Ody. Calypso finds them after finding Odysseus, but before he wakes up, she turns them into something (idk what, probably plants or something, this idea is just a concept rn).

So events go as they do in canon, but when Calypso has to let Odysseus leave, she’s also forced to free Polites and Astyanax too, so they get turned back to normal and get to leave with Odysseus, who is honestly just BAFFLED by the fact that his best friend and adopted son are still alive, but he’s also so freaking happy to have them back after seven years of torment. (Astyanax is probably like ten now even tho he spent seven years as a plant or something, but idk maybe he’s still a toddler. Haven’t decided)

They get home to Ithaca, Odysseus, Polites, and Telemachus kill the suitors, Ody reunites with Penelope and introduces her to Astyanax who she adopts immediately, and Telemachus and Astyanax get to hang out with their parents and Uncle Polites. Also Ody gets to sleep because that man needs it

[goodolddumbbanana]

Nexus to Moon: dramatic, mysterious, evil.

He is the monster. He forced me kneel, he hurts me, he makes me relived of all my mistakes. I couldn't fight him and the worst of it..... I. Scared. Of. Him.

Nexus to Sun: Bitch wants me to work for him and gets mad when I say no. Also... Cringe.

I am sorry but, has anyone felt a really drastically shift tones between Moon and Sun when they interact with Nexus?

Like Nexus really wants to hurt Moon, badly. He does not hesitate to cram his hands inside Moon's head, and mocks Moon for everything he did. It was intense, and we can feel it is Nexus the one who is in the control. And that Moon will not do or can try anything.

Also Moon gets kneel down and tortured pretty quick after that. Also he seems very scared of Nexus after each time he interacted with Nexus.

But Sun... I don't know man... I think I had made Nexus cooler in my head.

He is just so cringe. (THE GOD thingy makes me die a little bit whenever I hear him screaming that name)

I couldn't see the monster who hurt Moon with the way he was chasing Sun around and Sun just kept running like it is no ends tomorrow.

(Lmao dude just straight up pulling Naruto run on Nexus, really reminds me back then, of the times when Sun doing something stupid and Nexus just angrily yelling ran after him.)

And even when he had Sun at the corner, he couldn't say anything 'emotional damage' to Sun.

"What ... Are you insane?!"

"Yeah. I thought it was pretty obvious."

And baby girl is so obsessed with the fact he is no longer Moon, he thinks it is him who is still the one Sun calls for help. Which is sad and funny both at the same time.

Like we can feel a tiny small hesitant in Nexus's voice when Sun keeps saying 'Moon', like he thought Sun wants him to stop.

And how the issue gets dragged on the surface. Sun always feels like he couldn't help Nexus and Nexus also feels like he couldn't let Sun help him. (Because the same old story, Sun got hurt and kidnapped whenever he came with Nexus.)

"So now I have value for you?"

"Yeah, for once in your miserable life, you have value."

It is sad when they come back at each other like this. Especially when Nexus always says that he needs Sun back in the day.

"You had friends, you had a family. They love you."

Sun loves him. He still loves Nexus. He didn't want Nexus dead is one thing, but he seems so worried about Nexus (accidentally calling him Moon when seeing him got shot) and tries to make Monty stop shooting. Even after Nexus runway, Sun - the one who gets so infected by Negative Star power, still wants to know if Nexus is okay.

And when he was back at home, he wasn't even scared of Nexus, not like how he used to be terrified of Eclipse or Killcode or even when he interacts with Dark Sun. He seems just pissed and done at himself, and not even with Nexus.

"I didn't have friends. I was a replacement."

Nexus didn't consider Monty his friend. I mean it is totally understandable, especially when they hijacked his head before. But replacement... Really? Sure maybe at first with Sun, but what about Earth? She didn't know jack about you?

"Maybe at first, but I liked you."

Haha... Remember when Nexus said he was very appreciative of how Sun loved him more than Moon? Haha... Good times ...

"oh my..., cuz I was nicer to you."

"because you are nice."

"because I didn't beat you.... Guess what Sunny, you are nothing but a tool for me..."

He throws away any good things he did for Sun. He burned all their memories, and saw himself as a monster. He tried to make himself a monster towards Sun, and when seeing it didn't work, because Sun doesn't care about how horrible he is now, he straight down Sun with the 'I don't care about you' attitude.

"You know what... You are not worse than Moon. Hell you are not even better..."

'You are just exactly like Moon. ' I think it is what Sun wants to say. They are both so stuck in their own minds, never wanting to hear what other people say, what people are trying to prove they are so much better than this.

"I am me! NONE OF YOU COULD REALISE, I AM MY OWN PERSON!!!"

"I tried."

"No you didn't. You USED me. And now I am going to use you."

"I am sorry."

His voice seems so small. He sounds so heartbroken when he says sorry to Nexus, like we can feel the thought process behind Sun. He truly thinks everything happened was his fault, it is Sun's fault leading Nexus to become like this.

"Your apologies don't mean anything to me."

And Nexus sounds so wanting to move one, to get done with his job, to stop talking about the past. It doesn't matter if Sun says sorry or not, because he doesn't care. He doesn't want to care.

And the term he used... Dragging Sun into his lab and plug he into the machine, to let him never do any of his own will ever again....

What does Nexus think Sun will do with his own will? Like what exactly can Sun do? Yapping at his ears until it bleeds? Sun doesn't have any manipulated skills at all, he is so straightforward and honest to actually harm Nexus from behind, like, Nexus just needs to highjack Sun's head like Moon.

From my perspective, I think there are a lot of methods to let Sun do as Nexus plead, but Nexus only wants to stop thinking about Sun. Like if he fully controlled over Sun, he will not have to think about how Sun is disappointed in him anymore, He will not have to think of Sun as a human being, as his ex brother, as someone still cares about him.

And when Sun says he will not do as Nexus says? Nexus sounds didn't surprise at all. They understand each other too well to know even Sun sometimes a coward, he will not give up like that for Nexus.

Also... Why did he not just threaten Moon? Or Dazzle? Or Jack? Just like how he mocks Solar?

Did he not want his older brother to think of him lower?

"...I have you kneel at me, right ? So look at your superior being."

The way Nexus said that, it makes me feel sad. Like, Nexus so wants to cut off Sun, to make Sun think of him as a monster, to hurt Sun not even in the way it matters.

