#sleeping in darkness and waking up in darkness and finding the guilt gets heavier every time

[rileysluvr]

literally just könig jacking off to you and being delusional idk

He’s tossing and turning in bed, and he can’t seem to get comfortable no matter what he does. He had ditched his shirt after around an hour of staring up at the dark ceiling and feeling like his chest was going to cave in, but the sensation still wouldn’t leave him even after. Like it’s clinging on to every square inch of his body and eating away at him, similar to his tight shirt before being removed, though refusing to dissipate after the multiple attempts in distracting himself.

He’s burning up, and he feels it most beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. He stretches his back and shoulders against his mattress, but it gives him no relief. And he needs that relief, so desperately, he thinks he may just die if he goes another minute longer in this state. The twitching in his muscles with the compulsion that plagues them are far stronger than his mind. He huffs a final exasperation, mutters some broken and degrading swears in German, and ultimately, he gives in.

He swipes his unusually cold palm over his face before dragging it down his chest, trailing across his abdomen and following the wake of soft hair that disappears beneath the peaking waistband of his boxers. His fingertips stretch the band as they dip beneath it, and his breathing is becoming heavier yet weaker, more shaky-like, as they creep closer to where he needs attention the most.

He’s teasing himself, involuntarily and painfully. Perhaps this is his last attempt to allow himself a second thought, think twice before he commits such a dirty act on military grounds. But his mind is far too fuzzy to pay attention, it’s just been so long.

His hand finds his cock, exhaling a shaky breath at the forbidden contact, this is his last chance to turn back. His boxers are growing to be too tight around him, and this time he won’t be able to just put up with it until his thoughts dissipate. He needs release, and soon. It won’t be much, it’s only once, and then he can finally sleep, he convinces himself.

He pulls his boxers down his pelvis, leaving them just below where his hard cock is now free. He wraps his fist around his base, fingers enveloping each vein that bulges with desperation. He groans ever so softly, jaw slacked and eyes closed as goosebumps coat his chest and arms. It’s mere seconds before his mind is plummeting into uncontrollable thoughts and damned-worthy desires.

It’s your hand, he’s already imagining. It’s your smaller fingers around his cock, not enough to compensate for his size but still a hundred-times better than any fist could work. He knows you’d make it work. You’re clever like that, far more than he is.

It’s your thighs straddling his as your arm moves up and down at an excruciating pace. He needs your weight on him so fucking bad, preferably on his shoulders and face as he’d hold you down on his mouth. Fuck, he needs to taste you so bad.

It’s your voice that would talk him through it, command him on what to do until he’s broken down to the young, naive, want-to-be soldier he once was. He’ll do anything you say. He’ll walk through Hell and back if you tell him to. Hand on his heart, honest to whatever god may be out there. Smack him around.

Anything you say.

And it’s him who would satisfy your every want with unending diligence to thank you. Just fucking use him, already.

He couldn’t shake the thought, no matter how hard he tried.

No matter how dirty he felt imagining his coworker in such a position, rather than a woman of what he thinks his type should be, or even an actress from a porn magazine. No matter how unlikely it was that he’d have a chance with you, it’s downright embarrassing. And no matter how heavy that guilt sat in his gut, his fist only squeezes tighter with his strokes, retaining that languid speed that has him gritting his teeth.

You flood his mind and you don’t even know the magnitude of it because you’re just a girl living your, perhaps slightly unconventional, life in the military, and he’s the coworker that people only look twice at to check if, yes, he really is that tall.

Flashes of your face, and that pretty body of yours in the most innocent of outfits, refuse to quit their tormenting of his mind, and here he was, fucking his fist to them at night like a desperate dog. He wants to see how your skin would contrast his pale and heavily scarred exterior, and how you would surely take him from his comfort zone and make him a better man.

He swipes his thumb over the head of his cock with a broken whine, collecting his pre and spreading it down his shaft as far as it goes; fuck, he’s so sensitive, and he just needs more. He can hear your voice in the back of his mind, conceptualizing what you would say as you guide him past his threshold. You’d be so sweet on him, just as you always are on the rare occasion you’re put in a position together where talking seemed the best option for pastime. You really are just perfectly perfect all around, he thinks, and he wants you to know it, so bad.

You’re too good for him, you’re too striking. Truthfully, while the thought of you taking care of him in his most vulnerable state has him thirsting like a dog and bucking his hips up into nothing but a mangled hand and cold air, he knows that’s not him. No, he needs to be of service, one way or another.

He knows he’d be on his knees in front of you, on the ground you walk on, looking up at you with big eyes as he’d place kisses all up and down your bare thighs, careful not to ruin your clothes. He’d worship every part of your body until all you knew was utter admiration, though he doubts you’ve ever gone a day without being honored for your being.

How could any man not leap at the opportunity to praise your every step in life, especially if you’ve taken him to bed?

He actually whines out into the empty space of his quarters, face all beet red and eyes bleary from surprising himself with such an act. Self-deprecating whispers linger in the back of his mind and will remain for when he’s later clearheaded, but for now, the only thing he can think to do is continue fisting his sensitive cock to the notion of being with you.

He’d let you mold him to whatever you wanted, he’d beg you to ride his face and get yourself off with his assistance. He wants to get drunk on your pussy, he knows he would. He knows you’d taste better than anything he has ever had, and he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself once he starts unless you say something. Punish him, even, for not doing it right or knowing both of your limits because he’s just such a hungry, greedy whore who only wants more, more, and more.

Should you ever let him into your life, he’d be better off quitting his job and dedicating his future to just making you feel so good and so loved, and so, so proud of him. He wants to hear you call him a good boy, maybe even a loyal slut. Etch it into his skull so he could never forget, as if that’d ever be possible.

He’d fuck you in any position you’d like, and he means any.

Lay on your back, legs spread and just begging for him to bury his face in your cunt, and he’ll listen like the good boy he is until you’re beyond satisfied. Stretch it out to hours if you please; the man has stamina that would put any gold-medalist to shame, and never once in his life, has he been a quitter.

“i’m good, i promise i am… i’ll be a good boy for you, please.”

Pin him to the mattress and ride him until he can’t think or speak, use him to reach your own high while taking him for all that he has because that’s all he’s there for, is to make you feel good. The strictest soldier would turn to putty under your hold.

“das ist—…s’too much, ich flehe dich—ngh—! bitte, bitte—”

Pull him into an abandoned building and make him fuck you on the cold, hard floor despite being at work, on the job. He would jeopardize even the highest value of intel for a piece of you.

“i’ll do anything, i swear… i’ll be quiet, i-i’ll let you use me… jus’ wanna make you feel good. it’ll make me feel good, too.”

Either way, he’s going to end up on his knees once again and, if you allowed, watch his pearly cum drip from your puffy cunt before taking two of his fingers and pushing it back in, words and babbles of endless praise slipping from his lips as he imagines the idea of starting his own little family with you.

His abdomen feels tighter just thinking of it, you, and his hand with a lethargic pace around his cock. His breathing is jagged, ruthlessly so, and it picks up when his fist does as well. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, dying whimpers spilling from his lips. Your name, as well, and he’s blushing more violently then ever. You’ve got a spell on him; he’s all yours, if you want.

Christ, what would you say to him right now? Scold him, berate him. Even slap him for jerking off to the mental image of you without your permission, and edge him until he cries like an abandoned baby. Call him pathetic and promise him he’ll never, ever have a chance because he is such a coward, and all.

Oh, but you’re just so sweet on him. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard you swear, let alone insult someone. You go to such great lengths to lighten the mood, make people feel so safe and welcome around you. And your fucking laugh, Christ, your giggles are always music to his ears. Anything that isn’t praise would sound far too foreign in your voice for him to compute. With those soft, plump lips at his ear, cooing him through his high he’s gonna reach so early, so fucking soon— fuck, he's…

He’s gonna—

A soft knocking on his door causes his hand to stop and eyes to shoot open, lightly gasping for air as he was pulled just seconds away from his orgasm. He’s frozen, dead in his tracks, and he waits for it to happen again to make sure he wasn’t just hearing things. The one time, he succumbs to his perverse hankerings.

A few seconds go by before he hears the knocking once more, this time sure it was for him. He swiftly sits up and then stands, shoving his cock in his boxers and pulling his pants back up. He leans down to grab his shirt, pulling it over his big head, introducing a new type of discomfort from before due to the cold sweat he broke coating his chest. He’s reaching for his helmet when there’s a voice coming from the other side of the door, and the hardened soldier nearly jumps in surprise.

“König?”

Oh, fuck. His entire body tenses up at the wake of your voice. Outside his room, right now, when he was just fucking his fist to the image of you. He couldn’t begin to describe or label what he’s feeling, but it’s something along the lines of utter shame and mortification. He mutters a quick and defeated curse under his breath, aggression only aimed at himself.

You’re speaking up again before he even has time to think, granted his mind was spinning and he was making no move to answer you. He’s frozen, stuck in space. Time seemed to race by him without warning, and he hated it.

“Are you awake?”

Your voice is gentle, as always, and so quiet in order to not wake anyone else in the corridor. He’s surprised he could understand you so well, then again, he’d recognize your voice from a klick away.

Could you hear him from outside his door? He wouldn’t ever be able to recover. His hard cock twitches in his pants at the thought of being caught in the act of jerking off to you, and he shakes his head, fighting back the groan boiling in his chest at the simple, yet so fucking intricate, idea of it. He’s a mess.

He decides against the hood, which would most likely prove a mistake as he could literally feel the heat exuding from his face. He knows his hair is a sore sight and his clothes are wrinkled beyond repair. You’ve ruined him, and you don’t even know it.

He swallows thickly as he trudges over to the door, attempting to clear his throat and stabilize his breathing, and his hot palm lands on the screaming door handle.

[the-spooky-alien]

Day 15 of Fictober !

Fandom : X-Files with the prompt "What are you doing ?"

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2022

-

He wakes up.

In the darkness, he hears his sister screaming for help, a remnant of his dream. A remnant of his childhood, of Stratego games and warm Christmas. Of the girl, lost in the stars, young and naive, believing her big brother would come for her.

Fox, help me !

(He tries so hard. Every time he comes too close, Samantha's shadow slips from his outstretched fingers, leaving behind nothing but the bitter taste of guilt on his tongue.)

The room is cold, or maybe the cold comes from somewhere deep in his soul. His body shivers, goosebumps rising on his arms. Glancing to his side, he notices Scully, curled in a ball, has hogged all the covers, leaving him with nothing.

Even the sight of her, soft and warm, isn't enough to ease the weight settling on him. With an inaudible sigh, he gets to his feet, the cool floor chilling him further until he doesn't know if he'll ever get warm again.

Her living-room is awashed with the street's lights. For a moment, he stays still, studying the peacefulness of the room, witnessing how alive it is under the moon's rays. It feels vibrant, like Scully is, and he can't help but feel out of place, both here and not here, at once lost and found.

He feels like he's drifting, his little boat gliding on a still water, the horizon so far away he'll never reach it. And no matter how much he would like to stop, to get out of the boat, it keeps drifting.

Sometimes, he wonders if he'll ever get out. If Samantha's ghost will always hover above him, whispering with her sweet voice in his ears, weighing on his shoulders as if she's sitting on them, like the child she is.

Was.

Is.

Not knowing if she's out there, on a boat too, desperately searching for him, for his help, is what wakes him up at night, sending adrenaline rushing through his body because he still hasn't found her. She has no one but him.

(No one has found him either. He's drifting on the sea, pushed and pulled and threatened to be swallowed by the waves.)

He blinks and finds himself on Scully's couch, with no recognition of how he ended there. He blinks again and Scully is here, studying with a frown.

''Mulder,'' and her voice echoes in the quiet of the room, gentle, like the caress of the breeze on his cheeks on summer days, ''what are you doing ?''

Words are heavy on his tongue, heavier on his mind, so he shrugs. Absently, he notices the burn growing in his eyes, the lump planting its roots in his throat. Scully's face wrinkles in concern but she says nothing more and simply settles next to him, close enough to brush against his side.

She's so warm, he wants to bury himself in her until she sets his soul aflame.

Instead, he hangs his head and sighs, tries to will away everything rotten in him so he can tell her to go back to sleep.

(He can't. He's selfish like that, he wants her, yearns for her, especially when the dark tugs at him. She's his light, his anchor, he realizes, and without her, there's no hope for peace. For the drifting to stop.)

''Do you need anything ?'' she asks at one point, turning slightly until her words are muffled against his shoulder. He turns to her, watches her face, so adorably sleepy, and wants to cry.

He shakes his head, and, from the depths of his mind it rises, unbidden, tumbling out of his mouth before he can think about it.

''I miss her.''

Scully's hand falls to his, their fingers interlacing. She knows who he's talking about of course.

Who else could wake him up at night, could drape him in a blanket of sorrow and guilt, if not for the sister he failed - fail - to save ?

''I know.''

It's all she says, but it's enough to open the dam, to make everything floods his mind until he can't repress the wrenching sobs from tearing his throat. Without hesitation, Scully moves on his lap, wrapping herself around him to shush his cries and hold every pieces of him together, keeping him from shattering completely.

(He wonders if the sharp edge of his shards makes her fingers bleed. If the blood is enough to prevent her from mending him back, or if she doesn't care about the crimson stain, about her own pain, when it comes to him.)

''Shh, Mulder, it's okay,'' she croons against his ear, one of her hand craddling his head, in a way that is so tender he can only cry harder. ''It's alright. You will find her.''

He's so tired of false hopes and the acid taste of disappointment. ''How can you believe that ?''

Scully pulls away slightly, combing back his hair from his forehead. ''Because if someone can, it's you. Because you will never stop until you do. Because I will help you do so.'' Her lips curl in a smile, small and sad. ''Because you're her big brother, and maybe that's what big brothers and sisters do. Find each other no matter what.''

He thinks of Melissa, buried six feet under the ground.

He thinks of Samantha, lost in the stars.

He thinks of them both, lost sisters, and weeps for their broken life.

Through it all, Scully holds him, anchoring his drifting boat.

[myinnerstorms]

@coivi

Hands ran over his skin until the goosebumps raised just from the light touch. The fingertips paused at Dante's chin, tipping it up and he was met with a sweet, gentle kiss. Dante sat up suddenly from his sleep. He had sweat dotting his forehead by his hairline and hands felt clammy despite the air conditioning that was on full blast in the room. Why he couldn't get a full night's sleep was beyond him. He's been waking up with the man he met a few months ago on his mind nearly every damn day. No one has plagued him this much in years and quite frankly it was weighing heavier each time he had that dream. He sat up at the edge of the bed and turned on the small lamp by the bedside table to illuminate the dark room. It was the guilt that was deep inside him because he left Cyrus without saying a word. It was probably for the best knowing his track record with lovers in the past so he saved both of them the trouble of breaking it off later on when things got hard. Yet... something ached inside of him. Years passed by Dante and he's never once felt something like this when leaving someone until this man. It was almost as if he missed Cyrus. There was something oddly comforting about the man that Dante yearned for... acceptance and warmth was what came to mind when he thought of Cyrus. After Dante had left Cyrus, he went straight to his friend's place. Calix has known Dante since they were young, the wraith treated him like a brother since day one. Ever since then, he's been staying at his estate picking up odd jobs to obtain money and helped Cal around the house. Something Calix said kept eating away at him.

It's okay to let someone in... don't push away your feelings because of the past.

"Fuck." Dante was riddled with guilt the more he thought about what he was told and despite the mischevious antics of his wraith friend, he spoke nothing but the truth. Cyrus might have forgotten about him, but he sure didn't forget about Cyrus. There was only one way to find out. Dante hurried to grab a dufflebag and shove clothes and some necesisites for a trip. He ignored Calix chuckling in the kitchen as he ran out the door.

"About time you came to your senses, filos."

A one way ticket and fifteen hours later, Dante landed. The closer he got to where he remembered Cyrus to be, the harder his heart beat. He contemplated many times to turn and go back to his friend but he just needed... something. He honestly didn't know what he wanted, maybe closure at least if that's what was meant to be. Dante was numb in the car ride, not even realizing the light rainfall had turned into a full blown storm until he was dropped off at the end of the driveway with nothing but a small duffle bag of clothes. He looked up at the dark sky, rain splattering on his face as he stood there and got soaked from head to toe. The rain was cold, the wind made it colder, but Dante didn't care. He just needed to see him. He's never needed something so badly and it only grew the closer he stepped up to the house. There was no turning back now. Dante didn't remember knocking, or did he ring the doorbell? Either way, he stood there soaking wet and shivering waiting for hopefully Cyrus to open the door. Honestly he didn't know what to say when he saw him and nothing could come to mind other than an apology for disappearing on him. The door opened and there stood Cyrus, still as beautiful as ever, before a wet, cold, shivering Dante. Words escaped him, his mind went blank as he stared up at him. Maybe this was a mistake, this was so stupid of Dante to just show up out of the blue like this and unannounced. It amazed Dante how one person could make a demi-god feel so weak and vulnerable just by being in his presence like Cyrus did right now. "Cy-Cyrus..." was all that came out of Dante as a shiver rolled through his body. He couldn't look away from him, the guilt and the pain from the years he's lived feeling alone hit him all at once and it showed in his eyes. Seeing him again made his heart ache even more. He needed someone in his life and his heart and soul said it was Cyrus, the man who made Dante feel more alive and accepted in so many years. Dante just needed to be held and to be comforted and he hoped maybe... just maybe Cyrus would be the person to do that.

[backandimbamon]

Bonnie playing with Damon's hair and he all sleepy 😊

this really took a while because… i was going to stop at the first half but i wanted to consider Bonnie’s perspective (: and then it got a lil spicy and i was like *sigh* why must you always take it there? but i mean- 👁- i always take it there because we were robbed!!! Damon is practically a self proclaimed sex god and i hate how they separated Bonnie from her sexuality, or really any form of intimacy for sooo long. and the scraps we got were NEVER enough. okay anyways yeah i’m finally done, like let’s get into it.

Damon notices that Bonnie touches him sparingly and really not because she wants to but because it happens accidentally every now and then, one of the perks about frequently invading her space.