He still couldn't hit Sun at his lowest, I mean, back then, Old Moon even worse with Sun both emotionally and physically back in the days.

Even after so much nonsense craps, Sun still unharmed. He tortured Moon, he mocked Solar, but Sun.... There is no win in this fight.

Their fighting still looks so much more than their so used banter before... I wish Nexus and Sun will be still brothers ;.;

Sidenote: I love that Ruin tries to convince Nexus to think more with his head but just ends up giving up like : oh right, screw you then, asshole.

Very baby girl behaviour of him.

[queerliquidstuff]

you know I've been thinking about one cherik anti-parallel, about their past and their stories being completely controversial but umm like in the same way??

when erik was a kid he survived a lot of awful things he lost his parents he's been experimented on and he's always been hated just for what he is

then he finds people who accept him, who love him, who know who he is but adore him exactly for that (all those people are charles but still) but he doesn't change. he was hateful before, when he thought it was the only way for him to survive, and he still is, when it's no longer needed. he doesn't really change to the better.

and there's charles. he was always rich, well-educated, he always knew his place and it was the good one. yeah we can guess that his parents didn't really love him buuut for him it didn't change anything, it's wasn't important. he always had someone (raven) by his side. in that environment he never needed to be hateful or oroverprotective of himself so he grew up into a really nice guy

and then he finds out that there's a lot of people who actually hate him just because he's different, a lot of people who tried to hurt him. and eventually he was hurt, badly, everyone he loved was taken from him with his legs, his dreams, hopes, all that. he had a period of depression yes, but after that he remained a nice guy, he was still kind and good to everyone.

so erik didn't lose all his hate for this world had the opportunity, and charles didn't lose all his love for this world when he had the opportunity. kinda poetic idk((

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

"Bite Me" - Alastor x Reader - Part 2

prev

You....really shouldn't have bitten Alastor.

It was a threat, yep, and the guy did need to learn his actions had consequences, but...er. Was that really worth this?

The Radio Demon had practically been your shadow for the past week. His expression never changed, his tone never shifted. You were like, 90 percent sure he was thinking of the best way to kill you for maximum pain.

Pain wasn't good. You were allergic to it.

...That line usually got a chuckle out of whoever heard it, or in your case, whenever you thought it. However, this time, it didn't quite tickle your funny bone as it usually did.

Because Alastor was standing right there.

And staring at you.

In your goddam bedroom.

"....Hi." You said, chewing on your bottom lip.

Alastor's gaze darted for a second to your lip, then back to your eyes. And he said nothing.

"...Did you need something?" You said.

He continued to stare at you, unblinking.

You sighed "Listen, if you're going to kill me can you just hurry up already? I'm sure it beats how awkward this is."

Other than the slightest twitch of an ear, he still didn't respond.

You huffed, narrowing your eyes as a growl permeated through the air. "At least say something!"

He didn't.

"OKay, fine!" You snapped, throwing your hands up in the air. You crossed them over your chest with a pout, giving Alastor a mean side-eye. "Keep standing there doing nothing. I guess I could use a new hat rack anyway."

"...You don't have any hats?" He said, tilting his head to one side.

"I'll get some so I can justify having a hat rack." You said, tail flicking.

"Mhm... So, how sincere is this threat?"

"What?"

Alastor straightened his posture, taking a couple long strides to stand right at your bedside. "You make a lot of threats, my dear. And I've only ever seen you carry 1 out."

"Usually people listen to me." You said, rolling your eyes.

"So you've never actually follow through before?" He tilted his head to the opposite side than before. His grin seemed to stretched a bit, ears becoming less stiff.

"Does that make you happy?" You said, turning to face him "That you're the first idiot who made me actually do something?"

From how he practically beamed you can only assume it did. You sighed, flopping down onto the bed on your side. The intent was to ignore him until he got bored and went away or got sick of you and killed you.

Instead you found a shadowy tendril wrapping around your middle, rolling you onto your back. Alastor grinned down at you, his body a perfect 90-degree angle bent at the waist.

"I'm the first one you've bit?"

"...Yeah?" You said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean. I think I bit people when I was little and pretending I had rabies, but not really intending to hurt them..."

His grin widened. "How did I taste?"

...

"What."

"I want to know. How did I taste?"

Oh right he was a cannibal. You grimaced internally. Was that just something cannibals got giddy about? 'Hey I'm the first person you've eaten hurrah!'

The tendril around you gave a firm squeeze. You sighed and met Alastor's crimson eyes, giving him a flat look of your own.

"Dry and tough- like badly made jerky."

He laughed. "Well, of course! You bit into my jacket! Silly creature, you."

"....Well, you asked."

"That I did, that I did." Alastor hummed. He tilted his head too far to one side, leaning in closer to you "Would you care for a taste without my jacket?"

"No." You responded curtly.

The silence was palpable. Neither of you broke eye contact or changed your expressions for several moments. Those moments seemed very, very long.

His eye slowly twitched up and his ears dropped ever-so-slighty-

"Hm. Well, it's not like you'd manage that anyway."

"Probably not. Are we done?"

Another beat of silence passed before the shadows tendril dissolved into mist and Alastor was standing up straight again.

"Now, I wouldn't say this matter is done, but I suppose it could wait."

You sat up, staring at him. The more you stared, the more his eyes couldn't seem to decide on what to focus on. Was he...nervous?

That encounter didn't go anywhere else significant. He simply said a farewell and left you to your own devices.

===========

Your eye twitched as you took a long, deep breath.

Alastor was being so horribly, horribly annoying.

The last couple days he resumed his role as your shadow, but this time solely with the task of irritating you. He'd chew loudly, he'd step in an off-rhythm on purpose, he'd claw the surface of things you couldn't stand the sound of and it made your ears hurt and your jaw ache from how much you were grinding your teeth.

You had enough.

"Will you LEAVE ME ALONE!?" You snapped at him. He didn't so much as flinch, simply tilting his head and he leaned closer to you.

"Or what?"

"I'm going to shove your hooves so far up your ass you'll be coughing up horseshoes for a week-"

"I'm a deer, not a horse." He said, eyes crinkling up in amusement at your 'threat'.

You hissed out an agitated breath before taking a couple deep, long breaths and you felt your jaw lax (a little) and your temper die down a bit.

"...Yeah, you're right." You said after a moment "And I'm sorry. I didn't really have much of a reason to snap at you like that."

His eyes narrowed and you couldn't be bothered to wonder why. You said a curt goodbye and meandered off, feeling his eyes trained on your retreating form. You couldn't be bother to think about that, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi it's me the writer. Letting you all know that this is not planned in the slightest and i'm just winging it. No smut will happen EVER though because I don't wanna write it. So kindly look elsewhere if that's what you want. I will put a poll here though with considerations for potential next installment

[polaris-stuff]

Do you have any Dark Sun headcanons?

Hi hi, anon!! ✨

It's currently 3AM where I am, but I'll take advantage of the fact that I'm taking a break from work to respond quickly (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

CW for content of a ship with high toxic content. You have been warned.

I don't really think I have too many HCs for Dark Sun, but I really like playing with his past, especially involving his Moon and the romanticism in cannibalism, hehe.

"Fellas, is it gay to eat your counterpart?" Dark Sun asks after devouring his Moon XD

Well, basically I feel like those two didn't even consider themselves a couple or anything like that, it was more like a toxic and abusive codependency that no matter how you looked at it, you knew it was going to end very badly. But they still stayed there and kept hurting each other because they liked it.

Dark Sun (and really, all Suns) loves to be in control so the ability to not only be able to manipulate his Moon the way he wants, but also break it and put it back together the way he wants, make him tremble and then coo him to calm him down. And GOD, Moon loves that, feeling so delicate and weak, the feeling of slipping into pieces through Sun's own hands, stopping feeling, stopping thinking and then it all comes back at once, and it's a shock of adrenaline that Moon can't never get enough of.

And so Dark Sun kept doing it, until it was no longer satisfying. Doing the same thing over and over again, same reactions, same results; it wasn't fun anymore. So he went further and these pieces he tore off he started eating.

In canon he and Moon have different bodies but I like the idea that they were never separated a little better so Dark Sun basically ate the pieces of Moon's code until make them part of himself. Idk, the romance of eating the person you love to be closer than ever lol

The only reason their codes didn't end up creating an Eclipse was because of Dark Sun's literal willpower to be stronger and in control. So Moon's code was of no use other than his intelligence and knowledge, because the Killcode was destroyed by tearing off the pieces.

Other than that, I don't think I have anything else about his past!!

Oh! I also have the HC that he likes birds more than cats.

And lastly, I have the HC that Dark Sun manipulated not only the situation and conditions to create Nexus, but also used the black matter generator to guide NSP to New Moon and basically poison him little by little. It was when Dark Sun completely ripped the Old Moon chip out of Nexus' head that the accumulated NSP took the chip's place (and consequently, finishing distorting Nexus' mind)

[varpusvaras]

Dick had many soulmarks.

Not as much as someone would've thought, probably, with the amount of friends that he had, but still many. They adorned his forearm like jewelry, circling around his skin in intricate patterns. Every single one of them just as beautiful as the other, just like the people they belonged to. Dick thought every single one of them as a blessing.

He had done so especially after the first two had faded away.

They were still there, of course. Nothing could ever truly erase a mark on someone's soul, after all. Not even death. Dick would've been even more devastated if the marks would've disappeared with his parents, even if sometimes looking at the now liveless marks hurt.

They had hurt, physically, when it had happened. When the bodies had hit the ground and Dick's heart had been ripped into pieces, the marks had burned, searing hot white pain latching onto him, pulling at his skin the same as his heart.

Not that Dick had really noticed it, then. He had been hurting too much otherwise to really care about it in the moment.

He had latched onto every new mark with all of his heart afterwards. It had hurt, when Bruce's had appeared, as it made the white, faded color of his parents' marks stand out even more, but the joy had been enough to chase the hurt away. Alfred's had not hurt nearly as much, and with his friends, he had simply been happy.

Dick would've never said it out loud, but he did have favorites. His parents', even faded. He didn't think anyone would blame him for that one. Bruce's, in a sense, as it had been the first live one he had gained.

His absolute favorite, though?

Jason's.

Jason was...different. He wasn't his parents, nor was he his caretaker. He had no obligations to Dick, even if obligations did not really affect the formation of the marks. He wasn't Dick's friend, either, not the same way anyone in the team was.

He was Dick's little brother.

And Dick would've given him the world.

Jason had been ecstatic when the marks had appeared, and, to be perfectly honest, so had Dick. They were such beautiful marks too, the lines twisting around themselves to form images of wings in flight, shining when light hit them just right, every new angle bringing out a new detail.

"Birds of a feather, right?" Dick had said, grinning wildly. "That's what we are, Little Wing, and the marks know it."

He had ruffled Jason's hair, and Jason had grinned back at him, and for that moment, Dick had been able to forget everything else. No argument or hurt had mattered even in the slightest.

It had just been Dick and Jason, in their own world, one that was only for them.

---

Dick was exhausted.

In a good way, for once. If there was a good way to be exhausted. Maybe saying that he was exhausted in a better way was more correct. No one was hurt too badly, and the day had been more or less a success. All things considered, at the very least.

He missed home. It was maybe a stupid thing to say, Dick knew that so many people back home would've given everything to go to space, but Dick was tired. He was tired of being the leader, tired of seeing his friends get hurt, tired of failing in some way every single day.

He missed home. Even if things with Bruce were not perfect, everything was still much simpler back at the Manor, at least compared to this. Alfred would be there, with his gentle yet firm words and reassurances, and Bruce, even when Dick wanted to mostly scream at him, was still a familiar presence in a familiar space.

Jason would be there, too, talking Dick's ear off, making the house lived in, making it feel like an actual home.

Dick just wanted this whole thing to be over already, if he was being completely honest. Today had been a good day, all things considered, and all Dick wanted to do was to faceplant on his bed and sleep without too many worried for once. Sleep and hope that it would bring him closer to getting back home.

Of course, he couldn't do that, not just yet. Even if no one was hurt too badly, he needed to make sure that everything was in order, make sure that they had all they needed, make sure-

One moment he was thinking about all the things he needed to still do, and the next he was on the ground on his hands and knees, being torn to pieces and burned alive.