Being stuck on the other side, there is less room for her and more for him, she’s in his world now which means it’s his duty to make her feel as uncomfortably comfortable as possible.

He notices everything; how her cheeks turn red when their knuckles brush against one another’s, how she takes in an exasperated little breath when their shoulders touch, how she rolls her eyes when he stands entirely too close. Damon hangs on to these moments because this may be his only form of female contact he’ll receive for a very, very, long time.

That is the only reason he hangs on.

Anytime she touches him intentionally, he feels a pride swell deep in his chest that he’s liked by Bonnie after a rocky road of ups and downs, fussing and fighting, he is finally deemed worthy enough for her to care about him even if it’s brief, even if it’s the smallest skin to skin contact imaginable.

And yes, he cares because if he has to spend the rest of eternity with one person, they might as well get along.

Movie night comes around so he rests his head in her lap, testing the waters, to see how she will respond to him. He senses her tense up a bit as predicted, but then she relaxes into it breath by breath like she’s doing a tricky yoga pose.

Bonnie’s body lotion makes her skin smell edible- cocoa and honey- she’ll never know but that’s why he nicknames her Bon Bon, she always smells good enough to eat. At this point, Damon can’t recall the VHS movie on the block of a television, his focus has been robbed by Bonnie and this new form of contact she allows him to try. Half of his smile sinks into the cotton of her leggings.

Her eyes never leave the screen when she laces her fingers through his hair, nails surfing through tufts of raven-black and the gesture is so shocking and embarrassingly arousing that a strangled groan gets trapped in his throat.

She panics, and he can tell by the change in her heart rate before saying. “Did I hurt you?” He has to clear his throat to speak.

“Hmmm mm, feels good,” he mumbles feigning casual so she can’t realize how he needs this so so bad that he’s fearful of it being taken away. In his mind he thinks about what if.

What if she wakes up and decides she doesn’t want to tap dance on the line between what is and isn’t acceptable for two best friends. What if she remembers that he’s actually a terrible person who has done horrendous things to her and everyone she’s ever loved.

She shouldn’t like him or try not to laugh at his jokes. Not at all. Bonnie should’ve killed him a long, long time ago because if anyone could do it, it’d be her. He can see her now, all badass and angry with a wooden stake in her hand, vengeance in her eyes, the very last thing he’d see before his lights went out forever.

Bonnie, the giver and the taker.

Bonnie, the only god he knew.

Damon finds himself thinking so intensely lately that he checks the mirror more often than not to make sure he has no brooding lines like his little brother. Stefan’s expansive forehead has the room for it, his perfectly shaped forehead does not.

She laces her fingers back through his hair again and his eyes flutter, that’s how good it feels. It’s sensational. And while he’s had his hair pulled in and out of the bedroom, the innocence of her touch makes him want to melt. He finds his lids growing heavier, like how they used to do a century-and-a-half ago when he was human.

Running through dandelion fields in the overbearing Virginia heat, the sun up above sending heavy gusts of sunshine beams, a moment he considers to be oppressive now, used to be magical then- miraculous -and despite sweating through his britches and overcoat he never cared enough to stop running through the fields. The sun was the greatest thing all those years ago, back when white was his favorite color.

And after drawing a long, hot bath, he’d sink deep into the water while the bubbles floated to the top. Damon would close his eyes, hold his breath, see if he could break his prior record. Then he’d get out and the sleep would welcome him like any drowsy being, with open arms. And there he’d fall.

Bonnie has that affect on him. She makes him think of home, his past, when times were simpler and he was human.

He feels that exhausted sometimes, a boy who’s never stopped running through dandelion fields, whether it snows or rains or burns him alive. Her fingernails rake through his scalp- orange leaves on browning grass. Ruining Stefan’s piles for the fun of it. His lids droop. Tired of being consumed by himself, by Bonnie, he admits defeat this time. When he finally drifts off, he remembers that the Virginia heat gave him this same warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

“You really don’t know how good this feels,” his final words are hoarse before he drifts off but the last thing he sees is Bonnie.

The giver and the taker, the only god he knows.

.

Bonnie refuses to relish in the magic of the moment, the fact that it’s so rare Damon ever completely lets his guard down around her. She can always feel his eyes on her, constantly watching because Damon has a presence that’s inescapable.

Being so close to him when he’s extremely vulnerable makes her realize that in all facets, he’s stunning. A stunning that’s almost suffocating but with the dynamic they possess, he only needs to know that he’s not that much of an eye sore.

Now, she stares with wide eyes while she can, memorizes the smooth expanse of skin, every strand of dark hair. Relishes in the feel of his arms around her waist, the weight of his head in her lap. It’s been a long time since she’s felt a body besides her own and as much as she likes to ignore the fact, she has needs, needs that have swelled from being in the presence of Damon for too long.

He’s sexy without any effort, she examines. His dark t-shirt has risen and his pants are low enough that she observes the waistline of (silk?) boxers, taut muscle, navel, happy trail, yeah. Bonnie drinks him in like a cool glass of milk before bedtime- never has this much pretty been in her lap before. Her hands find their way in his head again, tousles through and he nuzzles up against her in his sleep. It’s difficult to pull her eyes away from him, but when she does, the credits are rolling on the screen.

This is Damon she’s thinking about like this, her best friend and also her first best friend’s boyfriend. She repeats it again, not satisfied that the guilt isn’t drowning her like it sometimes does when she catches herself lingering on his attractiveness for too long but Mystic Falls, the real Mystic Falls seems so far away. Elena, Caroline, Matt, Alaric, her old life just seems unattainable, no bigger than a memory she occasionally mistakes for a bad dream.

There’s no denying that being away from it all, here with Damon as the only other person in the world, she feels…safe. Maybe even protected, it’s a stark contrast from the real Mystic Falls where her life is always on the line.

Bonnie starts to get up when she feels his hold on her tighten to prevent her from moving away. They play tug of war for a bit but she eventually stops fighting because Damon is a vampire after all, physical strength is going to get her nowhere. “Fine,” she grumbles, then plops down which causes the end of her top to ride up enough that she can feel the press of Damon’s nose on the curve of her waist. Despite trying to inch her shirt back down, she has no luck. Naturally Damon doesn’t mind.

He inhales her skin deeply, makes a sound of approval before groggily muttering, “Going topless now, are we Judgey?”

She grabs his hair again, yanks his head back as a rebuttal, and Damon bites his tongue so hard that it bleeds. He has to ensure that all of the blood in his body isn’t rushing south too fast but unfortunately, he would have to sever both his arms completely off to stop the blood flow.

Bonnie realizes the dazed look in his eyes isn’t one of pain nor is it from sleep, “Not the reaction you expected, huh?” He asks, gesturing for her to look down but she doesn’t, she can’t. She’s embarrassed, and to make matters worse, a teensy bit turned on.

“You scared, Bon Bon? I thought you were big and bad,” Damon mocks, pulling between his legs to make more room in his jeans, “it’s okay. I know Jeremy left much to be desired.” He sits up with swirls of longing still in his eyes, then grabs a pillow to place in his lap.

“Scared?” She guffaws. “Of what exactly?”

“Me…You.”

“And that means?”

“You’re a smart girl, Bon, figure it out.” Damon taunts, holding her eyes with his. “It’s awfully lonely here.”

She says nothing for a while, refusing to break eye contact first. “So.”

“Soooo, I won’t tell if you won’t.” It’s almost a joke, almost because she has a feeling if she says yes to whatever sort of ambiguous proposal he’s thrown up in the air, there won’t be any laughter. If she says no, it’s no different from his usual innuendos but boy, will she wonder.

“Wanna take a walk on the wild side?” He asks in a singsong tone, eyes dropping to her lips then back up to her eyes.

There are no alarms, no cell phones, no one here that can interrupt this moment. She has to answer, though she has no idea what will come out of her mouth. Bonnie shuts her eyes to make the moment less real, as if it will change the fact that she whispers, “Just one kiss,”

They’re nose to nose when Damon whispers back, “a peck.”

She swallows his breath. “Mhmm,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Nothing.”

“As light as air,” he presses his lips to hers for a brief moment then pulls back again. “See.” He peppers more kisses on her lips, down her jaw, the side of her neck, but they’re heavier. They have a density now. His tongue is on the flesh of her shoulder, teasing up her neck. She feels the light imprint of sharp canines, arousal surges through her like a power circuit, so intense that she moans. When he makes his way back up, their mouths both open in a feral kiss that robs them of air.

Bonnie holds his face in place though he makes no attempt to move away. The pillow falls out from between them when he grabs Bonnie’s leg to straddle him.

It’s nothing.

Nothing separating them from attacking each other’s mouths, nothing stopping Damon from gripping his best friend’s hips, nothing saving Bonnie from discarding his shirt.

His skin is cool enough that she can stream together some thought in between relentless kisses. “Damon,” she tries her best to sound admonishing.

“Please, not right now.” Damon cuffs both her wrists behind her with one hand and plants a hickey just above her cleavage. She sees stars. He already knows what the inflection in her voice means- the timing couldn’t be worse.“Let’s save the guilt for tomorrow morning.” His tone is octaves lower, almost as low as his lids. He drags his eyes up to hers, and they’re so shiny she can see her reflection. “I need this, Bonnie. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just continues on with his ministrations, hypnotized by the pheromones seeping off of her in waves, wanting to memorize the scent with his tongue. She whines his name, like actually whines his name, and the feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach scares him. Bonnie is so oblivious to the appeal she carries but if she sat in his skin for a day, hell, for a moment, she would realize just how long she’s been driving him insane.

“We can’t,” she groans weakly. “We can’t.”

Damon tries to breathe easier, but that feeling is lurking in his gut. She’s right. The things he’d do to her, he’d break her in half. He removes Bonnie from his lap, separates from her warmth, her scent. Backs away until the tv threatens to fall off the stand. Everything in him tells him to go back, to reenter the magnetic pull, to poke at her forcefield.

He backs away even further if possible. Her breath catches at the distance.

Bonnie’s cheeks are flushed, warm and red like fruit. If she was an apple, she would have already been eaten down to the core. If she was a peach, it would be easier to explain why he ate her. He thinks to himself that he’s officially off the rails, comparing Bonnie to fruit like he is, but he’s trying to rationalize his irrationality. Because if Bonnie never stopped him, he’d definitely be eating something by now.

“Nothing happened.” She says, ignoring his expression and the silent plea in his eyes.

“Nothing.” He deadpans, throwing his shirt back over his head.

Damon thinks of how different things would be if he had his way. Bonnie, spent, drunk, high off of him. Bleeding and wild, pretty and dangerous, yelling for God. He would plunge Jeremy right out of her, help her find her magic again. Give her everything she could dream of. He gulps.

She doesn’t sleep with him tonight, not in the same bed. She’s on the opposite end of the boarding house when he hears her slide under the covers.

The next morning, he thinks to himself, if she even utters a word about last night, he’ll pick up from where he left off. But she doesn’t, her eyes are far away again, and the only proof he has of their adventures is the wonderful, purple hickey.

When movie night comes back around, his head is in her lap and her hand is back in his hair, running to and fro like him in his lavender fields.

That’s all he gets.

Every now and then, it’s enough.

Bonnie gives and takes, then takes away some more.

She’s the closest thing to God he’ll probably ever know.

[goldentsum]

— love, you can’t run away from me forever.

PAIRING: soulmate! suna rintarou x reader

GENRE: smut, soulmate au but make it dark

WORDCOUNT: 5.5k

SUMMARY: growing up in a world filled with soulmates was magical but with news about people going crazy and killing people for their “love” made suna repulsive to the idea of soulmates though when you came along, he finally understood why those people did it. 

WARNING: dark content, smut, noncon, manipulative tendencies, cussing/cursing, creepy! and delulu! suna, mean! reader, masturbation (male), photos and audio recording taken w/o consent, kidnapping, oral sex (fem receiving), bdsm, sadistic! suna, dom! suna, violence, abuse, blood, suna is a dick, reader who tries to fight back

AUTHOR’S NOTE: another one cus why not! you guys seemed to liked my first dark fic so here’s another one! <3 might be bad idk prob cus of my writing HAHAHHA also, suna just being a creepy and psychopathic aquarius. DO NOT INTERACT/READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR DON’T LIKE THIS TYPE OF CONTENT. 

REMINDER: this is not love and i do not condone this type of behavior. do not romanticize this, this is fiction and in no way am i telling people this is okay. if you don’t like content like this, please click away or block the tag tw.darkcontent

‘the world is fucked up,’ suna thought, looking at his phone as he saw all types of news about people killing and committing all types of felonies to prove that their love for their soulmates were real. 

the stoic male grimaced at one news he came upon when he scrolled up, a young man killed his family and friends because “he doesn’t need anyone else beside his soulmate”. now that was fucked up. suna never thought he'd lose faith in humanity even more with each passing day. it was actually impressive with how fucking stupid and delusional people get when the topic of soulmates come up. 

gold eyes narrowed at the inked skin of his wrist. “(l/n) (y/n)” or whoever that is better not mind never having a soulmate because there’s no way in hell suna’s going to be all lovey-dovey and accept the soulmate bullshit. 

he thinks that soulmates are a scam. it was a hoax to make people do stupid shit and suna will not tolerate that type of bull. if he’s gonna end up with someone, it’ll be because he likes them not because of ‘fate’ or whatever decided it for him. 

he will never conform to society and its standards. 

“suna! what’s with the ugly face?” atsumu snickered, plopping down on the seat beside suna making the taller male groan. 

“oh fuck off, atsumu. i’m not in the mood for your bullshit” 

“when have you ever been in a mood for bullshit?” 

suna raised a brow and hummed, “good point” 

atsumu shook his head and turned to the counter where his brother was standing behind. “’samu! i want 3 tuna onigiris!” 

osamu glared at his brother and scowled, “get it yourself, lazy ass” 

“i’m paying you!” atsumu whined like the little brat he is but osamu ignored him and tended to the other customers in his shop. suna groaned at the noise, “for fuck’s sake, tsumu. shut up. your voice is so annoying” 

atsumu glared at the man and punched his shoulder, making suna winced and scowled at his former teammate from highschool. the older miya twin huffed and ignored his words, continuing what he was about to say before suna insulted him, “anyway! what i was trying to say earlier was that people around us are finding their soulmates while i’m stuck with you bums! how is that fair?!” 

suna groaned, annoyed, at the same old topic of soulmates. “soulmates are overrated. it’s a scam. you’re lucky you haven’t met yours yet if anything.” 

the setter scoffed at suna’s old same line of bitterness towards the topic of soulmates, “what’s with you, anyway? what’s with the bitterness towards soulmates?” 

“it’s bullshit, is all” suna replied easily, not bothered nor giving a shit. atsumu smirked and threw an arm over the male’s shoulder, “one day, you’ll meet your soulmate and everything’s gonna change.” 

“did you just curse me or?” 

“I don't know, did i?”

oh for fuck’s sake. atsumu really did cursed him. suna stared in awe, uncharacteristically so, at you while you glared at him. you clicked your tongue when his gaze was still as dazed and lovesick since you two have met. 

“fuck off, rintarou! i told you i don’t want any soulmate bullshit!” 

suna chuckled with a small blush on his cheeks, “i love it when you call me, rintarou--”

“because that’s your name, stupid! you know what, i’m not even gonna bother. and for the last time, stop following me!” you growled, stomping off to get away from your creep of a soulmate but the man didn’t mind your words. it was quite amusing to him to be honest. 

you’re so cute and small and so angry at the world that it’s so endearing to him. with every glare you give him, it sends pleasant shivers down his spine. ah, so this is what it felt to be with your soulmate. it’s addicting. you two could rule the world together if you want to. 

“love, you can’t run away from me forever. i’m your soulmate” 

you groaned at the persistent male, “i don’t want you as a soulmate! why can’t you understand that?!” 

suna stopped following you after your harsh words. you also stopped, your anger subsiding a bit when you realized what you said and all of a sudden, there was a pain in your heart. you cursed at the soulmate bond that was not letting you reject your fate. guilt resurfaced in your gut when you looked at suna who’s staring at the ground, eyes hidden under his bangs. 

“r-rintarou?.. look i’m sorry, okay. but i don’t really want any soulmate business in my life-...” you tried to explain but quickly cut your words off when suna started chuckling. 

scared and terrified at the creepy laugh and unexpected action, you stepped back and looked at him with wide eyes. suna then looked up at you and smirked, the dark glint in his eyes gave you the creeps, his breath heavy as he panted like a dirty pervert! his eyes were so filled with emotions. lust, obsession, and ‘love’ but you don’t  even know if you can call it ‘love’...

“did you feel that? it shows... no matter what you do. we’re connected.” 

oh fuck no. this psycho is not worth it. you grimaced at his words and turned back around swiftly, walking faster to get away from him. 

“fate will always bring us together, (y/n). the quicker you accept that, the easier life gets” you heard him shouted after you and it only made you quicken your actions, heart beating rapidly at what just happened. 

suna smirked at your figure as it grew smaller and smaller. he figured he’d let you go for now. it’s not like you can hide from him. you can try but the ink on your skin will always remind you where you belong and that’s with him. 

the tall male looked at his phone, the screen showing a picture of you sleeping. he traced your features through the phone with a loving sigh and quickly stuffed it back to his pocket. he whistled a small tune under his breath on his way back home, his thoughts filled with you. 

suna walked inside his apartment, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the tight muscles. he groaned in annoyance when his shoes got stuck on his foot but quickly shook it off. the moment he was in his bedroom, he removed his shirt and plopped down on the bed, opening his phone again. 

in his phone, there was a whole album of you. sleeping, eating, at the gym, when you were at the library. suna also opened one of the files in his phone as sounds of you breathing when you were sleeping echoed in the room. 

a small moan escaped the phone, suna’s eyes shining slyly at the sound. oh how he wants to hear it in person. he wants to hear every lovely sound you can make. he wants to know everything about you. 

what type of weather do you like? do you like cereal at night like him? do you have a special place for cats in your heart like he does? do you hate heat like him? and do you like getting fucked so hard the only thing you can do is scream? 

suna sighed at the last thought as rapid images of what you would look like popped in his head. would you look pouty? would you cry? would you be quiet and shy? or would you moan like a bitch in heat? 

the familiar twitch in his sweats made suna antsy. a hand drifted to his pants to palm himself through the cloth. 

suna massaged his hardening cock through his pants, letting out sighs as he did so. your soft breathing from the phone was making him harder. he imagined you beside him, sleeping. looking so innocent and safe from all the vile things of the world. safe with him. 

your plump lips curled into a small pout as your brows furrows while you dream then waking up, needy for him. suna groaned and swiftly tugged his sweats and boxers off him. he spat on his hand, hissing when he started stroking his thick cock. drifting to the sensitive head of his cock, he massaged it with the slick spit as it ooze out pre-cum. 

he quickly coated his digits with the precum and slicked his twitching cock with it for the smooth friction he was craving. he panted at the feeling when he tightened his grip on his dick, trying to imagine your tight wet pussy instead. 