There were voices around him. Someone was touching him, hands warm on his skin, tilting his face up, but Dick couldn't see who it was. His heart was beating erratically, like it was trying to tear itself to shreds and out of its place. It burned, searing hot, white pain, that had turned him into a human torch.

Distantly, Dick knew that he already knew this pain.

He got a breath in to his burning lungs. Then another one. He was still on fire, but he could see again.

Kory was right in front of him, holding his head. Dick was mostly on the ground, now, laying on his side, only barely holding himself on his elbows.

He had no idea when he had gotten there.

Kory seemed to notice that he had come back to himself. Her face relaxed ever so slightly as his eyes met hers.

"Dick?" She asked. Her voice was low, and she was clearly trying to keep it soft, but it was still pinched with worry, just like her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Dick didn't know what to say to her.

He knew he wasn't injured, not badly at least. He knew that, but he didn't feel alright, not in the slightest.

The pain was still there, curling around the edges of him, his skin feeling like embers that were still smoldering, even though the fire had gone away. He couldn't feel his arm properly, and Dick wondered if something had-

Suddenly he felt cold.

He pushed himself up, ignoring how shaky he felt. He almost fell down again, and Kory tried to put her hands on him, maybe to push him back down or to help him up. Dick didn't know, and he didn't have the time to stop and figure it out.

His suit was on the way. Dick tugged at it, then dug his teeth on the sleeve and ripped the seam open with force he hadn't known he possessed in his jaws, and he dug his fingers in it again and continued ripping the sleeve off of his skin.

There were voices around him again, someone's hands on his shoulders, but Dick didn't pay any attention to any of it. He needed to get it off, he needed to get it off, so he could see, he needed to get it off so he could see-

Jason's mark was gone.

It had been between Bruce's and Alfred's, golden and warm and brilliant, wings in flight, and it was gone.

Dick tilted his arm, tried to catch it in light, like he had done before, to make it shine like it always had, and-

It was there.

It was still there.

Faded.

White.

Dead.

Just like his parents.

The fire burned again where his heart should've been, freezing cold, hollowing him out from the inside.

The world disappeared from around him as Dick screamed.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: work song

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden

Artist: tallula03

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Length: 70000

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Murder Husbands, Revenge, Canon-Typical Violence, Break Up and Make Up, Mutual Pining, Getting Back Together, Criminal!Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Two years ago, Dean Winchester's life came crashing to a halt when his boyfriend, Castiel Novak, died in a tragic accident. After painstakingly putting his life back together, Dean goes on a vacation with his best friend, where he sees a face he never thought he would see again. Now reunited, Castiel tells Dean the truth about his past and the reason for his disappearance. However, all is not well--Dean cannot move past Cas' betrayal and lies, and the ghosts from Cas' past refuse to remain there. With danger looming, Dean and Cas start on a mission of revenge and justice, but they're badly outnumbered. With the hurt of the past colliding with the fragile promise of the future, Dean and Castiel need to learn how to create a new path--or else risk being lost forever.

Excerpt: Dean settles on the edge of the couch, ready to jump away at a moment’s notice. The surrealness of the situation — him, talking to Castiel two years after he thought Cas died, furious instead of joyful, wanting nothing more than to flee from Cas as fast as he can — would flatten him if he thought about it for longer than two seconds.  So he just doesn’t think about it. He sits and he waits.  Cas takes a long time to get to the point, twisting his fingers around each other, so abruptly that Dean winces at the sharp pop of his knuckles. Cas stares at a stain on the carpet like the secrets to the universe are written in its oblong edges.  By the time Cas finally speaks, Dean is ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation. He’s ready for Cas to yell at him, to call him pathetic. He just wants Cas to say something, but he’s completely unprepared for what Cas does eventually say.  “You are…” Cas’ throat bobs as he says, with an inflection that sounds like something soft and small dying, “were… one of the most important things in my life. The most important thing in my life.”  Cas sounds so sincere. Dean could almost believe him.  “I never would have left if I had the choice. Those two years I spent with you… They were the happiest of my life.”  Cas takes a deep breath, fortifying himself. Dean does the same, rebuilding his wall that had started to crack at the first sign of Cas’ vulnerability. He’s imagining everything from Cas actually admitting that he’s just shit at breaking up with someone and couldn’t figure out a different way to end the relationship, to Cas saying that he had to flee due to problems with the IRS. “When I said you were in danger… Dean, I wasn’t lying. When I first met you, I had been on the run for over a year. I knew that staying with you was only tempting fate — bringing danger right to your doorstep — but I couldn’t help myself. You were so…” Castiel swallows. His hands are clasped so tightly together that his knuckles are bleeding white. “And for two years, I thought it might be all right. I thought… I thought maybe I was allowed to have you. But then I saw someone from my past, and I knew that if they had managed to find me, they could threaten you. They could hurt you.”  “Hurt me? Cas, I don’t—”  He doesn’t know what to expect, but he still couldn’t have prepared himself for what Cas says next.  “Dean, I was a member of the Archangel crime organization until it was taken over by Lucifer Morningstar. I was on the run because he put a bounty on my head, and I know you might not believe this, but the reason I left was to protect you.”  Fucking what?

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[wannabehockeygf]

hurt my feelings - elias petersson

part of the think later fic series

"She wears your number, but I got what you like, She's got you right now, but I'm still on your mind, I should've known better, You should've known better than me."

*** request: "I was wondering if you would be able to do an Elias Pettersson one? If not that’s fine, but if you do I would LOVE hurt my feelings with elias where he is in an open relationship and sleeping with the main character, but she’s in love with him yadayadayada. If you could do angst with a happy ending that would be great. Thank youuuu" summary: a more-than-stupid hookup has you feeling more than you thought it would. word count: 6k pairing: elias petersson x fem!reader warnings: nothing really, post-sex stuff? notes: - hi requester ty for waiting for so long for this. it's been in the making. - first petey fic! - not really proof read. - also the fact tate wrote this about a hockey player... cole sillinger u will always have fumbled. ***

Elias lifts his hips, pulling up a pair of sweatpants you’ve never seen in any picture of him, or anywhere else but when he’s with you. Which, admittedly, means you’re either in his car, at your dingy studio in Coal Harbour, or some other obscure spot for a quick fuck, just for him to leave right after.

You don’t want to feel this way. But the heart wants what it wants, and you want him.

Problem is, you can’t have him.

You watch him adjust his sweatpants, the fabric clinging to his hips, and feel the familiar ache in your chest, one you desperately try to ignore. His skin gleams under the dim light of the car’s dashboard, and the air inside is still thick with the heat of what you’ve just done, your clothes scattered near the passenger seat. But the warmth between you faded as soon as he reached for those pants.

The reality of it all starts to settle in, creeping up on you as you sit there, still trying to catch your breath. Your body’s exhausted, but your mind? It’s racing, swirling with all the things you don’t want to admit, not to yourself, and definitely not to him.

Elias, with his perfect nonchalance, runs a hand over the top of his head, his eyes scanning the fogged-up windows. His fingers drum against the steering wheel like it’s just another night, just another routine. And that’s what you hate the most—that it’s all so easy for him. He always makes it feel like it means nothing. Meanwhile, your heart is screaming at you to stop pretending it doesn’t.

“You want me to take you home?” His voice breaks the silence, casual, like he hadn’t just been inside you, like the intimate moments you share have no lasting weight.

You glance at him, a knot tightening in your stomach. The suggestion feels so transactional, like a one-way ticket out of his life until the next time he feels like doing this again. And you hate that you want the next time so badly.

“No,” you mutter, though your voice betrays you, shaky and unsure.

His brow lifts, a flicker of surprise, though he quickly masks it with that cool indifference. “No? You wanna stay here, or what?”

You hate how his tone makes it seem like you’re the one being unreasonable. You shift, pulling the hem of your shirt down to cover yourself, fighting the creeping embarrassment that always comes in these moments. “I just—” you hesitate, searching for words that won’t make you sound pathetic, needy. “I’m not some, like… some pit stop for you to get off and leave, Elias.”

He turns to you fully now, eyes narrowing slightly, the laid-back air around him thickening into something heavier. “What are you talking about? You knew what this was.”

Of course, you knew. You told yourself that over and over again, every time you ended up tangled in his sheets or here in his car. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less. “Yeah, I did,” you snap, the words sharper than you intended. “But I didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

“Like what?” His voice is calm, too calm, like he can’t understand why you’re spiraling.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bitterness rising. You weren’t supposed to feel anything for him, right? That was the whole point. “Like I’m some backup plan until you’re bored again.” The confession hangs in the air between you, thick and unwelcome.

He exhales slowly, turning his gaze away, staring through the windshield into nothing. For a moment, it seems like he might say something to comfort you, to give you some semblance of reassurance. But instead, all you get is a quiet, “I never promised you anything.”

And there it is—his honesty, cutting deeper than you’d expected. You should respect him for it, for being upfront, but all it does is twist the knife in your chest. “I know you didn’t,” you whisper, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “But it still sucks.”

The car falls silent again, save for the hum of the engine, and for a moment, you wish you could just crawl out of your own skin and leave the feelings behind. Maybe then you wouldn’t care about how Elias is already emotionally checked out, like this was just another night, another body. Your body, for now, but never your heart. That wasn’t part of the deal. Yet here you are, feelings clawing their way to the surface no matter how hard you try to shove them down.

“Look, if you don’t wanna do this anymore, just say it.” His voice cuts through the silence, casual as ever, but this time it has a slight edge to it. Like you’re the one being unreasonable for having, god forbid, feelings. “I told you from the start, I’m not looking for anything serious.” He shifts in his seat, pulling his hoodie down over his chest like he’s already ready to move on with his night. “I thought you were cool with that.”

You feel the words hit like a punch to the gut, the weight of them sitting heavy in your stomach. Cool with that? You’re supposed to be cool with feeling like nothing more than a convenience? Like your body is something he can dip into whenever he feels like it and then discard just as quickly? You swallow hard, trying to push back the anger that’s rising, though your hands are already trembling in your lap.

“Yeah, well,” you start, your voice barely steady as you speak, “I thought I was too.” You pause, searching for the right words, but they won’t come. How can you explain something you don’t even fully understand? “But it doesn’t mean I want to feel like… like this.”

Elias shifts again, turning toward you, his brow furrowing in confusion. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel, the casual rhythm so at odds with the tension building in the air between you. “Like what? You’re acting like I’m doing something wrong.” His tone is laced with mild frustration, as if he genuinely can’t grasp why you’re spiraling. And maybe that’s what makes it worse—the fact that he doesn’t get it.

You look away, staring at the streaks of condensation on the window as your vision blurs with unshed tears. “Like I’m just a body to you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Like you only want me when it’s convenient.” The vulnerability in your words makes your skin crawl, and you hate how pathetic you feel, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Elias lets out a long sigh, rubbing his hand over his face like you’re exhausting him. “I’m not trying to make you feel like shit,” he says, his tone softening, but the detachment is still there. “I told you from the beginning, I’m not gonna settle down. This is just… fun. You knew that.”

You know he’s trying to be reasonable, but it doesn’t matter. The words feel like salt in a wound, deepening the hurt that you’re so desperate to hide. Fun. That’s all it is to him. You clench your fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not asking you to settle down with me, Elias. I’m not fucking delusional,” you say, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm. “But I’m not some fucking plaything either.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. “Jesus, you’re blowing this way out of proportion,” he says, his voice sharper now. “It’s not that deep. You’re making this into something it’s not.”

The dismissiveness in his tone makes your blood boil. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, a flush creeping up your neck as the anger takes hold. “Not that deep?” You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, you really don’t get it, do you?” You turn to face him, your eyes burning as you meet his gaze. “I’m not asking you for some fairytale relationship, but fuck, Elias, I deserve more than being your afterthought.”

He stares at you, expression hardening as your words hit. His jaw clenches slightly, the tension visible in the way his hands grip the steering wheel. “Again, you knew what this was,” he repeats, his voice low, controlled. “If you’re catching feelings, that’s on you. I didn’t ask for that.”

The coldness of his words stings, each one hitting like a slap. And you hate it—the fact that he’s right, that you’re the one who let your heart get involved in something that was never meant to go beyond the physical. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. “You don’t think I know that?” you shoot back, your voice shaking with anger. “I didn’t ask for it either. I didn’t want this. But it’s happening, and it fucking sucks.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “We agreed this was just sex. Nothing more.”