“s-shit, baby... feels so good’“ he slurred, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling of the tight grip, stroking himself to a slow rhythm. in his mind, he can see your pretty face. 

he can imagine you on top of him, rolling your hips slowly to not overstimulate yourself with his large cock inside of you. suna licked his lips, a small smirk appearing on his face as he imagined the cute little noises you made when you tried to fit him in you. 

his thick cock hitting so deeply inside you but oh how you like it, you slut. you’d look so gorgeous, moaning on top of him, hands on his chest whilst you ride him. 

“r-rintarou” he can hear your lewd voice calling out, your breath getting heavier with each stroke of his cock, dragging in your tight wet walls. your big doe eyes filled with tears as you look down at him, trying to get some help from him to fuck you good already.

he cursed when he felt a familiar band trying to snap in his lower stomach, his hand getting faster. wet slapping sounds echoed in the room along with your soft breathing on his phone. his violent and aggressive movements were getting him closer to his release. 

this is how he wants it to be. him fucking you so violently making you cry, hands gripping you tight that your pretty skin would bloom with violets and blue. 

he can already see it, how your tongue will roll out your pretty lips whilst you get fucked so hard that all you can do is lay and scream for him, your soulmate. your other half. you belong to him. 

“ha-ah-!” suna groaned deeply when his release hit him, thick warm cum hit his clenching abs as the spiraling pleasure made him shiver. his hand pumping his dick fast to ride his orgasm, his chest heaving deep pants. the male gulped down, trying to wet his dry throat as he slowly calmed down. lazy yellow eyes stared up in the white ceiling of his bed. 

he needs you. he wants to feel you. he wants to be with you. now. 

you sighed as you walked home to your apartment, it has been a week since your crazy soulmate tried to bother you in accepting him and it was making you jumpy. his eyes just showed so much when you last saw him that it made you paranoid with every movement that was happening around you. 

you entered your room, exhaling a deep breath of relief as you felt the warm air of your safe home. it was nice to be in your apartment again. no one to bother you. safe from the crazy man that suddenly stopped messing with you. 

after shrugging off your coat, you enter your kitchen to get a glass of water. all the overthinking about the mess that fate got you into was making your head hurt. as you greedily gulped down the water to soothe your dry throat, a movement from the dark living room made you choke on it. 

“shit” you cursed and looked at the wet floor. you put the glass down and looked at the dark living room, trying to catch any movement. you then quietly went to the knives beside you and grabbed one, walking cautiously through the room. you flickered the lights on, ready to strike if something attacked you, but as the lights went on, you sighed in relief when you saw no one. 

you let your hand drop beside you, rolling your eyes at yourself at the paranoia. you cursed the man that did this. now you were overthinking stuff and seeing shadows.

when you were about to turn around, a large hand covered your mouth and tightly gripped your wrist that held the knife, making it clunk to the floor as you screamed but the hand muffled it. 

“stop fuckin moving already.. you’re gonna just tire yourself” the familiar voice made your body stiff, your blood went cold. crying against his hand when you felt his lips touch your ear, teeth grazing it. 

“you’re so pretty” he cooed, his voice heavy and slow. tears pricked your eyes as you struggled against his hold but the tall man was obviously stronger than you being an athlete. you tried to stomp on his feet but the man nudged you forward with his weight as you two tumbled into the couch. 

you can feel the vibration of his chuckle as his chest was against your back. you heard him sigh and a small grind on your ass was enough to make you feel disgusted and dirty. 

“i apologize for this next action, (y/n)” suna muttered beside your eyes and he leaned back, quickly turning you around. before you could even scream, pain blossomed on your cheek. your vision turned blurry at the impact, dizzy.

this motherfucker just punched you. you faced him again and spat the blood on his face, your lip busted as well. “f-fuck you!”

suna growled at your actions but quickly smirked, wiping away the bloody spit on his eye while he held you down. 

“a tough one~ i like that” he whispered and you could feel a hard nudge on your inner thigh making you grimace. this man was fucked up... he just got hard from punching you and you fighting back-

suna smirking down at you was the last thing you remember then everything went dark.

the room was cold. and your limbs ached with each movement you did. you opened your eyes and panic hit you when you couldn’t see anything. you tried to call out but there was a gag on your mouth. 

you cried through the gag, you cursed everything. you hate fate for getting you into this mess. you curse soulmates bonds, you were right. soulmates are a bunch of bullshit. just look at where that ended you up in. most importantly, you hate him. if you can, you’ll kill him on the spot. 

the fucking psychopath. your soulmate. 

you bit the cloth on your mouth as the binds on your eyes got wet from the tears that escaped from your eyes. your feelings were a mess and all you could feel is anger, shame, and dread. 

“oh, you’re awake. that’s good. i thought i hit you harder than i intended to, thank god that you’re okay” you heard the familiar voice that you loathe. you growled through your gag but suna could only laugh at your pathetic attempt of dominance when you’re gagged, blindfolded, and tied to the bed. 

“now now, no need for that. we want to get along, don’t we” he muttered, walking closer to you and sat on the bed, beside you. 

you flinched when you felt his weight beside you and his hands caressed your cheek. you whimpered at the dull pain when he touches your cheek. this fucker touched where he punched you--

“that looked like it’ll bruise” you growled again at his words. you wanted to scream at him. hit him. make him feel the pain of what he did to you. 

your fussing about stopped and you stiffened when you felt him shift on top of you, going in between your legs. you tried to close your legs but his hands were faster than you. 

he maneuvered you like a doll he owns, fixing you into a position he liked. suna gazed at your tied-up body, his cock already starting to harden in his pants. he wants to touch you already. 

his hand went up and tugged your blindfold as he smiled at your dazed look that changed to a mean one. suna chuckled at your spirit. it was making him excited. 

“you’re too cute, love” he muttered, leaning closer to your neck and nuzzled into you, taking in your scent loudly making you flinch in dread. 

“you smell so sweet,” he said against your neck, an unconscious shiver running up your body. suna smirked when he felt it and continued to nuzzle his face in your neck. his hands touching and groping your body while you growled through the gag but he barely even paid attention to it, too caught up at the feeling of finally touching you and being with you. 

“i wanna taste you~” he whispered lewdly, looking deep into your eyes with a smirk. your eyes widened at his words and mustered up all the strength you had and hit his head against yours. 

you were disoriented after it but it was worth it when you heard his curse as he leaned away. your forehead was red you were sure and it’ll bruise with how hard his head was. 

“you bitch-!” your moment of victory was cut off when large hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing it. you choked, wriggling around to get away from suna but he leaned all his weight on top of you. 

he glared down at you, watching with sick satisfaction when your eyes slowly fluttered close and your struggling gradually ceased. suna can snap your neck right now if he wants to. the power he has over you almost made him drool, his cock twitching excitedly in his pants.

he let your neck go, heart beating fast when he saw finger marks on your neck, the shape of his hands on your skin. he watched you cough and try to inhale air, desperately. 

suna then grasped your chin in a tight hold and turned you to face him, making your dazed eyes look up at him, “do that again and i’ll make you bleed.” 

he let your chin go harshly and climbed off you, going out of the room. you gulped and intake the precious air, looking at the door with fear and anger. 

being with suna was an absolute nightmare. you don’t know how long it has been since the psycho kidnapped you and it was agitating. you fought back but suna liked it because it gave him the excuse to hurt you. you knew this but you just can’t give him the satisfaction he craved of you submitting to him. 

your body was slumped into the bed whilst you cried as suna ate you out. his fingers pumping viciously in and out of you, tongue lapping on your swollen clit. he denied you 4 orgasms already and your body was so sensitive from it. 

“just fucking accept this already!” suna growled against your pussy, the vibrations sending violent shivers in your body. you writhe and keened, your body in his mercy. 

you shook your head, tears streaming down your red and bruised cheeks. your neck was decorated with purple and red, bite marks and fingerprints alike. your wrists red and raw from the rope he used on you constantly.

“n-no!” 

suna rolled his eyes at your disobedience but let you be. he knows you’ll be his good girl sooner or later. he just has to try harder, he guesses. 

he sucked on your clit messily, tonguing your wetness. his fingers caressing your walls as he hit your g-spot making you arch your back. suna smirked and continued his ministrations, ignoring your pleading to let you cum already. 

he felt your walls clenching on his fingers as he stopped altogether making you cry in desperation. suna leaned on his feet, admiring the way your body tried to hump him to get the satisfaction of cumming. 

your body is so beautiful. before it was pristine and void of any marks and flaws but now your skin was decorated with purple and red courtesy of his love for you. 

“you really wanna do this, (y/n)? you rather be a bad girl than be my precious girl?” suna tried to reason with you, his tone was as if he was talking to a child. you scowled at him, “fuck you, asshole!” 

suna’s eyes turned dark at it. one thing he can’t tolerate was you saying such crude and bad words. he raised his hand and slapped you, the force of it made you turn to the side as you gasped at the pain. 

blood dripped from your nose. suna then grabbed your cheeks, squeezing. he glared down at you. “when will you learn... and here i thought you were smarter than that” 

you cried at the pain of his grip on your face and the sting of his slap was still there as his fingers pressed down to the bruises you had on your face. he shook your head, growling, “what do you say when you do something wrong” 

he continued to shake you, your aching limbs hurt at the violent movements. you whimpered and unconsciously replied, “i’m sorry-!” 

suna stopped and removed his hands from you. you looked up at him with teary eyes and saw him smiling softly at you. his mood swings were scary. you don’t really know what type of suna you’ll get before it’s too late... 

“atta girl...” he muttered and started to remove his pants. you panicked at his actions and tried to move away but the painful slap on your thigh was enough to make you stop. 

“now, let me fuck you” 

suna grabbed your ankle and pulled you down on the bed further, closer to him. he pumped his cock at the sight of you, so pretty and crying

“rintarou please-! d-don’t!” you cried, feeling so helpless and all your fire from earlier and the past days gone. the dark-haired male grinned at your sobbing and fussing about. 

“tsk. be a good girl, (y/n). just accept it.” he leaned closer to you, whispering against your wobbly lips. his dark yellow eyes stared straight into yours, lust swirling around his orbs. your body shook in fear and a small cry leaving your swollen lips. 

in one swift movement, suna entered you. he captured your lips, muffling your screams because of him suddenly entering you. the wet squishing noises were triggering your tears. you felt disgusted with yourself that you were enjoying the stretch and the feeling of being filled up by this psycho. 

maybe in another world where you two have met differently. a perfect world where things weren’t complicated. if you two worked it out and things were different then maybe you’ve actually loved him and accepted him as your soulmate. but not in this world. not now. 

you cried when suna started moving, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. your body arched on the bed, feeling the pleasure. suna panted above you, arms caging you and his muscles contracting with every movement he does. 

suna cursed at the feeling, it felt so good. you feel so good. your wet and squishy walls sucking him so eagerly. the lewd sounds of your wetness and his constant thrusting was making him more excited. 

he stopped for a moment, pulling out from your pussy to put you in all fours and then entered you again when he moved you the way he likes. suna groaned, fucking deep into you. his tip grazing your cervix making you squeal. you can feel your orgasm coming faster because of the orgasms suna denied you earlier. you sobbed, hips unconsciously thrusting back to his dick. 

the male chuckled breathily, sneaking a hand between your legs to play with your swollen clit. you choked on a moan when you felt him massaging your clit. you let your head plop down to the mattress, arms wobbly, and all you could do was moan as your body jerking at the pleasure suna was giving you. 

“oh honey, you should see how slutty your body gets when i’m fucking you” he snickered behind you, hips never relenting with his fast and hard thrusts. 

you felt tears trail down your bruised cheeks, you don’t know if it’s because of the shame you felt earlier or the pleasure. the fast circles suna gave your clit made you whine and moan as you felt your orgasm wash over you. 

you howled at the satisfying feeling of the violent orgasm, finally cumming after the torture of not coming four times earlier. suna smirked at the way your body convulsed beneath him. 

the unwavering fucking from behind was sending you to overstimulation and suna’s fingers still rubbed down your sensitive clit. you whined and keened, drool slipping past your lips. 

“so fucked out” suna muttered and bent to lean against your back, his dick twitching in your wet walls. he then angled his thrust differently making you gasp. 

he leaned back again, staring at your sweaty discolored back, from his bites from the past fun times you two had, and the way you leaned against the pillows as your pretty face contorting into a fucked out expression, so lewd.

a large hand trailed down to the back of your neck, grabbing it and letting you lean against suna’s chest. his hand then wrapped around your dainty neck, squeezing, as he felt the vibrations of your moans. 

“pretty baby~” 

his other hand gripped your hips, stilling your wiggling around as he fucked into your harder at the newly changed angle. you whimpered at the way his thick cock reached so deep into you. 

suna moaned beside your ear, hips slowly losing his rhythm as he chased his own orgasm. his self-control snapping into something greedy and feral. he ignored your cries and fucked you so he can finally cum. 

the way he used you wasn’t supposed to feel this good. although he didn’t have any intention to make you feel good, the way his dick stuffed your full and the way his thickness stretched you was made you feel the familiar band in your stomach trying to snap once again.

he unconsciously squeezed your neck, breath heavy, when he felt his orgasm getting closer. he growled, thrusting sloppily in you, the sounds of your wetness echoed in the room along with your broken moans and rasps. you can feel him twitching inside you sending you into another orgasm.

you screamed, body arching against suna. the way your pussy squeezed him and the feeling of you cumming again triggered his own. suna moaned, painting your insides with his cum as he rode his orgasm, ignoring your whining. 

he panted, removing his hold on you and letting you hit and slump unto the bed. you whined at the action. suna pulled out of you as he admired the way your pussy was filled with his cum, dripping down to your thighs and down to the sheets. he licked his lips at the sight and leaned closer to you as if he was lured in. 

you gasped and cried when you felt his tongue wiggling around your sensitive pussy. you squeezed your eyes close tightly, body shivering at the overstimulation but suna barely paid any attention to you. he only wanted to satisfy his desires.

you gazed at the plain ceiling, dully. the soft breathing of the insane male beside you was making you grimace. he just finished fucking you or what he calls, “soulmate bonding time” but all he did was make you cry. 

the sun was up and it was probably noon now but suna normally sleeps in and today was no exception. the phone beside suna’s side on the table started buzzing, circling a little because of the vibration. you heard suna groaned, always the light sleeper. you quickly closed your eyes and hid your face in the covers and pillows. 

you felt the male shifting and after a while, he started talking in his annoyingly attractive deep voice. sleep taking a toll in his vocal cords making it all husky. you internally cursed the soulmate bond trying to make you see him in another light or some bullshit like that.

“hey, what’s up?” 

you continued to listen to the one-sided conversation as you pretend to be asleep. your heart skipped a beat when you heard suna’s words. 

“yeah, come over. i’ll introduce you to her” 

your body stiffened but tried to relax. maybe this was your chance to expose him. you have to try something, you can’t keep letting him do these things to you... 

a soft sleepy groan, the sound someone makes when they stretch, rung inside the quiet room. the covers shifted a bit and a disgustingly familiar body heat hit your skin as two large hands caressed your skin. 

“baby? i’m gonna introduce you to my friends, that’s okay right? it’s time i show off my pretty baby~” you heard him coo. you bit your lip, how can this man act like your relationship with him is normal... you then became painfully aware of the bruises and scars on your body making you self-conscious as you tried to make yourself smaller. 

“they’ll see all of these” he whispered sweetly with a dazed look on his eyes as he traced the marks that were in purple-y and reddish hues that it was too nauseating to look at but suna thought it was so beautiful on you.

suna spent all afternoon dolling you up, fixing your short dress that shows every mark he gave you. your eyes looked at your reflection. you teared up at the sight. you didn’t look like yourself anymore... 

tired eyes that sagged with dark bags under it. a deep purple bruise on your cheek. your bottom lip was cut from suna’s slap, neck decorated with hickeys and fingerprints, skin discolored.

the man behind you started whistling the godforsaken tune he always sang under his breath as he combed your hair. after fixing your hair, he let his hands down on your shoulders and looked at you through the mirror. 

“ain’t you a pretty little thing...” he muttered, admiring you. you let your gaze shift down to your lap as the male carried you to the living room. 

“now behave.” his word was final as always. do not question it nor do you go against it. or he’ll hurt you... again and again...

a loud voice cut through the quiet atmosphere in the apartment and impatient knocks was heard. “suna! open the damn door, already!” 

the dark-haired male sighed and went to the door. your heart started beating a little too fast. when his guests see you, or your state, you’ll get away from here... or maybe he’ll hurt them too... you shook your head. trying to stay positive so you can get out of this hellhole.

a tall man with golden dyed locks entered the room along with someone who looked similar to him though their hair was different. honey brown eyes lock with your tired ones, you were hopeful when you saw the confusion in his eyes. 

the man looked back to suna who stood next to him, you knew you were saved when the two identical men glared at him but then they started talking--

“geez! here i thought you’ll be gentler now that you met your soulmate!”