Ridiculous. The word echoes in your mind, bouncing around like a cruel reminder of how you’ve let yourself get here, feeling something for someone who can’t even give you an ounce of what you need. Your hands tremble, and you quickly shove them under your thighs, trying to keep yourself from completely falling apart in front of him.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m ridiculous then,” you spit, the bitterness in your voice seeping into every word. You feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you blink them back, refusing to let him see just how much this is hurting you. “But I’m done with this. I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

Elias looks at you, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite read—anger? Frustration? Indifference? You can’t tell anymore. “Whatever. I’m taking you home.” ***

You sit on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow across the room. Your phone rests beside you, silent, no new notifications lighting up the screen. You've been staring at it for what feels like hours, waiting for something—anything—to distract you from the gnawing emptiness settling in your chest. But, of course, nothing comes.

With a frustrated sigh, you grab your phone, thumb hovering over Instagram, knowing full well what you're about to do to yourself. You shouldn't, you know that, but the temptation is too strong. Against your better judgment, you open the app and type her name into the search bar. Her profile pops up almost immediately. There she is—her.

Elias’ girlfriend.

You click on her latest post, a snapshot of her at Rogers Arena, grinning ear to ear, wearing his jersey like it’s a crown, her hands raised above her head in mock celebration. #CanucksWin, the caption reads, followed by a string of blue and green heart emojis. She looks so… happy, like she belongs there, like she’s the one who has his heart, his attention. And maybe she is.

Your chest tightens as you scroll through her feed. Picture after picture of her and Elias at games, on vacations, laughing together, looking every bit the perfect couple. There’s one of them at the beach—Elias, shirtless and grinning, his arm slung casually over her shoulders, while she looks up at him like he’s the only person in the world. That smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners... You know that smile. You've seen it before, but not like this. Not in a way that made you feel like you’d been given something special, something real.

No, with you, it’s different. It’s fleeting, temporary. You’re just a body to him, a release when he needs it. Nothing more.

You hate it. Hate how she looks so comfortable in his world, while you're stuck on the outside, desperately clawing at the edges, trying to convince yourself that you don’t want what she has. But you do. God, you do.

You toss your phone onto the bed, resisting the urge to scream. The jealousy burns in your throat, hot and bitter, swirling with a cocktail of self-loathing and frustration. You shouldn’t care. This wasn’t supposed to matter. But here you are, scrolling through his girlfriend’s Instagram, tearing yourself apart because she has what you can’t.

The thought of her being with him—touching him, laughing with him, wearing the #40 like it was hers—makes your skin crawl. And the worst part? You can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t stop thinking about her. About how she gets to have the part of him you’ll never touch. His heart. The part that matters.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers are already moving, dialing Elias’ number. It rings once, twice, and then you hear his voice on the other end, casual, indifferent.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, like he’s not surprised at all to hear from you.

Your heart thuds against your ribs, the jealousy bubbling up into your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and you can hear the faint sound of music in the background, a soft murmur of voices. “Yeah, kind of. I’m with—” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know who he’s with. The words are already twisting in your chest, like a knife being driven deeper with every syllable.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to… meet up,” you say, trying to sound casual, like you’re not affected by the fact that he’s with her right now. “You know, for a quick one.”

Elias lets out a soft chuckle, the sound grating against your nerves. “I can’t tonight,” he says, his voice smooth, unbothered. “I’m with my girl.”

The way he says it—my girl—makes your stomach churn. You clench your fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms as the anger simmers just beneath the surface. “Right,” you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant, but the bitterness seeps into your voice anyway. “Of course.”

You can practically hear his smirk through the phone. “Another time,” he says, like it’s no big deal. Like this is just a game to him, and you’re a piece he can move around whenever it suits him.

“Yeah,” you force out, teeth gritting. “Sure. Another time.”

You hang up before he can say anything else, before you can hear the sound of her laugh in the background, or worse—imagine them together. The thought is enough to make your skin prickle with jealousy, the heat rising in your chest, suffocating you.

Before you know it, you're grabbing your keys, slipping on your shoes, and heading out the door. You don’t even bother to think twice. You aren’t the type to back down, not when you want something. And right now, you want Elias. You want to prove to him, to yourself, that whatever he has with her doesn’t compare to what he has with you.

By the time you arrive at his ritzy apartment in Yaletown, your heart is pounding in your chest, nerves and adrenaline mixing together in a volatile cocktail. You stare at the building for a long moment, the reality of what you’re about to do settling in. You shouldn’t be here. You know you shouldn’t be here. But the jealousy is too strong, too consuming, and all you can think about is how badly you need to see him. Need him to see you.

So, you go up the elevator. Up to whatever floor you know he’s on, the one where you can see all of Vancouver in its expensive glory, and you knock.

You stand in front of his door, knuckles still tingling from the knock, heart thundering in your chest. The hallway is eerily quiet, the only sound your own shallow breaths as you wait for him to open the door. And when it finally swings open, there he is—Elias, standing in front of you, shirtless, skin gleaming like he’s been lounging around, maybe with her. The sight of him, so casual, so at ease, only makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low but sharp, like he wasn’t expecting you, didn’t want you there. Behind him, you can hear the faint sound of a television, laughter that isn’t his. Her laugh.

Before you can respond, her voice floats from inside the apartment. “Eli? Who is it?”

Your heart clenches painfully, her voice piercing through the air like nails on a chalkboard. She sounds so… comfortable, like she belongs there. Like this is her place, her life, and you’re just an intruder.

Elias’ eyes flick to you, something unreadable passing over his face. He turns slightly, leaning into the doorframe as if shielding you from her view. “It’s nobody, älskling,” he calls back, his voice steady, but the dismissal hits you like a punch to the gut. Nobody. “Give me a minute.”

Your throat tightens as he steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The distance between you is small, but it feels like a chasm. He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t reach for you. He just stands there, watching you with that same indifferent look, like you’re something to be dealt with, not someone he wants to see.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is low, but the edge is unmistakable. It stings. But not as much as the jealousy burning inside you, clawing its way up your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep it together, trying not to let him see how close you are to breaking.

“I needed to see you,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The truth of it tastes bitter on your tongue. You hate yourself for it, for how desperate you sound. For how desperate you are.