“suna? gentle? like hell. now where’s the food. you promised me food, suna” 

your eyes got teary as you suppressed a gasp. of course, his friends were as insane as he was. 

the golden haired male then smiled at you like there was nothing wrong. like he doesn’t see all the fucking bruises on your body, “hey, darlin’~ suna’s been beating you, huh? were you misbehaving~?” 

suna growled at the man and shoved him, “shut the fuck up, atsumu” the two started bickering like everything was normal as they ignored you...

you sniffled and turned to the light nudged from your side, you looked at the other male that entered the apartment. the man offered you some pudding as a spoon was hanging from his lips. “you look like you need it, miss” he said, his face unfazed. 

you took the pudding with shaking hands and lowered your head as the three men walked around the room, conversing with each other. 

maybe, suna’s right... life would be easier if you just accepted him. you were stuck with him now and always and his name on your skin will forever be the reminder of that. 

fate has a weird way of pairing people up and you can’t do anything about it. 

[xtodorcki]

Could you do a sad reiner x reader fanfic? Like the reader finds out reiner is a titan shifter but they both fell in love with each other so now reiner has to make a hard decision

“Decisions,” Reiner x Reader

Summary: having a romantic relationship with Reiner, you found out that he’s a Titan shifter which led to him having to make hard decisions.

Warnings: none just season 2-3 Reiner

pls don’t comment any spoilers or any of that for the sake of me and other people. Ty❤️

.

.

.

Your eyes had grown wide, watching the bright light shining around Reiner and suddenly a Titan stood in front of you on the wall.

You didn’t want to believe what you were seeing, you wish you could pinch yourself and wake up but this was a harsh reality you were coming face to face with.

-

You had met Reiner during the training corps and instantly you two had clicked and became great friends. You two had a lot in common, the pain and the suffering you both went through- it had only brought you close.

It wasn’t long after you two joined the scouts that you both have been spending more time together. He had helped you with training late at night and helped you when you felt at your lowest.

He picked you up with ease and was quick to make you smile and that’s when everything had suddenly fell into place.

You had randomly kissed him after a late night of him helping you train better, helping you become more good on defending yourself. The whole time you had desperately wanted to tell him about your feelings, tell him that you were in love with him and instead of using words, you used actions and quickly pressed your lips on his.

He had gladly accepted the kiss, the way his heart would race every time he would see you and the way you always made him full and happy- you made him completely forget about his mission at times.

But as he laid in bed, you tucked beside, it had made his heart break. The pain he was putting you through without you realizing it was hard for him to deal with.

He knew deep down he would have to leave you soon once the mission is successful but he didn’t want to leave you, he wanted to take you with him. Was that even a possibility?

His eyes had stared at you, the way you peacefully slept with your arm hung over his stomach and the way half of your face was squished against his left side- he loved you deeply.

Nights would pass by and he would be in bed, wide awake, watching you sleep as the guilt weighed heavier and heavier on his chest.

His fingers would brush through your hair as he tried to savor each moment with you, knowing eventually he probably won’t see you ever again.

One day in particular, he stood outside and even tried to convince Bertholdt to take you with him, he didn’t want to leave you but you were no more than a human. You wouldn’t last.

“We can’t take her, Reiner! I’m sorry.” Bertholdt had tried to knock it in his skull that he would have to leave his lover here all alone.

“I just can’t leave her, I don’t think I’ll be the same if I do.”

“We didn’t come here to fall in love and have a perfect happily ever after. We’re here for one thing and you need to set your priorities straight before you end up getting her killed. She’s better off alive here.” Bertholdt was furious, the way his best friend had the nerve to fall in love with you, it was sickening.

But Reiner had continued to think and think and think, all about whether he was prepared to leave you behind or risk taking you with him. He needed you, desperately.

After thinking, he had decided to write you a letter. A long one at that, just incase he wasn’t able to tell you or see you again. He wanted it to be meaningful, he wanted you to remember the fact that he was so in love with you and never wanted to hurt you.

When he finished up the letter, he made sure to tuck it somewhere safe until it was ready to be left for you.

-

Now the time had come and Eren had called him out, it was hard for him to look at you. This wasn’t the time he wanted to shift, this wasn’t the time he wanted to snatch Eren up and leave but it was rushed.

The way Bertholdt had shifted, sending you flying back trying to hold on to the wall but Reiner was quick to catch you after he shifted, the way his heart had constantly ripped apart as the look of terror on your face as you watched him pick you up.

“Reiner?!” You screamed up at him, you didn’t want to believe it, you didn’t want to accept the fact your boyfriend was a Titan shifter.

He had set you down to safety, not being able to hold back the tears as they both had fought and ended up running off with Eren and Ymir. You were left speechless, the way he had ripped your heart out and left running with it, it was too much to handle.

When the scouts had made it back to the base, you locking yourself in the room you two would occasionally share- you had finally let your weak sobs fall from your lips.

You sat on the floor for hours, crying into your hands and the aching feeling of emptiness and betrayal had lingered over you like a dark rainy cloud.

After you managed to get up, you had decided to grab his things and the urge to throw it away was edging you on but you stopped when you threw his coat and a envelope had fallen out, your name beautifully written on the top.

Y/N,

I hate for the time you’ll have to read this letter but it might be for the best, it all depends on my decision whether or not I want to leave you alone here or take you with me.

The first day I laid my eyes on you, you were like a beautiful ray of sunshine that shined down on my sad pathetic life. The way I had fallen in love with you so easily was intoxicating. I’m so addicted to you, your touch and your love.

You’re my weakness.

I hate for our relationship to end because of this stupid mission I’m doing. I would hate to leave you all alone and I don’t want you to feel as if I betrayed you because it’s the exact opposite.

All my feelings and love for you are more than real. I want to marry you, live a happy long life with you. I want all of that but as a Titan shifter, it’s not that easy- I don’t have a lot of years left on my clock.

I hope you can forgive me for what I’ve done and what I continue to do. You’ll forever be on my mind and in my heart. I will never forget you and one day I hope to be back in your arms.

I wish you nothing but love and happiness.

Love, Reiner.

Your tears had managed to come out again, reading the small letter and tucking it back in the envelope before hiding it under your pillow.

The emptiness you felt was indescribable, you were in pain and you couldn’t help but lay in the bed with his coat and sobbed again.

You wanted him here, as bad as that sounded- you wanted Reiner here. You wanted to hold him and love and accept him for who he is but you knew he was gone.

Deep down you wish he had taken you with him, it was horrible to think about. He’s a traitor, he’s a Titan, you shouldn’t want him anywhere near you but the love you had for him was so beyond more than anyone could know.

You just wanted him.

.

.

.

Painnnnnn

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

[jaskierswolf]

Weight on My Shoulders

A very self-indulgent prequel to my not so kinky soulmate AU (Tumblr/AO3).

Any references to events or messages involving my own darling soulmate @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde is purely coincidental. I promise we are much more needy than this.

Ship: Geraskier (pre-romantic)

CW: Far too much pining, mentions of anxiety, long distance friendships

_____

Jaskier pouted as he wrapped himself up in his weighted blanket and duvet. Even with the additional weight he was struggling to sleep properly, but it did help. What would really help was a hug from his soulmate, but that was off the table. Geralt was a bazillion lightyears away, all the way in America, and Jaskier was stuck in miserable, grey England. They’d been talking online for two years, and the distance wasn’t getting any easier. If anything it was getting worse, and Jaskier wasn’t sure how much more he could take of it.

“Jask, you’re falling asleep, love,” Geralt hummed from the too bright screen that was lighting up his room. “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed,” Jaskier huffed.

“Go to sleep, we can talk more in the morning.”

Jaskier whined, sinking further into his blanket burrito. “But I have work again tomorrow, I don’t want to sleep. I want to talk to you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Geralt sighed, smiling warmly at him through the screen, “But I will be here when you wake, I promise.”

“I’d rather you be here with me.”

It was pathetic. Jaskier knew it was pathetic, but he just felt a warmth in his chest, a ghost of Geralt’s arms around him.

“I’m always here” Geralt hummed in his mind.

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s mental embrace, letting himself soak in the glow of his soulmate’s warmth. He was struggling to keep his eyes open which didn’t really matter but he only had a few hours each day to video call his soulmate and he hated wasting any of them. It had been worse the last few days. Essi and Pris had announced they were going to honeymoon in New York, and whilst they wouldn’t see Geralt, they would be a whole lot closer than Jaskier had ever been. He’d even considered asking to tag along in their suitcases so he could afford the trip to the States.

He just missed Geralt so fucking much.

“I love you,” he mumbled again, wiping the tears from his eyes that he hadn’t even realised had formed. “I love you more than Dandelion.”

He tried to laugh but it sounded weak to his own ears. Dandelion was a musician, just like he was hoping to be, a beautiful tall elegant man with gorgeous long blond curls, and a laugh that could outshine a thousand suns. He was also Jaskier’s celebrity crush and inspiration. Jaskier had been obsessed since he was sixteen, secretly hoping that Dandelion was his soulmate. Not much had changed since meeting Geralt in his dreams. He was still completely obsessed with the musician, only his daydreams tended to include Geralt as well, a fact that his soulmate thankfully found endearing.

“Wow,” Geralt chuckled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s high praise.”

“It’s true! I would renounce my love of Dandelion for mere seconds in your arms,” Jaskier insisted, “and then I would never let you go and you’d be stuck with me.”

“It would be hard to work with a Jaskier in my arms.”

Jaskier scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “You’ll manage.”

“Sleep, Jask,” Geralt’s words were a low hum, added weight to his blanket and Jaskier could feel himself slipping. He supposed it was only a matter of time really, it was nearly midnight and Jaskier had to get up at an ungodly hour for work. “For me.”

And really that was just unfair. Geralt knew that Jaskier would do anything for him. He was just that desperate for attention, although despite his slightly less dramatic personality, Geralt could be equally needy, if you knew how to read him.

“That’s cheating,” Jaskier whined.

“I never said I play fair.”

“Betrayed by my own soulmate,” Jaskier pouted as Geralt hung up the call and his tiny little bedroom fell into darkness. Without the light of his phone, Jaskier was fighting a losing battle. “I love you, dear heart.”

“I love you too, a lot. Too much.”

Jaskier scoffed, turning to hug his pillow. “Never too much, never enough. Goodnight, my love”

“Night, Jask.”

_______

When he awoke the next morning, Jaskier had a notification on his phone. It wasn’t unusual. Geralt often left him little messages, pictures of Roach, or things that had reminded him of Jaskier throughout the day. Sometimes, if Jaskier was lucky, Geralt would leave him gifs of Dandelion, and on even rarer occasions, awkward selfies that were never flattering despite Geralt’s godlike appearance. Jaskier treasured every single one. But no, that morning he had a more unusual notification.

It was from Lambert.

They’d talked a couple of times, mostly in a group chat whenever Geralt wanted to include Jaskier on family film night or playing games online, which Jaskier was shockingly terrible at, especially the shooting games the boys preferred. Lambert had never DM’d Jaskier before though. There had never been an occasion to, so why bother?

So Jaskier was feeling more than a little anxious about clicking on the message.

“Geralt?” he tested, although he was pretty positive that his soulmate was asleep. Geralt would usually at least say good morning when he was awake, but there had been nothing but silence through their soulbond.

It came as no surprise when Geralt didn’t answer.

His phone buzzed again in his hand, another message from Lambert.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier groaned, sitting up in bed so he could find his glasses. They were buried under his blanket and looking a little bent out of shape but that was nothing new.

L - Guess who’s coming to England on a business trip!

Jaskier’s heart jumped and hope soared through his body, a flutter of wings in his chest as his pulse raced, only to be destroyed in the next second.

L - It’s not Geralt, shit. I should have started with that.

- It’s me.

- I’m coming to England. Found out this morning. All expenses paid. - I’ll be in London for a week, if you want to meet up?

Jaskier stared at his phone. He was excited, of course he was but he couldn’t help the ache in his heart. His friend was coming to England. Geralt’s family was coming to England. That was one step closer to meeting his soulmate in person, but it wasn’t far enough. He felt like shit. Guilt tore through him. Lambert was clearly excited about his news and yet all Jaskier could think of was how he wasn’t Geralt.

Maybe he could give Lambert something to take back to Geralt. They’d sent letters and parcels back and forth but it would be different like this, and he should be excited. He should be over the fucking moon.

And truth be told, if he hadn’t felt so incredibly needy already he probably would have been more excited, but his heart was feeling fragile. Jaskier had spent the last week or so wondering if Geralt loved him back in a romantic way, or whether they would just be the dearest of friends. Whatever it was, Jaskier would be fine. That’s how soulbonds worked. They would be perfect for one another, platonically or romantically but Jaskier fell hard and fast.

Surely Geralt would love him back in the same way, right?

Jaskier was too afraid to ask at this point. He just kept saying “I love you” and hoping that Geralt would hear the truth. Neither of them had spoken about dating other people, but Jaskier knew there was no hope for him. Perhaps the odd fling, but he’d tried that once and without the connection he had with Geralt, he just wasn’t really into it.

He sighed dramatically and picked up his phone.

J - That’s fucking brilliant!!

He added a stream of emojis for good luck.

J - and all expenses paid for?! Drinks are on you, darling x

L - You should be so lucky.

- Pay for your own drink you cheapskate.

Jaskier squinted at the screen, pushing his fringe from his face. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and he ignored the dryness in his throat. Logically, he knew he should get up and get some water but his bed was comfy and he didn’t quite want to face the day yet, especially as Geralt was asleep. Things just felt heavier when Geralt was asleep.

He sighed again and tapped out a message.

J - Can you sneak Geralt in your suitcase?

- I’ll pay for the luggage fee <3

Lambert started typing immediately and Jaskier waited with bated breath. It had been a joke but there was always a chance that Lambert would be allowed a plus one… right?

L - I’m afraid not

- I’m sorry. I know you want to meet.

- Geralt is just as upset. The bastard hasn’t spoken to me all day.

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh at that. He’d sensed something had been bothering his soulmate, especially when Geralt was the one to insist they video-called before Jaskier went to bed, but it was nice to hear that he wasn’t the only one being pathetic and unreasonably grumpy. Sometimes it felt like Jaskier felt everything and Geralt was just putting up with him because he didn’t have much choice. In his heart, Jaskier knew that wasn’t true, that Geralt just showed his love in a more sedate manner.

Opposites really do attract.

He sighed and switched chats, typing out a quick message to his soulmate.

J - I miss you. I love you. I will be unbearably needy today. Sorry!

Flipping his phone to the camera app, Jaskier snapped a quick selfie. He looked like a mess of stubble, glasses and ratty hair… but Geralt never seemed to mind.

J - Isn’t your soulmate the best?

- Love me?

- I love you

- I already said that but it’s true.

Jaskier cursed and threw his phone onto the end of the bed before remembering that he hadn’t answered Lambert yet. He pouted and scrambled to find his phone again, struggling against the weight of his blanket. The blanket did wonders for his ADHD but it could be a pain in the arse to move sometimes. Reluctantly, he switched back to Lambert’s chat.

J - I can’t wait to show you around! Ooh we could go to the natural history museum, I’m sure some of the stuffed animals look just like you! Or maybe a show!

L - Not sure how much I’’ll be able to hang out, but we’ll have to get a photo to show Geralt.

- He’ll probably be jealous.

- But he’ll manage.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. Siblings could be the worst. He’d never really gotten on well with his own sisters but he could imagine having Lambert for a brother would be a hundred times worse. Still, he smiled at his phone. Geralt would be jealous. Geralt wanted to meet him. That was a good thing, no matter how much Jaskier pined to see his soulmate over Lambert.

This was a start.

One day.

They would meet one day, and then Jaskier would never have to let him go. He just had to be patient… for now.

[mercy-burning]

Cold Feet (Alternate Version)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After receiving a letter from an old flame just days away from her wedding, Reader wonders if she should call it all off. —Inspired by the song Cold Feet by Tenille Arts Category: Angst (unhappy ending) Content Warnings: An almost kiss that isn’t with Reader’s fiancé Word Count: 1.8k

Read the other version of Cold Feet here!

MASTERLIST

***

She should be happily wrapped in a dream, Safe in a warm bed and sound asleep. So why is she walking back home From a long night down by the creek, With cold feet?

Y/N is currently finding it difficult to breathe.

It was easier a couple days ago when she knew exactly what she wanted. Her husband-to-be was more than excited to marry her, and she'd reciprocated that feeling entirely. Everything was ready to go. Truthfully, they could have gotten married right this second if that's what they wanted, that's how ready to go they were.

But now? She was questioning everything.

She still felt the thin paper in her hands, even with its folded body currently tucked away in an old book she knew was never going to be opened again- a gift from the man who'd written the letter in the first place.

The first time she read it, her heart sank. And by the third time she'd read it, her heart soared.

And then her fiancé walked in, asked her about what to make for dinner, and her heart sank all over again.

Honestly, damn him for choosing now to finally confess. Damn him for making her question everything, after she'd finally moved on and found someone who would always be around.

But then again, she'd ended up choosing to live in a house in their hometown, just blocks away from that creek he'd mentioned in his letter. So... Maybe she hadn't moved on entirely

She hated that she even had to think about it.

She hated that her thoughts were so consumed with this man she hadn't seen in years when the man she was about to marry slept next to her every night, unaware of the start to her inner turmoil. Each night since then, she dreamt of dances with both of them, alternating between the two until they made her choose which of them she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And every morning she'd wake with an even bigger tear in her heart than when the old flame had burned it alive and left her alone in the aftermath to piece it back together.

Her fiancé helped her do that, though. Day by day he taught her to love again, to trust in somebody again, and he was truly a good man.

So why was it absolutely destroying her, thinking of getting married to him when there was someone else in the picture to think about? Someone who'd had a hold on her for well over fifteen years?

Again, she hated that she even had to think about it.

But she wasn't about to get married with all these conflicting thoughts, so whether she wanted to or not, her only real option was the one that would also be the hardest on her tattered heart.

She'd sent him a text message this morning that read, Midnight, and tucked her phone away for the rest of the day, drowning herself in mindless work and looking to keep time moving forward.

Now, she struggles to breathe as she makes her way down to the creek.