Elias sighs, rubbing his hand along his jaw, the muscles in his arm flexing as he does. You hate how your eyes follow the movement, how even now, when your heart is shattering, you still can’t stop wanting him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, glancing back at the door like he’s afraid she might overhear. “You know I’m with her tonight.”

That word—her—sends another wave of anger crashing through you, and before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out. “Yeah, I know you’re with her. I saw the Instagram posts. I saw everything.” Your voice cracks on the last word, betraying just how deep the jealousy runs, how much it hurts to see him with someone else, someone who isn’t you.

He frowns, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw her at the game, wearing your jersey, looking so damn happy, like she has everything,” you spit, the words tumbling out faster than you can stop them. “Like she has you. And she does, doesn’t she?”

Elias’ face hardens, his jaw clenching as he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s because she’s my girlfriend,” he says quietly, the calmness in his voice making your stomach twist. “And you’re… not.” The words hit you like a slap in the face, knocking the air from your lungs. "You’re not." Two little words, but they’re enough to unravel the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to. Your entire body goes rigid as the weight of his indifference sinks in. It’s like being plunged into ice water—shocking, numbing, suffocating. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. What can you say? That you know you aren’t his girlfriend? That you know you don’t belong in his world, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise? That every second of this—of him—feels like borrowed time?

Your chest tightens, jealousy wrapping around your throat like a noose, squeezing until you can barely breathe. You try to swallow it down, to keep the rising panic at bay, but it’s too much. It’s all too much. The sight of him standing there, so cold, so unreachable, while just behind that door, she laughs, probably stretched out on his couch, wearing his jersey, living the life you want. The life you can never have.

Your hands tremble at your sides, and you press them into your thighs, trying to steady yourself. But your knees feel weak, like they might give out beneath you at any second. You hate this. You hate the jealousy coursing through your veins like poison, making you feel small, insignificant, pathetic. You hate how he can do this to you, how easily he can reduce you to this—a broken, jealous mess, standing in his hallway, trying not to fall apart.

“I… I don’t care,” you choke out, though the words taste like a lie. They hang between you, brittle and fragile, crumbling the second they leave your lips. Of course, you care. You care too much. That’s the problem. The jealousy claws at your chest, each breath shallow and ragged as you try to keep the dam from bursting. But it’s too late. The cracks are already there, spidering through your resolve, threatening to split wide open.

Elias just stares at you, his brow furrowed, like he doesn’t quite understand why you’re standing there in front of him, unraveling at the seams. He uncrosses his arms, his posture softening ever so slightly, but his face remains guarded. His silence only makes the jealousy gnaw harder at your insides, like it’s eating you alive from the inside out.

“Why are you with her?” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your pounding heartbeat. You hate how vulnerable you sound, hate the way your voice cracks, betraying just how much you’re hurting. But you can’t stop yourself. The words tumble out, desperate and raw, needing to understand. Needing him to say something that makes sense. “Why are you with her when… when you don’t even care about her the way you—” You cut yourself off, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. You can’t say it. You can’t admit it.

Elias’ gaze flicks to the floor, his expression shifting, something like guilt passing over his features. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it, like he doesn’t know where to start. The hesitation sets your mind racing. The jealousy swirls around your thoughts, twisting every moment you’ve spent together into something ugly, something tainted. Has any of it been real? Or have you just been fooling yourself in your delusions all along? Is this really all you are to him—a temporary distraction, something to fill the empty spaces between him and her?

“I don’t know,” Elias finally mutters, his voice barely more than a sigh. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something there, something deeper, something almost sorrowful. But then it’s gone, replaced by that familiar guarded look. “I just… I don’t know.”

The simplicity of his answer, the emptiness of it, sends a wave of frustration crashing over you, mixing with the jealousy already burning in your veins. “That’s it?” you snap, your voice rising, barely able to keep the tremor out of it. “You don’t know? You’re with her, you’ve been with her, but you don’t know why?”

You’re losing control. The words are tumbling out faster than you can stop them, your heart pounding in your chest as the jealousy consumes you, feeding off every tiny piece of doubt, every flicker of uncertainty. You hate how much you want him to give you an answer, to explain why he’s with her and not you, why you’re standing here, outside his door, while she gets to be inside, living the life you’re so desperately clawing for.

“I—” Elias starts, his voice soft, almost apologetic, but you can’t let him finish.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” The question comes out more like an accusation, the jealousy twisting your insides, making you feel sick to your stomach. “That’s why you’re with her. Because you love her, and I’m just—” You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. Just what? A fling? A mistake?

“I don’t—” Elias stops, running a hand across his jaw, his expression torn. He lets out a long, frustrated breath, his gaze darting back to the closed door, like he’s afraid she might hear. “It’s not like that,” he says, but his voice is quiet, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself.

“Then what is it?” you demand, your voice shaking, barely able to keep the desperation at bay. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you fight the urge to cry, to scream, to do something other than stand there, unraveling. “Because it sure as hell seems like she has you. She’s got the jersey, she’s got the smile, she’s got the fucking Instagram posts—and what do I have? What the hell do I have, Elias?”

He stares at you, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking between you and the door, like he’s trying to figure out what to say, but can’t. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, and you feel yourself breaking, the dam inside you cracking wide open.

“You can’t even say it, can you?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long. “You can’t even admit that you don’t care about her the way you—” You stop, choking on the words, unable to say what you so desperately want to hear.

Elias lets out another sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, and for the first time, he looks tired. Tired of this, tired of you, tired of the mess you’ve both made of whatever this is. His eyes meet yours, and there’s something there—something almost sad. But it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally mutters, his voice low, almost resigned.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest as the jealousy twists and tangles inside you, tightening its grip until it feels like you’re going to burst. “I want you to say you feel something,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Anything. Just… anything.”

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his face blank, his silence louder than any words he could have said. And that silence—it shatters you. It breaks you into pieces so small you don’t even know if you can put yourself back together again.

“I can’t do this,” you finally choke out, the tears you’ve been holding back for so long spilling over, hot and fast, burning as they slide down your cheeks. You swipe at them angrily, hating yourself for breaking in front of him, for letting him see just how much he’s destroyed you. But there’s no stopping it now. The dam has broken, and the jealousy, the hurt, the love—it all comes rushing out in a tidal wave of emotion you can’t control.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whisper again, your voice cracking, barely able to hold yourself together as you look up at him, your heart in pieces at his feet. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I love you, Elias. And I hate it. I fucking hate that I love you, and you can’t even—” You stop, choking on the sob that rips through you, your whole body trembling with the force of it.

Elias’ face softens, his brows drawing together in something that almost looks like regret, but it’s too late. You’re too far gone. You’re already falling apart, the jealousy and heartbreak swallowing you whole.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low, almost tender, but it only makes the pain worse. Because sorry isn’t enough. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. Sorry doesn’t make you her.

You shake your head, the tears blurring your vision, making it hard to see him. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice hollow, broken. “Me too.”

*** The rain starts falling in steady sheets, drumming against the window as you sit curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. The flickering images mean nothing, just background noise to the storm inside your mind. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been sitting there, wrapped in one of Elias’ old hoodies. The fabric is worn and soft, smelling faintly like him—like cedar and soap, like something familiar and heartbreaking all at once.

You hate that you still wear it. Hate that you can’t let go, even when you know you should. Even when you know it’s over. He chose her. He made that painfully clear, standing there in that hallway, his eyes darting between you and the door where she waited for him. And yet, here you are, clinging to the last scraps of him, like they could somehow make up for everything you’ve lost.

The rain blurs against the window, much like the tears you’re too tired to shed. You feel hollow now, emptied of all the anger, the jealousy, the heartbreak that consumed you. All that’s left is a dull ache, a quiet sorrow that settles deep in your chest, heavy and unmovable.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, sharp and unexpected in the quiet of your apartment. Your heart stutters in your chest, a flicker of hope igniting even though you tell yourself not to feel it. It can’t be him. It won’t be. And yet, as you stand and pad to the door, every step feels weighted with anticipation, your fingers trembling as they curl around the handle.

You open it to find Elias standing on the other side, the beanie on his head damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his jacket. He looks like he hasn’t slept, his eyes dark and tired, his expression unreadable as he stares at you in the dim light of the hallway.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, your heart pounding in your ears, waiting for him to speak, to say something that would make sense of all this. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, like he’s seeing you for the first time, like the weight of his silence might crush you both.

“Can I come in?” he asks finally, his voice low, hesitant, as if he’s afraid of your answer.

You should say no. You should slam the door in his face, walk away, leave him standing there in the rain. But you don’t. Instead, you step aside, the words caught in your throat, and let him in.

He moves past you, his presence filling the small space with a tension you can feel in your bones. He stops in the middle of the room, glancing around like he’s searching for something, maybe the right words, maybe some kind of explanation. But all you can do is stand there, your hands gripping the hem of your hoodie, his hoodie, trying to steady yourself.

“I broke it off with her,” Elias says quietly, his back still to you, the words hanging in the air like they might shatter the second they leave his mouth.

You blink, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’s said. The rain beats harder against the window, filling the silence between you, a reminder of the storm both outside and within.

“What?” Your voice sounds foreign, small, like it isn’t even your own.

Elias turns slowly, his eyes meeting yours, and you see it then—the sorrow, the regret, the weight of everything that’s passed between you. He takes a step toward you, his movements cautious, like he’s not sure if you’ll let him get any closer.

“I broke it off with her,” he repeats, more firmly this time, his gaze steady, unwavering. “I know there was an agreement, but itt wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to you. I should’ve done it sooner, but… I was scared.”

Scared. That word echoes in your mind, bouncing off the walls of the tiny apartment, wrapping around you like a vise. What did he have to be scared of? He’s the one who had control, who made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for him to decide if you were worth saving.

“You hurt me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the rawness of the admission surprising even you.

“I know.” Elias steps closer, his hands slipping into his pockets, his posture uncertain, like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The apology should feel like relief. It should feel like something breaking free inside of you, but instead, it only makes the ache in your chest grow heavier. “You can’t just… say sorry and think it fixes everything,” you murmur, turning away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Elias doesn’t respond right away. The weight of his silence feels almost unbearable, pressing down on you like gravity. Then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear him take a deep breath, his footsteps soft on the floor as he moves closer.

“I know I can’t fix it,” he says quietly, his voice so soft it’s almost lost beneath the sound of the rain. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from your lungs. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, searching for any hint of the indifference you’d seen before. But it’s not there. Not now. Now, his eyes are filled with something else, something raw and honest, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you.” The words spill from his lips, quiet but sure, like he’s been holding them back for too long. “I love you, and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Your chest tightens, a rush of emotions surging through you so fast you can barely process them. You want to believe him. You want to fall into his arms and let those words heal all the wounds he’s left behind. But the scars are still there, fresh and painful, a reminder of everything that came before.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the tears you held back earlier threaten to return.

Elias closes the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands reaching for yours. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, the familiarity of it both comforting and heartbreaking all at once.

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice low, desperate. “I’m not asking for everything. I just… I need you to know how much you mean to me. I need you to know that I choose you.”

You look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. He chooses you. After everything, after all the hurt and confusion, he’s standing here now, choosing you. But is it enough?

His fingers tighten around yours, pulling you gently toward him until you’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I know I don’t deserve another chance,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours, his voice thick with emotion. “But I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if you let me.”

After what feels like an eternity, you nod, a single, tentative movement. “Okay.”

Elias lets out a breath, like he’s been holding it in for hours, and without another word, he closes the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you in a way that feels both familiar and brand new. The warmth of him, the solid weight of his chest against yours, makes something inside you unclench, like you’re finally able to breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him. Finally.

[hypnoticmoth]

How are Vel and Val doing in the After The Tower Fell AU?

I was actually planning to draw a little comic about the two after the aftermath and how they're doing ! It'll probably be out sometime this week ! The two of them jump from club to club. They aren't living on the streets, but they are, just like Vox, targets of other sinners. So they never stay at the same place. The clubs that were known to belong to Val/the Vees are defunct, but he still owned a few more lowkey ones and those are the ones that survived as they aren't linked to them publicly. Velvette is furious at Vox, and quite hurt by everything that happened. She has trouble processing the betrayal and takes it very badly. Despite her anger, she looks after Valentino. Val isn't doing that well, and oddly, unlike Vel, he didn't take what happened with anger, just a tremendous amount of hurt. Like her, he has trouble processing everything, and all he knows is that he misses Vox.