It's cold, having just rained fifteen minutes prior, and she wraps her fiancé's cardigan tightly over her her arms, searching for warmth and comfort. She would have settled for one of her own, heavier pieces, but in some strange way she thought maybe having something there that belonged to her fiancée would ground her, something to remind her of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Nothing could have grounded her upon seeing her ex boyfriend after all these years, though, especially when she finally shows up to their old spot and sees him perched on the big stump right next to the water, relief and joy flooding through his features at the sight of her. His smile is just as bright and familiar as she remembered, and it just about knocks the wind out from under her feet.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets softly, standing up and stretching his hands out over his legs. It's obvious that he's nervous to meet up with her after all these years apart, and she couldn't blame him in the slightest.

She's just as nervous as her feet take baby steps towards him. Meanwhile she's hugging her fiancée's cardigan around her body tighter than before. "Hi..."

"I... I can't believe you actually wanted to meet. Truthfully I thought I wouldn't hear back from you."

"Well... Your letter kind of rattled me... You rattled me. I guess I just had to know..."

There's a long pause before he takes a small step towards her and tilts his head. His words are hesitant, like he thinks she might say something he doesn't want to hear. "And... What do you know?"

"I know that I love my fiancé. After you, I didn't really think I'd ever love anyone the same way again, but... He makes me happier than I've ever been, and I... I can't just discard that feeling because you decided too late that you still love me. You know?"

"I do, Y/N, I really do," he answers earnestly, and this time his hand reaches out to grab hers. "But... I mean, you showed up here, didn't you? That has to count for something..."

She isn't really sure how to respond after that. It's true that seeing this man in front of her for the first time in years has brought back a wave of feelings that she'd repressed and even experienced with someone new.

But it's also true that with those feelings comes an inevitable aftertaste of bitterness. He'd left her, decided ultimately that his career was more important to him, and now that she has someone new he's asking her to leave behind this peace she's found. And for what? For him? What's to stop him from leaving again, or deciding years or months down the road that he'd made a mistake and gotten her to leave her one shot at happiness after him?

Nonetheless, she sits with him for hours, listening to him explain... Giving him a chance. He apologizes for the past, he promises to do better in the future, and in between he makes her laugh. Their hands brush, their breaths mingle as they huddle from the cold, and with every passing minute, the cardigan on her shoulders becomes looser and more forgotten.

Slowly but surely, he's lowering her defenses and gaining her trust. He's showing her bits and pieces of the man she fell in love with until they're laughing at close to 3am.

And then, for a moment, it's quiet. Absolutely quiet, save for the crickets and the soft rolling of the creek behind them.

Y/N almost lets him kiss her then.

But then her heart hammers in her chest, and not in a good way. Suddenly, she's imagining the pure heartbreak that would surely manifest on her fiancé's face if he found out- if she really decided to leave him for this old flame that had barely started to kindle once again years later.

She has to be absolutely certain of her decision.

So she pulls back and wraps her fiancé's cardigan tightly around her arms. "I should go home."

There's disappointment in his eyes, and it twists her gut a little. "Right... Um... I-I can take you back, if you want."

"No, I, uh... I think I'm gonna walk. I have to think."

Y/N avoids his gaze just quickly enough that she doesn't see the disappointment in his eyes fizzle into a tiny sliver of hope.

Rain on the sidewalk, doubt in her mind. One thing's for sure, she's running out of time To decide what's right, And who's heart she's willing to break.

She climbs into bed some time later, the cardigan still wrapped tightly around her body, and she can't quite bring herself to face the man sleeping next to her. It feels wrong, like somehow she's betrayed him by even thinking of spending the rest of her life with another person. She doesn't feel worthy of his love.

When she wakes up the next morning, she'd somehow ended up facing him anyway. He's staring at her with adoring eyes, and under his gaze she can't help the guilt that washes over her.

"Quit looking at me like that..."

Her words are grumbly and soft because of having just woken up, and because her face is half hidden behind blankets and his cardigan, her fiancé doesn't know anything is wrong.

Instead, he laughs. "What, you're beautiful... And before you start arguing with me, yes, you're even beautiful when you wake up."

She only grumbles, feeling anything but.

It's quiet for a moment or two before he speaks again. "You're wearing my cardigan..."

Peeking her eyes out from the mountain of fabric, she can see the enchantment in his eyes and it makes her warm. "I was cold..."

While true, she mostly means I had cold feet.

"Come here."

Two simple words, two syllables, and yet it's the softest declaration of love she's ever heard. Her body instinctively nestles into his, face going straight into the crook of his neck while he wraps her up in his arms.

"There," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You feel warmer yet?"

"Mhm..." She sighs into his skin and then takes in a deep breath.

He smells like home.

He feels like home.

And as he starts softly humming her favorite song, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he holds her close, Y/N wonders why she'd ever doubted her love for him.

He is home.

Spencer never was— he was almost always gone.

Letting him go is hard given their past; The good in their relationship was really good, but... it wasn’t enough. It isn't enough for Y/N to leave behind this new, pure love that had reopened parts of her soul she hadn't realized could be repaired after Spencer.

While James makes coffee in the kitchen, Y/N wanders to the bookshelf, gently removing Spencer's gift from the dark wood and swiping her hand over the bound leather exterior. The letter enclosed inside, handwriting that matches an inscription on the front inside cover of the book, beats softly like a heart.

Later that day, as she makes her way five towns over, that heartbeat slowly diminishes— until, finally, she drops it off at the local bookstore for donation, and it stops beating altogether.

And Spencer, somehow, can feel it. He feels it deep in his bones, that she'd given up on them— on him.

He feels the beating of his heart slow down day after day, so quiet and barely tangible, that once the day of her wedding finally arrives, it shatters altogether.

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[morganaspendragonss]

if every breath is sacred

When Carlos wakes up, flames and smoke are filling the room, but TK is nowhere to be seen. He knows the protocols for being in a fire: sit tight, stay low to the ground, wait for help to arrive. But, it’s TK. Protocols have always gone straight out of the window when it comes to TK. So, Carlos—

Well, Carlos does probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his  life.

He grabs two t-shirts from a drawer, holds one over his mouth and nose, and plunges into the inferno.

ao3 | 2.1k | 2.12 spec

The air in their bedroom is sour with a rage Carlos knows isn’t directed at him, yet he can’t help but feel guilty for it anyway. TK is curled up on his side of the bed, back to Carlos, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his breaths far too carefully even for him to be asleep.

Carlos wants to call him out on it, but he doesn’t want to make things worse than they already are.

He knows he’s not the one TK’s mad at - they’ve had that conversation already - and Carlos is angry too. Mainly at Owen for being so stupid, but also a little bit at his dad even though he knows he was just doing his job. It’s more that they put him in the impossible situation of having to explain to his boyfriend that his father was arrested than anything else; seeing TK’s face fall at the news felt like one of the worst moments of Carlos’s life.

They’ll have to talk about this eventually - tomorrow, hopefully - but, right now, it’s better to just let TK’s anger run its course. 

Which is why Carlos bites his tongue when TK suddenly throws the sheets back and climbs out of bed, leaving the room with only a muttered comment about getting a drink. He sighs, listening to TK’s heavier-than-usual footsteps, relieved when he hears the quiet click of the kettle as opposed to the coffee machine. At least now there’s a chance of TK coming back to bed and getting some sleep, albeit a small one.

Carlos throws his arm over his eyes as the sounds quiet. He’s exhausted and, much as he wants to stay up for TK, he can’t resist the pull of sleep. So he lets himself drift off, praying that things will be easier in the morning.

*

He wakes to the scent of smoke invading his nostrils, harsh coughs already ripping from his throat even as he blinks the remains of sleep away. Carlos frowns, his brain taking a second to register the dim orange glow under the bedroom door for what it is.

Fire.

His eyes widen and he turns to warn TK -

But, TK’s not there. 

The bathroom light isn’t on, either, which means… Which means, he never made it back to bed.

Which means he’s still downstairs.

Carlos jumps out of bed and races to the door, yanking it open, only to come to a sudden halt as flames jump up at him from the stairs. The smoke is thick, but he can see enough to tell that the ground floor has already been overwhelmed by the fire, and that it probably won’t be long until it makes its way up here. His heart is threatening to pound out of his chest with fear and worry, but he forces himself to concentrate, to slip into first responder mode; panicking won’t help TK, nor will it get them out of this mess.

Returning into the bedroom, he snatches his phone from the bedside table and dials, sliding to the floor as more and more smoke invades the room.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“My house, it’s on fire. My boyfriend and I are trapped inside, but I don’t know where he is. He went downstairs to get a drink and I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, there was fire everywhere and he still wasn’t back.”

“Could you give me your address, sir?”

Carlos rattles off his details, suppressing the tickle in his throat for as long as he can before he’s overwhelmed by coughing again. He can hear the dispatcher on the other end saying something, but he can’t make out what.

When the coughs die out, he takes heaving breaths of air, already in short supply. The dispatcher is still talking, so Carlos focuses.

“-ir? Sir, are you there?”

“I’m here,” he gasps eventually, closing his eyes.

“Good, help is on the way. For the time being, is there anywhere you can go to escape from the smoke?”

Carlos shakes his head, before remembering that the action is redundant. “No. There’s nowhere.”

“Alright, just hang tight. Fire and medical should be with you in around six minutes.”

Six minutes.

Too long.

Carlos glances back to the door, his mind going to TK and how long he must have been in the flames and smoke for. A chill goes through him as he realises he doesn’t even know, and he just... He needs to make sure he’s okay.

He may be a cop, and not a firefighter, but Carlos knows the protocols for being in a fire. Sit tight, stay low to the ground, wait for help to arrive. But, it’s TK. Protocols have always gone straight out of the window when it comes to TK. So, Carlos—

Well, Carlos does probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his entire life.

He grabs two t-shirts from a drawer, holds one over his mouth and nose, and plunges into the inferno.

*

Flames lick at his exposed skin and thick, black smoke clogs his lungs, the thin cloth of the t-shirt doing next to nothing to halt its path. His eyes are burning, vision obscured with how much they’re watering, but Carlos pushes on, squinting through the haze to search for any sign of his boyfriend.

Navigating his house is difficult, everything seeming alien in this strange half-light, but he manages, and eventually he stumbles - almost literally - over a crumpled figure against the far wall.

“TK!” he cries, or tries to. It comes out hoarse, and quieter than he intended, so Carlos clears his throat and tries again and again and again until he drops down on his knees next to TK. 

“TK,” he says again, shaking his shoulder. TK’s eyes are closed, but they flutter when Carlos shakes him harder. “Come on, baby, open your eyes.”

TK must listen to him, because, slowly, his eyes blink open, widening as he takes in the scene around them. Carlos presses the second t-shirt into his hands and he nods in understanding, raising it to his mouth.

“Help is coming,” Carlos says, mouth close to TK’s ear. “Just a couple more minutes.”

TK nods again and lowers the shirt. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get a sound out before a round of coughing comes over him, causing him to fold in on himself. It’s loud enough that TK misses the cracking sound coming from right above his head, the thin trickle of dust raining down on them.

TK misses it, but Carlos doesn’t.

His boyfriend’s name tears out of him, and he just has time to shove TK as hard as he can before the ceiling comes crashing down.

Carlos chokes, suddenly finding it even harder to breathe, as if it wasn’t near impossible before. He’s pinned, the only movement he has left in his right hand. If he strains, he can just about see TK, who’s staring at him with a horrified expression. Carlos attempts a smile, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

His lungs spasm as he tries and fails to take a breath, his entire body burning with the weight crushing him. His vision is dimming, and he knows it’s likely only seconds before he loses consciousness—and, judging by TK’s slow blinks, the same is true for him.

Carlos prays that whichever station was dispatched gets to them soon, but if this is the end - and he really, really wants it not to be - then he can only think to be grateful that they’re in it together. Carefully, he inches his hand forward, stretching his fingers out until they meet TK’s, and he grips on with all the strength he has left in his body.

“I love you,” he chokes out. He doesn’t know if TK hears him, but he knows that he understands by the way his fingers close around Carlos’s.

TK’s lips move, the roaring flames and the pounding of his own heart making it impossible for Carlos to hear him; still, he knows. It’s a comfort, and he gives TK’s hand one last squeeze before all the energy leaves him and his eyes drift shut.

A flash of blue lights up the room behind Carlos’s closed eyelids, but he doesn’t get a chance to figure out what it means before the darkness swallows him whole.

*

TK doesn’t know how he got here. 

He comes back to awareness slowly, a sudden panic constricting his already tight chest as he stares up at the night sky, his mind trying desperately to work out what’s going on. The last thing he remembers, he was in their front room, surrounded by fire, and Carlos—

Carlos.

TK gasps, his lungs on fire, his back arching and his fingers clawing at what he now realises is a gurney - whether he’s fighting for air or to get to Carlos, he doesn’t know.

Either way, he’s quickly pushed back down and an oxygen mask is pressed against his face.

“TK, I need you to calm down,” a familiar voice - Tommy’s - says. 

“Carlos -”

“He’s in good hands, I promise you,” she cuts in, an evasion tactic if TK’s ever heard one. “You’re my priority right now; just focus on breathing for me, alright?”

TK wants to fight, but he still doesn’t have any strength in him, and he’s powerless to do anything as he’s lifted into the ambulance and taken away.

*

He hates hospitals. After the kidnapping, after Grace and Judd, TK had hopes not to have to enter one again for a while. 

He should have known that was just wishful thinking.

This is the worst one, he thinks. He’s not allowed to leave his bed for another day at least, the burns he’d suffered are superficial, but he’d inhaled a lot of smoke and the doctors want to make sure his O2 levels are stable before letting him go.

That would be unbearable enough, but it’s made worse by the fact that he can’t see Carlos. All he’s been told is that Carlos’s injuries were far worse than his own and that he’s been put on a ventilator because his body is too damaged. A horrible guilt wells in TK’s gut at that knowledge - it’s his fault Carlos isn’t awake right now. He knows Carlos saved him when the ceiling came down, and he wishes he hadn’t; he really didn’t need to know what being on the other side of a coma is like.

A quiet knock on the doorframe reaches his ears and he looks up, expecting it to be his dad or one of the team. Instead, he’s surprised to see Carlos’s mom standing there, her eyes red, and a terrifying coldness floods his body.

“Mrs Reyes,” he says, voice trembling. “Is everything okay? Carlos, is he -”

“He’s okay,” she replies, giving him a wobbly smile as she walks towards him. “Or, there’s been no change, which the doctors tell us is a good thing. Gabriel is with him, but I wanted to come and check up on you.”

TK swallows guiltily, wincing slightly at the lingering soreness in his throat. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Ah. I see Carlitos didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I raised four children, TK,” she says, a hint of a real smile on her lips. “I know when someone is lying to me.”

TK flushes and looks down at the bedsheets, picking at them idly. “You’re right. I’m not okay, but I don’t think I will be until he wakes up.”

“You care for him a lot.”

“With all my heart.”

She nods and pats his hand, the simple, yet comforting, touch breaking something in TK. His eyes fill with tears and he lets his head fall back on the pillow as his chest heaves with sobbing. It irritates his throat, but he doesn’t care, not when there’s a greater pain that reaches right down to his very soul. 

Mrs Reyes holds him against her without hesitation, not complaining even though his cries must be making a mess of her shirt.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, stroking his hair in a way that makes TK yearn for a mother he never really had. “Everything will be okay. My Carlitos is a fighter, and I know that he is doing everything he can right now to get back to us. To you.”

TK sniffles, and hangs onto her words with everything he has.

Four days later, Carlos’s eyes open and, for the first time since the fire, TK think he can finally breathe again.

[maybedefinitely404]

For You Became My Lighthouse (Part 2)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Prinxiety

Content: argument, crying, a decent dose of awkward but it gets resolved!

Word count: 4.1k

Comment: This is the fourth time I’ve tried to post this--- Part 1 HERE!

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

Roman ran a hand through his hair at the message, checking the time at the top of the screen. It was late, far too late, so it was safe to assume that Logan had heard about the spat from Virgil. He should have been home by now. It was just… impossible to convince himself to actually leave the rehearsal studio. He had a younger acting class tomorrow and was perfecting his lesson plan- even though he already knew it was perfect, and his director had already approved it. Just, anything to keep him from going home.

He’d been a dick. Such was obvious; from the second his finger had hit send, he regretted approximately everything in his life that had led to this moment. That day had been particularly bad, overrun with rehearsals he was either taking part in or directing, and gearing up for tech week of a large production. Who knew trying to block a scene with a flurry of pre-teens could take so much out of you? Rinse and repeat the cycle with two more classes to teach back to back and an achingly long dance rehearsal, add in a desperate and fruitless search for a replacement lead in his upcoming directorial debut, and you’d have what Roman would categorize as a “shit show of a day”. 

All he wanted to do at the end of it was spend some time with his boyfriend, without having to talk about his day, so he’d suggested the most basic date his fried brain could conjur. Then his work desk was unceremoniously reacquainted with his forehead as he smacked it into the wood, letting out a groan that bordered on a yell. Luckily, minutes ago everyone had abandoned the theatre, and he’d been trusted with the keys to lock up from a stagehand. He just had a couple more things to do, and then he could drive home. 

Getting a reply of denial from Virgil was nothing new. In fact, he’d been warned in the transition from reluctant acquaintanceship to inevitable friendship, that he tended to veto ideas if they were sudden, or too daunting, or if he was just feeling shitty. It was something that Roman never considered a deal breaker, and he’d slowly come to much rather enjoy a night of cuddling and watching television than going out anyways. Call it ‘getting old’, call it ‘Virgil’s homebody ways creeping into his psyche’. So usually, getting his plans rejected was no big deal. 

Except for today, when he was well and past his limit of frustration, and things not going to plan. He’d typed out and sent the snarky reply far before he’d thought it out whatsoever, and ranted out complaints that hadn’t ever crossed his mind before, which he immediately regretted. In a moment of shame so great it caused physical nausea, he tossed his phone into one of his desk drawers and slammed it shut. 

It buzzed once, twice, and then went silent. 

Until, of course, it began to go berserk an indecipherable amount of time later, and Roman couldn’t ignore it. Seeing Logan’s text, along with about a million missed calls from him and Patton, broke the fragile sense of calm he’d tried to achieve while working. 

He didn’t want to go home and face his consequences. Childish, yes. Well deserved, also yes, but he was afraid of Virgil’s inevitable anger. If this led to a breakup, a fight that wasn’t recoverable, he’d never forgive himself. 

And now…

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

I can see you’ve read my text message.

-Logan

I’m at work. 

You’re inconceivably moronic. Get home. Now.

-Logan

Roman sighed heavily through his nose, clenching his jaw. He began typing out another snarky response- because apparently he never learned- when another text came through.

Virgil was in significant distress last I spoke to him and he has stopped answering me and Patton. Go. Home.

-Logan

Please. If not for my sake, then for Virgil’s.

-Logan

Fuck.

Roman barely had the sense to lock the doors of the building in his rush, throwing the spare key back in through the mail slot and booking it to his car. He sent some sort of confirmation that he was going and tossed the phone to his back seat. Virgil hated when he used it while driving.

It was only on the drive back, on unusually empty roads, did he realize it was well past nine. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing by.

Most of the lights in the apartment complex were still on when he pulled into the car park, but their window visible on this side showed only darkness. He wasn’t used to entering a dark apartment.

Their flat was silent, the living room only illuminated by the oven clock and the dim city lights from the balcony. He toed off his shoes as silently as he could, wincing when he kicked their shoe rack, and decided he’d risk turning on the light. When he finally found the switch and flicked it on, he couldn’t help his gasp. 

The room had once been a pristine display, he could tell. A white table cloth adorned their usually bare dining room table and a half burned candle stood as its centrepiece. He approached it in a daze, cautiously resting a hand on the plate of ravioli nearest to him. Cold. Long cold; the pasta was starting to get crusty. 

He picked up the two plates, intent on throwing out the food. It definitely wasn’t safe to eat anymore, and he didn’t feel like warding off an attack of ants in the morning. One of the towels hanging off the oven handle was drenched in what looked like marinara sauce, and it looked like there was some more spilled in the crack between the stove and the counter. That would be fun to clean. 

Both hands full, he opened the cupboard containing the garbage bin with a socked foot, and promptly froze. 

Part of him cringed at the clang the dropped plates made on the counter, but the louder part of him was just repeating a mantra of ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit’ and it was considerably out-screaming the other. Hands now shaking, Roman picked up the small box from the sink edge, ignoring the dried, crunchy texture of more tomato sauce on the outside, and opened it. 

It took every ounce of strength for Roman not to collapse to his knees, guilt instantly crushing the air from his lungs, a thousand times heavier than it had been before. An elaborate dinner, a ring… there had been a plan. That’s why Virgil had rejected his offer to go out. 

And he’d been such a dick to him. 

Speaking of which, where was he?

Roman closed the box and set it back where it had been. Their bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the most obvious place Virgil would be, so he padded over and creaked it open just a bit more. The light from the hallway cast a beam onto the bed, illuminating first a mess of hastily thrown clothes; his button up shirt he only used for fancy occasions on top of the pile. 

Virgil’s huddled form was easy to make out, curled away from the door, his only movement being the steady rise and fall of the blanket as he breathed. Figaro lifted his head from where he was settled in the crook of Virgil’s knees and gave Roman an indifferent mrow. 

He couldn’t get into bed with him. There was no scenario where that was the right move. It wasn’t the right time to talk about what had happened, not so late and when they were both riding high on emotions and tiredness, so accidentally waking Virgil was not the way to go. And even if he was sneaky enough to not wake him… a part of him just felt it was wrong. Not when he didn’t know Virgil’s stance on him at the moment.

Or his stance on the relationship.

Well, couch it was. He acknowledged the crumpled weighted blanket and sound blocking headphones- clear aftermath of a bad panic attack- with a quiet curse. Somehow that pit in his stomach got even bigger, making him nauseous as his shame took a physical form. 

He could only pray that they would come back from this. 

Roman’s sleep was fitful, to say the least. At best, he drifted into a state of half-consciousness, where his thoughts could be somewhat quieted down, but the discomfort of the couch and the heavy weight in his heart were still palpable. Inevitably, one of their neighbors would make a noise or the building would make a settling creak or a distant dog would bark, and the state would be broken, leaving Roman wide awake and wracked with guilt once more. He’d never noticed how loud the world was until he wanted nothing more than for the noise to stop. 

The sun was just peaking into the window when their bedroom door widened and Roman flew up, using the back of the couch to steady his sudden sitting position. When their eyes met from across the room, Virgil in his pajamas and face hidden in shadow, a tenseness settled over the room that neither had experienced in their relationship thus far. Virgil froze in the doorway, wavering slightly. It didn’t appear he wanted to be the one to break the silence. 

Roman stood slowly, as though not to spook him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Virgil whispered with a sniff, and even in that one word Roman could hear the scratchiness of his voice. “I just...uhm,” He cleared his throat, “I just wanted to get some water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already awake. No… no worries.” 

Virgil looked down to his feet. “When did you come back?”

“I think just before ten.”

“‘Kay.”

For an all too long moment, both of them seemed to find interest in every part of the room that wasn’t the other’s eyes. It wasn’t until Roman looked towards the kitchen in his awkwardness did he process what Virgil had come out for. 

“I’ll, um…” He pointed weakly to the kitchen and finally convinced his feet to move, filling up a glass from the sink while making a conscious effort to not look at the dishes or wasted food from the evening before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the way his gaze drifted towards the box sitting next to the tap, and judging by Virgil’s sharp inhale, the look hadn’t been subtle. 

He took the glass back to the other, watching him take it with an uncomfortable, “Thanks.”

Virgil downed the glass in one go, his shaking hands almost causing him to spill. He barely had time to take a breath before Roman had zipped the empty glass back onto the counter.

“Do you want more?” He asked, already refilling the glass.

“No, I’m… it’s okay.” 

Roman placed the full glass on the counter quietly and the two were swallowed by heavy silence once again. The clock ticked impossibly loud as they stood, fidgeting, wanting this moment to be over but not wanting to be the one to start it. 

Virgil took a shuddering breath and wrung his hands together.

Roman stared resolutely at a single water drop making its way down the glass.

This was his fault. He’d started it. It seemed only right that he break the tension that almost suffocated him, so even as his mind screamed for him to shut up and every muscle in his body turned to liquid, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Virgil, I-”

“I’m sorry.”

That effectively stopped Roman in his tracks. All night, he’d crafted a collection of apologies, from eloquent monologues to stumbling pleas for forgiveness, but in not one of his countless scenarios had Virgil apologized. 

“I know… I know I can be a lot to handle, I know, I swear. And I was more outgoing when we first met, because I thought I had something to prove and it always exhausted me and I hated it but then we became… I don’t know, official? And closer and… and more comfortable and I didn’t think I had to do that anymore, I didn’t have to keep pushing myself so far!”

“V, stop-”

“The panic attacks and the anxiety and all that shit are a lot for other people and I know that but I didn’t know it was too much for you, I didn’t know you were tired of that and I can be better, I swear, I swear I can go back to how I was in the beginning, just please don’t leave.”

Virgil let out a choked sob and Roman couldn’t stop himself from rushing forward, intent on holding his stupid, stupid boyfriend until he realized this was in no way his fault, only for Virgil to back up before he could do so.

“I’m- I’m not trying to guilt you, I’m sorry, I just, I love you, and I can be better, I can, just give me a chance, please-”

“Virgil, baby, come here.”

This time when he reached forward, Virgil allowed himself to be pulled into his boyfriend’s chest, basically collapsing against him as soon as Roman’s arms tightened around him. The dam broke moments later and Virgil finally let go of his own hands to grab the back of Roman’s shirt with a sense of urgency.

“Please don’t leave, I’m so sorry,” he begged raspily into Roman’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

Roman hung onto him almost as tightly in return, rocking them back and forth, finally allowing himself to cry. He shoved his face into Virgil’s hair, peppering small kisses and apologies to the crown of his head in between sobs. 

Virgil whined when Roman finally pulled away, but he didn’t go far, cradling his boyfriend’s face in his hands and wiping his tacky cheeks with his thumbs.

“Virgil, I cannot apologize enough for yesterday.”

“What are-” he hiccuped, “What are you talking about? It was my fault.”

“No, no, no no no no no,” Roman whispered, fighting that damn lump in his throat once more. “I had a spectacularly shitty day, and I took it out on you. I was leagues out of line. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m so, so unbelievably sorry.” 

As if the strings were cut on a marionette, all the tenseness dissolved from Virgil’s shoulders and he slumped forward, bumping his head weakly into Roman’s chest. “Can we sit down?”

“Yeah, of course.” Roman clumsily led him to the couch and sat on the adjacent cushion, assuming that if Virgil wanted to talk, he’d want his own space. His assumption was incorrect, however, judging by how Virgil crossed the space almost instantly and buried himself in Roman’s side like a koala. He shifted them both until he was laying on his back, Virgil splayed across him .

“I thought you’d be more upset with me,” He muttered, freeing his hand to run it through Virgil’s hair. His fingers raked through his own tears trapped in the locks and he grimaced.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now,” responded Virgil, accompanied by a shuddering breath, “I just need to know that you’re really here. And I need you.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the sun begin to peek through their window, until Virgil spoke again sardonically.

“If this is a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Roman snorted despite himself and felt Virgil’s responding half-laugh from where he was tucked against him.  

“I agree. I thought I’d fucked up for good this time.”

A disgruntled meow made Roman crane his neck over the couch, watching Figaro stretch languidly in their bedroom doorway. The cat sidled over to his food bowl and sat pointedly next to it. Feed me. 

“Later, Figaro,” Roman groaned, all too comfortable with Virgil as his blanket. A small part of him was worried that if he moved them at all, the spell would be broken, and they’d lose whatever peace they’d settled into. 

Well, that wouldn’t do at all, not by Figaro’s standards. The cat gave an upset mewl and trotted over to the couch, leaping up with grace and batting Virgil’s legs. It was that pettish action that made Roman realize that Virgil had turned stone still on his lap. Figaro changed his approach to headbutting at his arm in a clear attempt to get pets, but Virgil’s hand stayed still by their sides. 

“What’s going through your head?” Roman murmured. 

“That stuff you said, about me… not contributing to the relationship…” Virgil croaked, and Roman stilled,  “What can I do to-… to fix that? Because I wanna fix it.”

“Baby, no,” Roman whispered, that shame-nausea returning, “I-” He groaned, dropping his head onto the arm of the couch behind him, “I was being an asshole. I didn’t mean that.”

Virgil didn’t budge, still deliberately ignoring Figaro’s futile begging for attention. “Then where did it come from?”

He took a breath deep enough that Virgil rose and fell with his chest, and Roman was struck with the profound urge to pull him closer and never let him go. But that would likely make him feel trapped, and that wasn’t productive. “You remember when I dragged you to that improv show my students put on last year?”

“You introduced me as your boyfriend and we found out the class had placed bets on whether you were gay or not. I don’t know how it wasn’t obvious.”

Roman gasped in mock offense. “Maybe they just were trying not to stereotype!”

“Your phone case is a rainbow-”

“Anyways!” He interrupted, resuming his gentle threading through Virgil’s hair, who snorted but otherwise gave in to the affection. “Remember what happened after?”

“Mmhm.”

It had been a fantastic show, and Roman had been exceedingly proud of his little students, especially since it was his first time ever teaching a class. After the night, when the betting chaos had settled and everyone quickly adopted Virgil as theirs now, they’d pleaded to play a few more improv games before the theatre closed. Seeing as it was their last class, hence the performance in the first place, Roman had acquiesced. But neither of the men had expected for the gang of pre-teens to latch onto Virgil and beg him to play too, despite him having zero theatre experience. 

“Remember what they said?”

“They tried to pack all your lectures into five minutes of information.”

“I don’t lecture, I dazzle.” 

“They thought you were straight.” 

“Only some, and that’s not the point!”

Virgil finally lifted his head, pulling his hands up so he could lay his chin on top of them. He smiled weakly. “Then what is the point?”

“The most important rule of improv is to keep the scene going. No matter what nonsense you have to pull out, just never leave a scene flat.”

There was a quiet moment while the other processed that before, once again, that layer of hurt reappeared on his face. He pushed himself off Roman’s chest in preparation to get up. “So… you’re saying you saw that argument as another scene you had to keep up.”

“No, shit, that came out wrong,” Roman insisted, and Virgil paused suspiciously, “I’m saying, that in a moment of panic, I fell back on bullshitting my way through it! That’s literally what I do for a living!” 

The distrust gave way to resignment and Virgil chewed on his cheek, turning his attention to the window. He sat all the way up on Roman’s legs, leaning back on his shins. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me right now?” He said. 

“Because,” Roman followed him up, careful not to move his legs and dislodge his boyfriend, “You know I like when the bed is made, and even though you hate making it, you always do when I’m out of the house before you.”

Virgil looked down at his thumb.

“Because you let me choose the music in the car.”

“... you don’t like loud music,” He muttered, picking at the skin around his cuticle.

“You adjust your work schedule to come to every single one of my shows.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but you hate working mornings. You let me rant about all my theatre stuff, even if you don’t get any of it.”

“I’m learning.” A faint smile was breaking through.

“You tell me when there’s spinach in my teeth, or my hair is messy, or if I’m acting like an asshole.”

“Well, that’s easy enough.”

Roman reciprocated the smile at that, taking Virgil’s hands in his own to stop the attack at his nail. “I’ve been watching you better yourself for years, even if it’s been really, really hard.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Virgil asked with a small blush, switching his fidgeting tactic to fiddling with Roman’s fingers. 

“Every time you do something that betters yourself, you help us, Virgil.” He leaned forward slowly, giving Virgil the time to move away if he wanted to, and rested their foreheads together. “Yesterday, I fucked up. Badly. You said you were anxious and I still acted like a dick. I kinda thought you’d hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Virgil whispered, seemingly before he had a chance to process it, because his blush multiplied tenfold. Roman grinned. 

“Aw, is someone feeling sappy?”

“Shut up, jackass,” He retorted, bonking their heads together ever so gently. 

“I’m so sorry, Virgil,” Roman said after their giggles and blushes had faded, “It won’t happen again, I swear.” 

In lieu of answering, Virgil closed the already scant distance between their lips, and despite Roman using all of his self control to not sigh into it, he found himself doing so anyways. All the tension bled out of his shoulders at once as Virgil pulled away, pressing one more peck to the tip of his nose, and then leaning back with a small smile. 

“So… that means we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“Thank god,” Roman groaned, flopping back and dropping his arm over his eyes dramatically. He heard Virgil’s quiet snicker before he resumed his job as a blanket. Except this time, instead of nuzzling his head into Roman’s neck, he could feel the distinct edge of a chin digging into his sternum.

The hand lifted from his eyes to see Virgil staring at him, that goofy little smirk on his face. 

“What?”

“I love you, idiot.”

Well, now they were wearing matching goofy little smirks. 

“I love you too.” 

That seemed to satiate him, because he gave a little nod and laid his head more comfortably on the other’s chest. He could have left the conversation there, content to just let them lay there in peace until the world fell away- or Figaro grew more insistent on being fed- but Roman just couldn’t banish the one persistent thought in the back of his mind. 

“Were you actually going to propose?” He blurted.

Virgil tensed for a moment, and then gave a resigned sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Roman furrowed his eyebrows, desperately hoping he sounded casual, though his heart was pounding far too loudly to not be heard, “I would have said yes. If you did.”

“Oh?” Virgil lifted his head. “You’re blushing, Princey.” He could hear the smug grin.

“Nooo…” Roman whined. His arm draped once more over his eyes in a weak attempt to hide the redness, but he drew it away only moments later when Virgil didn’t retort. 

The man was staring at him with an odd mix of disappointment and amusement, huffing out a breath as he watched Roman’s eyes.

“This wasn’t how I was planning to propose,” He sighed, “It was supposed to be all perfect, and romantic, and stuff. And the surprise is ruined now.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Roman, continuing before Virgil could cut him off, “If it’s any consolation, I think a proposal in our pajamas, on the couch, would be very us.”

“You’re not in pajamas.”

“I slept in these clothes, they count as pajamas.”

Virgil snickered. Roman counted five breaths as the other’s face melted from a smile to anxiously knit brows, worrying his lip between his teeth as he looked down at him. It took another three for him to speak.

 “So…uh... will you…?”

Roman’s face split into a grin, “Yes, Virgil. Obviously.” 

Virgil’s expression morphed to match his and he swooped down to kiss him again, though they barely could with how much they were smiling. They both devolved into giggles, happy to just stay wrapped in each other’s arms, until Virgil broke away with a gasp.

“Let me grab the ring!”

“Ring can wait,” Roman argued, tightening his grip around his waist to keep him in place, “I want cuddles.”

And so they did.

Taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

@marshymoop

@larkiaquail

@noemiescuriosity

@mycatshuman

@cirishere

@vpow

@ray-does-stuff

@sirprplsnail

[janekfan]

Duress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30665933

As ever, Jon’s timing was impeccable.

Impeccably awful.

Barely a month into his new “promotion” and already he could feel a toll. If he was completely honest with himself he hadn’t expected quite this level of work despite not being a stranger to long hours. To put it bluntly, the archives were a mess. Gertrude hadn’t left any clues as to how filing was done and it all seemed so haphazard he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose. He was up to his elbows in files he’d found in a water stained cardboard box when Tim sauntered up, looking down his nose at the papers in disgust. Jon wished he would help and didn’t know how to ask for it with their relationship as strained as it currently was. Tim had silently allied with Sasha when Elias made the announcement and they were all navigating the current situation gingerly. Jon didn’t blame him. She needed support. The statements and recordings and organization could wait until they were ready.

“Hey there, boss. Was wondering if you wanted to come out with us tonight.”

Oh, of course. It was Friday, wasn’t it.

Jon looked around his office, strewn with papers and post-its and worse off than it was this morning. Guilt welled up in him like blood from a wound. Tim was losing his already limited patience with him.

“Uh, yes, that would be nice. It has been a while.” He leaned back and wiped his dusty hands off on his trousers adding to the light streaks already there.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Too important to hang out with us now, ey Jon? Now that you’re a corporate bigwig?”

“I am not!” Tim held his hands up in supplication.

“Just kidding, yeah?” It didn’t sound like it was just anything; certainly not the jokes Tim used to tell. This just felt cruel, probably because Tim thought it was the truth. Jon could admit he was prickly and difficult and knew he never won over many. If he lost Tim and Sasha over this he didn��t know what he would do. “Usual place.”

That exchange happened hours ago and Jon didn’t feel well. He couldn’t go out like this, pulse pounding, head throbbing, vision swimming. He’d have to cancel. But he’d canceled at the last minute on them so many times before and he could tell their patience was wearing thin. How was he supposed to choose between his new job and his old friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once?

Why did Tim choose now to forget this sometimes happened?

Any moment they’d be by to collect him and Jon was so dizzy he wasn’t altogether sure if he could stand. He hadn’t felt like this since Uni when he and Georgie spent many a late night studying for exams. He’d crashed shortly after, struck down with some illness or another, and barely remembered more than a glimpse of her face staring down at him with concern. Surely they would understand?

“Ready, boss?” Casual with his jacket over one shoulder, Tim leaned into the office, scowling when he laid eyes on him, exasperated. “Really, Jon?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim scoffed. “S’sorry. I know it’s rude, I’m just. Tired.” That was a part of it anyway.

“You know, Jon, you say you still want to be friends and then never hang out with us.”

“I know, I’m--”

“You’ve cancelled so many times at this point I don’t know if it’s even worth inviting you.” Jon’s heart nearly stopped, a painful lurch that all but choked him.

“...Please.” Bare more than a whisper, Tim raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?”

“P’please keep inviting me.” If Jon wasn’t so sure he’d pass out upon standing he’d be springing to his feet. “I, I, I’m there. Next Friday, bells on, I swear.”

“And tonight?” Cold sweat slipped down his spine. But if he rested this weekend, took it easy next week, maybe asked them for a bit more help-- “Sure, boss.”

The weekend came and went and Jon tried every trick in the small volume of self-care tips he actually paid attention to. He wanted to show them what they meant to him, even Martin, new and bungling as he was. If they were to be a team, he needed to get to know him. And besides, Sash and Tim enjoyed his company. Had been inviting him out the whole while. Unfortunately, Jon was still exhausted from not sleeping well for bad dreams and restlessness, not eating enough because anxiety turned his stomach. But he’d made a promise and he vowed to make good on it.

Monday saw a fresh pile of work stacked neatly in the center of his desk blotter, old assignments shoved off to the side and a note in Elias’ neat scrawl informing him that this was the priority. Jon spent the next hour putting together the things he’d been in the process of collating and jotting down a list of instructions that even Martin could follow before dragging it out to where his assistants were working.

“Hullo, Jon.” Bright and cheery, Martin chirped a greeting and Jon forced a small smile.

“Morning.” Tim and Sasha nodded back, expectant looks on their faces. “I, um. Well, Elias brought in some more documents for me to take a look at.”

“Promotion came with some extra obligations, did it?” Tim laughed, elbowing Sasha good naturedly.

“Yes, I suppose it, it did.” Jon shifted nervously, anticipating the answer even before he’d asked. “I was hoping you would be able to help me with these ones?” He lifted the stack and Tim made a show of whistling.

“Wow, I mean. I would, boss, but I’m in the middle of this other thing you gave me last week.”

“Oh. I was. Well I was rather hoping you’d have wrapped that up by now.” The room began to tunnel and Jon staggered just a step even though he was standing still. He hadn’t been able to use his cane and handle this veritable mountain.

“You and me both.”

“Jon?” Martin’s worry was more embarrassing than anything else and he forced himself to focus despite the trembling in his hands. “I can take some of them.” But the messy heap on the corner of his desk in danger of toppling hardly seemed smaller than it had the week before. It wouldn’t do to add even more to what the other man couldn’t seem to handle but...

“Th’thank you for the offer.” He selected a few slim folders and handed them off and somehow the work in his arms became heavier.

“No problem!” Martin was beaming so he must have done something right and it sparked a bit of warmth in him. “I’ll make an exchange for another, soon as I finish this up.”

Tuesday went much the same, though Jon’s insomnia and sore joints forced him out of bed and he decided to use the gift of time to come in early to get a bigger start on the old mess so he had more time for the new mess and while Martin was slow it helped to have someone else tackling it with him. He suspected that Tim and Sasha were making a statement in their being shiftless and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to address it instead hoping that once he proved himself they could move past it. Using the stairs proved foolish as Jon nearly took a header from vertigo and he thanked the stars he was early and alone so he could sit down and wait for the episode to pass. Lord, he hurt. Joints on fire, white-hot fire pokers of pressure needling his hips. He hung his head when tears of frustration began to fall.

Wednesday found Jon buried alive and struggling. He had to stay late in order to finish out the day and by the time he made it home he could barely stand, falling into bed and waking the next morning still dressed in his wingtips and work clothes. Marginally better for the rest, Jon used the boon to plow through the rest of Elias’ assignment, skipping lunch he knew he wouldn’t eat anyway to finish.

“Oh, Tim!” He called out his door as he passed, relieved that he wasn’t ignored. “When you have a moment could you take these up to Rosie?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jon pushed away the disappointment when the end of day came, his assistants left, and the box still sat on the corner of his desk.

No bother, Tim probably forgot and Jon searched the stacks for the department’s hand truck with its one sticky wheel and found it loaded up with more of Gertrude’s chaos. He didn’t have much choice than to shove at it unceremoniously until it toppled over, papers fluttering out of their folders and under shelves. He’d just have to deal with it later. What’s one more thing? When he tugged, his shoulder very nearly came loose and his yelp of pain was swallowed up in the dark and the dust. Noone around to hear him anyway.

More tears.

He was a mess.

He went along more carefully, cursing the squeak of the blasted wheel, cursing Tim for his forgetfulness, cursing Elias for letting him even steal the job from Sasha to begin with. Cursing time itself because he wanted to go home and it was already an hour past.

“Rosie, I’m so glad I caught you.” She was just starting to collect her bag. “Can I leave this for Elias to collect when he gets in?”

“Of course, Jon!” She helped him lift it to her desk and disguised his taking a rest with interest in her writing a note of explanation.

“Thank you, you really are a lifesaver.” Jon chuffed a weak and humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Of course, dear. Just take that along with you so I don’t have to hear about it from the night staff.” The dolly. Yes. It would have to go back down with him wouldn’t it?

Thursday Jon could barely lift his arms. The debacle from the day before had taken whatever they had left and he was scared that at any moment, his arm would drop from its socket. That happened sometimes. So far, no doctor had figured out why.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Tim jolted him out of staring at his pen cup and the surprise set his heart to racing. Jon didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost.

“Ah, uh.” Absently, he rubbed at his chest, willing the battering tempo to slow before it shook him apart.

“Boss.” It sounded too much like a warning and felt too much like his last chance to prove he had what it took to be their friend.

“I’m not backing out!” Quick to cover up his fumble. “Don’t forget to collect me.”

“Never!” Jon couldn’t help but hope he did.

It was a short walk to their usual pub and Jon pushed himself to keep up, breaking out in cold sweat as the nausea from his laboring heart rocked his stomach. He couldn’t wait to sit down. They were regulars enough that the first round appeared before them as if by magic. Jon sank into the conversation around him, sipping from his pint, wishing it was water, and interjecting when he felt up to it. Martin kept staring at him. Jon didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Oh come on, boss! Our company can’t be that boring!” Tim was three drinks in and clapped Jon hard enough on the shoulder to rattle his bones. Jon bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron.

“Ah, no, just a long week.” His voice was papery as a wasp nest, thin and drawn. “Looking forward to a lie in.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tim drained his glass and Jon looked down at the worn scratched surface of the table to hide his irrational irritability with the statement. He didn’t corner the market on sleeping in. The others deserved a restful weekend just as much as he did.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it through Elias’ busy work.” Sasha murmured, selecting a chip and using it as a means for sauce delivery.

“Martin helped a great deal.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Jon, but we know who worked his way through the majority.” They exchanged a warm smile.

“Yes, well. Any you did, I didn’t have to. It was very much appreciated.” Martin was bright red and Jon’s cheeks were warm, from alcohol or otherwise, and Tim’s cawing laughter rang bright as a bell over the cacophony around them.

“You’ve broken him, Jon!” They caroused well into the evening until Martin mercifully faked a yawn and explained he had an early morning. Jon almost hugged him and if it weren’t for the state of his shoddy joints he may well have. Holding up a very drunk and very affectionate Tim, Sasha nodded to him.

“This was lovely.” Her grin beamed. “We’ll have to do this again.”

Jon dreaded it.

That month they dragged Jon out to the shops for lunch a few times each week. Catching dinner after work became a regular occurance. Sasha hosted a movie night one weekend. Friday nights at the pub continued.

Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the exhaustion or the steadily increasing pain, but it felt worth it when the frosty attitude began to thaw. They were still friends. That’s what counted even though the littlest tasks had become huge when faced with choosing which ones to do at the cost of himself. He knew better and still he was overspending, going into the red just to collect more and more debt with no way to catch up other than lose his friends. Something was going to break. Jon hoped it wouldn’t be him.

Groggy, slow, Jon came to with his cheek mashed into the statement he’d been skimming. Something was...wrong. His heart. Racing, pounding against his breastbone, trying to hammer its way to freedom or jump straight out his throat. He blinked hard, trying to bring anything into focus and failing. The first attempt to stand had him face down on the desk again, the next he took in steps.

Sit up. Let the room stop moving.

Breathe. In. Out. Count them.

Ignore the agonized beating. Ignore the fear that came with it.

Stand. Slow. Wait. Patient.

Let the world fall still.

Jon didn’t bother picking up his bag. His phone, wallet, keys, all in his trouser pockets.

“Sorry all. I. I think.” He paused, gulping for air, swallowing none. “Need to go, go home.” If what made it out of him were even close to words he’d consider himself lucky. His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth, tripping up the syllables fighting their way past the rabbit-quick hammering,

hammering,

hammering.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha was at his elbow, Tim halfway out of his seat.

“Not feeling well.”

“You sure you can get home, boss?” Nodding absently Jon made his way carefully to the lift before Martin could offer to call him a cab or something equally ridiculous.

Muscle memory got him back to his flat and it wasn’t until he collapsed into bed that he remembered it was Friday and he’d again ducked out on drinks again. Tears collected on his lashes, slipping down his temples when his trembling got the better of them. They. This. All his hard work and he’d undone it. Before the encroaching black overtook him he fumbled with his phone, tapping out an apology to the group chat and barely managing to hit send.

He slipped in and out. Lucid one moment, hallucinating the next, burning away to nothing and ending up on the floor more than once after passing out attempting to, to…didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough in him to attempt it again, opting to lay flat on his back in the sweat soaked sheets trying not to move for the pain. For a wild, hysterical moment Jon was sure he would die here, alone, phone just out of reach, melting in wretched heat and so uncomfortably hot it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t.

Jon hurt.

Everything was darkness and agony. Each tremor an earthquake threatening to tear him apart. He was trapped in treacle, done up in bits of twine, strung together with razor wire and unable to move. It was a familiar voice that clawed its way down to him. Lifted him up, low and soft, a stone tumbling down a mountain and catching Jon up in the landslide. He thought he answered, made some attempt at a response, drawn out of him like water from a well. Hurting and disoriented Jon drifted. Consciousness slipping in and out through his fingers like the surf, breath like coals banked beneath his ribs. Jon’s body wouldn’t cooperate as it should and time seemed to skip from one moment to the next between long bouts of nothing.

A heavy palm, cool and comforting, came to rest over his forehead and Tim materialized out of nowhere, startling Jon enough that he keened when each joint shrieked and protested at his moving.

“Sh, sh, shh.” Tim. That’s right...he wasn’t sure it was true, but he was wiping down his over sensitive skin with a damp flannel to quell the coals for a handful of moments.

“Wha’s..?”

“When you didn’t come in yesterday or this morning, we figured we should check on you.” So many words. Too many to parse more than a few but the flood came anyway, streaking into his greasy hair because he’d been sure no one would come and Tim kept applying the cold compress; wrung, applied, repeated, and Jon sobbed with the simple relief of it, tears cool against the incandescence of his skin.

“Are you...l’leaving?” He winced at the raw scrape of his voice against his vocal cords. “Been. You’been s’so angry with m’me.” Tim’s face fell and Jon wanted to apologize. It was the illness, that’s all, lowering his defenses and simmering his many insecurities just below a fractured awareness that refused to keep them in where they belonged. Instead his breath hitched and he choked on a whimper of defeat. “Tri’tried so hard ‘nd still. M’sorry.”

“It’s alright.” So unbelievably soft. Jon thought he’d ruined this long ago and the tears came somehow faster. “I think we need to call an ambulance, bud.”

“No...nonono…” Jon didn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers and stuck full of needles alone in a cold sterile room. Even in his ragged state Jon could see Tim was torn. “Pl’please.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, gentling him with a touch. “But if you can’t keep this down we have to go.” Medicine. Lucozade. Fed to him mouthful by mouthful in the intervals he was awake.

Quiet sounds he recognized, Martin. Sasha. Hushed. Martin tipped the next sip into him and Jon wasn’t aware of much, but he was aware enough to know he was disgusting after having slept and sweated in the same bedclothes for days. Martin wouldn’t hear of it and Jon didn’t know where to put all the feelings and he was so tired of crying and couldn’t seem to stop.

Sasha, they told him, has gone out for supplies and they asked if he’d like help getting out of his uncomfortable trousers and button down, now missing several buttons no doubt from his restlessness. Jon didn’t trust his voice, only nodded, trying and failing to sit up, losing consciousness entirely when one of them levered him up with an arm behind his shoulders. Tim was explaining it to Martin when he came around, peering up at them through fluttering lashes.

“S’al’...” Clumsy, the words wouldn’t come to him.

Together, they shift his limbs, passing him back and forth between, one moment resting against Martin’s chest, another tucked into the hollow where Tim’s shoulder and neck meet. He should be helping but he can barely stay with them, just concentrating on the pulse currently beneath his ear to ground him. Carefully, as though he is some precious thing, they rid him of the awful, disagreeable stickiness and their low murmuring seems such an intimate thing. He isn’t worth it. This. And then soft, clean clothes, well worn and familiar and when Jon surfaces again he’s with Tim on the sofa, bundled up and more comfortable than he’d been in months.

Martin is changing his sheets.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” He didn’t know what for and shook his head, or tried anyway. “Made you think you had to push yourself like that. Ignored how exhausted you were and guilt tripped you into not telling us ‘no’.” Lord, so many words, Jon dizzied himself trying to catch them, hold them, decipher them. “You should be able to trust us, and I.” A suspicious sniff. “I’m sorry.” Jon relaxed into him with a hum he hoped conveyed something.

“I think I remembered which meds he tolerated best.” Sasha elbowed her way into the flat, face lighting up when she saw he was awake. Kind of. “Jon! Thank god. You were in such a bad way.” Whispery and rushed, the same feeling in it as with Tim. “Let's get you dosed up and back to bed, okay?”

It was late evening judging by the window. The reading lamp was on. Martin sat beside him with a book he couldn’t recognize by cover alone.

“Mah’in..?” So it hadn’t all been a hallucination after all.

“There you are.”

“Miss’d work.” He nodded, uncapping a bottle of sports drink and holding it to his chapped lips. Jon drank what he could.

“Not important right now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Gave us a scare.” Easy, like it was nothing in the world to do it, Martin laid the back of his fingers against his neck, against his throat. “That’s a relief. Tim called us in a panic.” By way of explanation. “But I think you’re past the worst of it now.”

“Don’, don’ remember.”

“Probably for the best. We’ve decided, if you’re alright with the arrangement, that one of us should stay with you.” That sounded okay even if normally Jon would fight it tooth and nail. He did remember being alone and scared. “Tim and Sash are talking. I get the feeling we missed something very important.”

“Mm.” Jon tried to sit up and swooned, came around with a pillow behind his back.

“Dunno if I’ll get used to that any time soon though, I’ll be honest.”

“Happens sometimes. Th’that’s why…” Martin picked up the thread.

“You cancelled on us. I understand. And I hope, I hope you know you can always tell me, us, I hope, when you need to. There’s no shame in it. I’ll admit, I’m upset with Tim.” He fussed with the quilts, smoothing out imaginary creases. “He knew this was something to look out for and he didn’t tell me.”

“No, it’s--”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Martin spoke with conviction. “Ever. I don’t want you to, to push yourself like this for a blasted game night. We can do other things as a department. Things that don’t jeopardize your health like this again.”

“Martin’s right.” Sasha sat at his feet, draping a hand over his ankle, and Tim stood at the foot of the bed. He looked proper chastised, eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jon. So sorry. I should never--I was angry and frustrated and used it to. To hurt you. Make you think we’d stop being friends over a stupid night out. Not like I lifted a hand to help you! When I knew you wouldn’t ask a second time!”

“S’okay.”

“It’s not!” Tim was a staunch friend. The type who got to know you so well and sometimes aimed too precisely at your soft parts. He didn’t need another telling off. Exhaustion lapping at his limbs, Jon curled his fingers in poor imitation of a come hither gesture. Willingly, Tim allowed himself to be pulled along by it, slotting himself beside Jon on the mattress to hide his own tears in his chest. Graceless, Jon managed to tug a hand over the back of his head, tangling fingers in Tim's hair, surrounded by friends and not alone.

“Will be, then.”

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Four

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Language, Fluff, Sickness, Minor Injuries, Trigger warning kinda but not as bad as the last chapter

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: here you go! I say fuck a posting schedule lol

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

~*~

You sleep for a long time.

Nearly three days.

Bucky grows increasingly worried with each day that goes by that you don’t open your eyes. It gets to the point where he’s tempted to call a doctor, but he has no idea how he would explain it to them.

You finally wake up, in the afternoon of the third day, and Bucky is so relieved he could cry.

“Hey,” he whispers, helping you sit up when he sees you start to struggle. You look around curiously, confused until your eyes land on the gauze wrapped around your arms.

You look up at him, bottom lip wobbling, and he shakes his head, shushing you.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” During the days when you were unconscious, it was a struggle to keep the soldier at bay. He won the fight every night though, the guilt weighing heavier than the desire to fuck.

“Why didn't you let me die?” You whimper, sorrow in your eyes. He rests his forehead against your shoulder and sighs.

“You called me a monster, and I got mad because I didn’t want you to be right. And then I proved your point. I just... the monster is there, inside of me. I can usually keep him at bay but... I know it’s not an excuse, and I may never make it up to you, but I didn’t want to hurt you the way that I did. I... it’s like I wasn’t in control of my own hands.” You don’t reply, keeping your eyes on your arms.

“I’m gonna go make you some soup. You’ve been asleep for three days. You need to eat. And drink. Okay?” You nod glumly, still emotionally numb as your mind tries to block out everything that happened.

Bucky’s only gone for a few minutes before he returns with a steaming bowl of soup and a plastic cup full of water. He hands you the water first, and your hands shake as you grab it. You take a small sip the grimace as your stomach flips.

“I know you probably don’t want to, but you’ve gotta eat just a little bit. Okay?” You nod and let him spoon feed you the soup. It’s good. Chicken noodle, from what you can tell, but no matter how good it tastes or how warm it feels going down, your stomach doesn’t want it.

You gag, hand coming up to cover your mouth, and Bucky curses, putting the soup on the side table and grabbing you in his arms. He rushes into the bathroom but he’s not fast enough. What little you ate comes rushing back up, spewing out of your mouth and all over yourself and a little on him.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying not to get too grossed out.

Your head lolls back, eyes rolling as a dizzy spell overwhelms you. He sets you down carefully on the counter, peeling the sweater off of you and tossing it into the hamper in the corner. You take shallow breaths, body aching.

He turns the shower on then rids himself of his clothes before doing the same to you. The two of you are naked in no time, and then he’s bringing you into the shower, the water a little too cool for your liking, but you don’t have it in you to complain.

He holds you upright, hands supporting your weight as the water pelts down on the two of you. You feel like everything is spinning, so you lay your head against his chest and take deep breaths in through your mouth. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and rubs your back gently.

“You’re okay.” He grabs a loofa and squirts some body wash on it, then starts gently washing your body.

His actions are innocent enough until he gets between your legs. It’s like you can sense the switch when he goes from Bucky to Soldier.

His hands grip you just a little firmer, his breathing is a little harder, his eyes dark and slightly glazed over. He pushes you against the wall gingerly, and you’re surprised by how gentle he’s being.

He hikes your legs up, one knee held over each of his arms. You lie there, half-conscious as the water rains down on you.

He slides his cock through your folds a few times before impaling you, stretching you on his thick length. He grunts softly in your ear, muttering softly in Russian as he fucks you. His thrusts aren't rough and hard, they’re long and precise, each one making your cunt instinctively clench on him.

You keep your eyes closed, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep, but he keeps fucking you until he cums, spilling inside of you with a low groan. He stays sheathed inside of you, palms splayed on the tile by your hips, and you close your eyes tightly as another dizzy spell hits you.

He sighs and you know that Bucky is back. He pulls out of you and carefully lowers you to the ground before picking you up again and taking you out of the shower. He sits you on the counter once more, turns the shower off, then dries your body with a fluffy grey towel.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. You don’t reply. You don’t think you could speak if you wanted to. Your head won’t stop spinning.

He picks you up and brings you into his room again, laying you down on the bed and tucking you in. “I’m gonna go get you a garbage can, in case you need to go again,” he whispers, smoothing your hair around your face.

Your eyes are already closed and he sighs, hating the fact that he caused this. What’s worse, is that the soldier took over while he was trying to make it up to you. He took advantage of your vulnerable state.

He sets a new cup of water on the nightstand and a garbage can on the floor, hoping that you get better soon.

~*~

You do.

It’s nearly two weeks of consuming next to no food or water and throwing up multiple times a day, but you eventually start recovering, and for that, he couldn’t be more grateful.

You’re sitting in his bed, sipping on some tea, when he comes into the room.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, hand resting on your knee through the blanket. You shrug, not meeting his gaze.

“I’m sorry. I... I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologize enough.” You shrug again.

“I can tell.” He’s confused and you sigh, “I can tell when it’s not you. When it’s... him.” He raises his eyebrows and you look down, chewing your bottom lip for a moment before you muster up enough courage to speak.

“When... when you touch me... it’s softer. You might say mean things, but your hands don’t squeeze too hard. And when it’s him touching me... he holds me really really tight.” He raises his eyebrows, having had no idea that that was a thing.

“So I know when it’s you and when it’s him. And I know that you haven’t touched me since...” you trail off and he nods, scratching the nape of his neck. “It wasn’t all me,” he whispers again, trying to explain himself. “It was me at first, but then... it’s like he was controlling me.” You nod, not looking up.

“I don’t remember all of it, but I know your voice sounded different. Angrier.” He cups your cheek gently, cursing himself when you flinch away.

“Since then I haven’t been nearly as bad,” he whispers. “I can tell. The soldier... when he comes now he’s more gentle. He’s not nearly as rough as before.” He nods, happy that this is at least working.

You lean back against the headboard and close your eyes, exhausted beyond belief.

“It’s gonna take some time for you to heal up fully, but you’re making great progress. In a few days, you’ll be eating solid’s again. And then you’ll be up and walking around again.” You nod, eager to be healthy again.

He looks from your eyes to your lips, then back down, licking his lips.

“When I picked you... I didn't think they’d really go through with it. I thought it would’ve been another plan that never got to see the light of day. But then you were here and... I... I was in shock. You’re even more beautiful in person. And you’re so strong and resilient.” You look up, eyes finding his pretty pink lips.

“I know I haven’t been good to you, but can I please kiss you?” You nod meekly, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

It’s everything a kiss with him should be, and so much more. His hands rest on your neck, thumbs gently rubbing the corner of your jaw, right below your ears.

You pull away after a moment more and rest your forehead against his, a small smile gracing your lips.

“This is how things should be,” he whispers, stroking your hair gently. You nod, hands coming up to hold onto his wrists.

“Yeah.” The word is whispered so softly from your lips, that if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have heard it.

He presses another gentle kiss to your lips then pulls away. “You should rest,” he whispers, leaning back to look at you. You hesitantly meet his eyes, and when you don’t see the darkness and anger that was there before, you nod.

“Yeah, okay.” You lay down and relax, smiling to yourself as he gently traces over your cheek, his fingers soft and feather-light, a drastic change from his touches three weeks ago.

~*~

It’s a week later when you can walk again, a week after that when he feels comfortable enough to leave you alone, with access to very few things.

He’s on the jet home, mind on you as the rest of the team celebrates a mission gone well.

“You were great out there, James,” Natasha says with a smile, patting his shoulder. He grins at her, cheeks turning pink.

“I see your new remedy is working?” Steve asks, grinning from ear to ear. Bucky scratches his neck and nods. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Nat looks between the two super-soldiers, brows furrowed.

“What kind of remedy is that?” Bucky shakes his head at the redhead. “Just something Fury recommended. Didn’t think I could do it but here we are.” She nods, looking up into his eyes with a gentle smile.

“I’m glad it’s working. It’s good to see you back to normal. I missed the normal you.” He nods, sighing softly as his mind goes to you. “Yeah, I’ve missed it too.” She rests her hand on his shoulder then sighs, letting it slide off and rest in front of her.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” He furrows his brows in confusion. “What’s tonight?”

“Stark’s throwing a little celebration. It’s just gonna be us there. But he wants to celebrate such a clean streak of missions.” He mulls it over, then eventually decides that you’ll be fine if he stays out for another night. You’ve proven that you’re not going to harm yourself anymore, and you seem like you’re starting to genuinely enjoy the arrangement.

“It’d mean a lot to me if you came,” She says, being vulnerable for a moment with him. He raises his eyebrows then nods, knowing not to take her vulnerability lightly. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

The night consists of soft music, card games, and drinks, all courtesy of one Tony Stark. Bucky spends a fair portion of the night beside Natasha, the two of them laughing and talking together for hours as they each have drink after drink.  

Eventually, when things start winding down and Bucky’s walking her to her room, he brings up a painful topic.

“That night… when I tried to… you know... “ She looks up at him, smiling gently as he tries to express his feelings. “I’m sorry. It… it wasn’t me. And I know that that’s no excuse, but I mean it. But I’m starting to control the monster more.” She cups his cheeks, leans up on her toes, and presses a kiss to his lips.

“I know you’d never willingly hurt me. And I don’t blame you for what the soldier does. I know that the two of you aren’t the same person.” He wraps his arms around her and kisses her deeper, tongue brushing against her plump pink lips. She pulls him backwards until they’re in her room, and closes the door, panting against his mouth as his hands wander over her form.

Her curves are inviting, and he can’t help but grab her ass. She moans into his mouth and the two of them tumble to the bed, Bucky ready to apologize physically for all the things the soldier did, the things that he’s been wanting to do since he first laid eyes on her.

[not-all-dead]

angstpril day fourteen: nightmares

CW: reliving trauma, panic attack, swearing

fic under the cut

Cold, everything was so cold. Her body felt heavy as she was dragged from a small guarded room to the pavilion outside. She was forced onto her knees, her hands pulled tightly behind her back.

She could hear every tiny movement. Her head hung low as she listened to the crashing of waves in the distance, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the occasional call of birds. Soft footsteps all around her. She’d have said was almost a beautiful scene had she not known better.

She listened, and she waited. She knew what was coming. It was the same every time, the bliss before the nightmare really began.

His footsteps were heavier than the others’, his clothes looser and louder. The wind whipped his robes as he walked up behind her, taking his sweet, sweet time moving to stand before her. He placed a finger under her chin and forced her head up, the air around them suddenly stilling.

She stared up at him, glaring at his emotionless mask and hollow eyes.

Now it’ll happen, she thought to herself.

That’s how it always went.

But something was different tonight.

As she watched him, he started to change. His body changed first, taking a form all too familiar to her, before his mask fell to the ground revealing his face.

And instead of Amon standing there, it was her mother.

“I couldn’t be more disappointed,” Toph said, staring coldly down at Lin.

“You’ve failed me. You’ve failed everyone.”

Lin closed her eyes, expecting tears to fall. None came. When she opened her eyes again, it was no longer her mother in front of her, but Kya.

“I really did love you, you know. But this time,” Kya paused and everything around them changed.

Suddenly the Air Temple was gone and they were on the beach on ember island, their friends laughing loudly in the distance. Kya’s hair was brown again, her face younger and smooth. She still stood above Lin, lifting her chin with a single finger.

“This time,” Kya repeated, the landscape around them changing again.

Now they were in the middle of a ballroom, masked faces twirling gracefully around them. The lights dimmed suddenly, plunging them into darkness.

“This time,” She said one last time, the air temple behind her returning and the cold biting down to Lin’s bones.

“You’ve gone too far,” Kya released Lin’s chin and walked around to stand behind her.

When a hand reached down and yanked her head back, it was Amon looking down at her again. His icy hand gripped her neck while he stared blankly down at her, raising his other hand above her. He stretched out his thumb and brought it quickly down towards her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the sensation that was about to rip through her body.

She sat bolt upright, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She glanced to her left to see Kya sleeping peacefully. Her vision blurred with tears and she tried to stifle a sob, pushing herself gently out of bed. She made her way to the bathroom as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake Kya. She closed the door behind her and turned on the light, hunching over the sink.

Her hands gripped the edge of the sink tightly as sobs shook her shoulders. She’d tried to calm herself down and almost managed to stop crying several times, but bits of the nightmare rushed back and she broke down all over again. It was just before she started sobbing again that she heard a knock on the door.

“Shit,” She muttered before opening it, looking up at Kya with red and puffy eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I tried not to wake you up,” Her voice broke and she took in a shaky breath, her vision blurring with tears again.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Kya said, pulling Lin into her arms.

Kya held Lin until her sobs quieted, stroking her hair and rubbing her back. When she was no longer shaking, Kya pulled back.

“Come back to bed,” She said softly, cupping Lin’s scarred cheek in her hand.

Lin nodded and followed Kya back to their bed, curling into Kya’s chest and draping her arm over her torso.

“Do you want to talk about it? Kya asked quietly.

Lin lay quietly for a minute before responding, debating whether to say anything or not.

“It was the Amon nightmare again,” She paused and shifted, finding Kya’s hand and taking it in her own.

Kya hummed in response, letting Lin play with her fingers. After what felt like ages, she spoke again.

“It was different this time, wasn’t it,” She placed her hand on top of Lin’s to stop her fiddling.

Lin sucked in a deep breath.

“Yeah,” She said, moving her head to look up at Kya.

“He turned into my mom, and then you. My mom said I’d failed, and you… you said that I’d gone too far. That you couldn’t forgive me this time,” A tear slipped down her face and she moved her head again, looking down at their hands.

“That sounds awful,” Kya lifted her hand and interlocked her fingers with Lin.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Lin squeezed Kya’s hand in response.

“Thank you,” She breathed, closing her eyes and relaxing against Kya.

“I love you,” Kya whispered a moment later, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you too,” Lin replied before they both drifted back into deep, dreamless sleep.

———————————————

She knew exactly what was happening. She could feel the fog seeping into her skin, filling her lungs, clouding her vision. It took over her senses first, then creeped into her mind. It made her dizzy, then tired, then started showing her all the things she didn’t want to see.

A man she’d found half dead in a cave when she was only twenty one. She hadn’t been able to save him no matter how hard she tried.

This isn’t real. Just wake up.

A woman and her baby, both dead after complications with the birth. It had been her first and last delivery, at twenty three.

It isn’t real. Wake up.

A handful of pale villagers, their eyes sunken and skin almost green. She’d done everything she could to heal them, and had kept the virus from spreading to anyone else, but had lost every one of them. She’d been twenty seven.

Just wake up.

A twenty nine year old woman, the exact same age as her, drained and lying in a pool of her own blood. They’d been travelling together for almost a year. She’d found her too late, and healing the wounds caused by her own blade had done nothing compared to the sheer amount of blood loss.

Wake up.

Jerking out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night to the screams of the others in her hotel. Nearly suffocating trying to get out of the fire. Being the only healer despite being just thirty four. Losing nearly half of the people pulled from the burning building.

Please.

Watching her friend step over the edge of a cliff at thirty seven, a year older than her. Screaming his name and running down the path to the bottom, only to find him crumpled. She tried anyway. Nothing brought him back.

Kya.

Visiting Air temple Island at forty one only to watch her father dying slowly. She was the last one to see him alive. She tried to bring him back. She failed over and over again until someone pulled her away from him.

Kya, please.

Teaching waterbending in the South Pole. Her youngest student, a boy not older than four years old, falling through the ice. Her forty eight years of life somehow still not being enough to give her the ability to save him. The wails of his mother when she had to tell her what happened.

It isn’t real. Wake up.

Coming back to Republic City and going to Lin’s apartment with the intent of confessing her feelings. She’d found her bleeding in the bathroom. She’d never been so afraid, and had somehow kept her alive. She’d been fifty three, but felt like a child again.

Kya, wake up.

Four years later finding Lin the exact same way a second time. The same fear gripping her, her hands shaking as she healed her again. She’d barely been able to breath.

Please, please wake up.

She’d barely been able to breath.

She couldn’t breath.

The air was too thick.

It was the panic filling her lungs when someone she loved got hurt. It was the smoke in that burning building. It was the guilt that grew with every person she lost.

It was the fog infecting her body, her mind.

She was suffocating.

Kya.

She couldn’t breath.

Kya.

She was shaking.

Kya.

The world was becoming fuzzy.

Kya.

Why was everything shaking?

“Kya, please,” Lin’s voice was the first thing she heard when her eyes snapped open.

Kya’s vision was swimming, tears streaming from her eyes. She pushed herself into a sitting position, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. Her breathing was shallow and fast, the lack of oxygen making her light headed. She flinched when Lin placed her hand on her back, relaxing after a second and letting her softly bring it up and down. Lin let her be for a second before recgnizing that she needed help getting out of the attack this time.

“Kya, can you look at me?” She moved so that she was sitting cross-legged in front of Kya.

Kya shook her head almost imperceptibly, keeping her stare locked on her feet.

“Alright, that’s ok. Let’s start with five things you can see,” She reached up to pull one of Kya’s hands away from her legs, squeezing it in an attempt to encourage her.

Kya’s eyes moved up from her feet, tracing around the room. Her eyelids fluttered as she did so, threatening to close every time she looked somewhere new. After a moment her stare returned to her feet and she opened her mouth to speak. It hung open for a moment before it closed again and she shook her head.

“Hey, its ok. Do you want me to get your notepad so you can write instead?” Lin watched Kya hesitate before nodding.

“Alright,” Lin stood and walked two steps to the bedside table, pulling the drawer out as quietly as she could and grabbing Kya’s small pad of paper and pen.

She walked back to Kya, who had moved so that she sat cross-legged with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. Her breathing had improved slightly, but she was still clearly in her state of panic. Lin sat across from her again and placed the notepad and pen on her lap.

Kya closed her eyes for a second before pulling her arms from around her. She grabbed the pen with a shaking hand, glancing around the room again before scribbling a collection of words on the paper. Lin took the notepad and read the notes out loud, looking around as she did so.

“The window, the rug, me, your hands, the blanket. Perfect,” She smiled reassuringly at Kya and handed the pad back.

“How about four things you can feel?” She rested her hand on Kya’s knee.

Kya nodded and used her other hand to rub the blanket quickly. She then touched Lin’s hand lightly, ran her hand through her own hair, and rubbed her fingers on the paper. She wrote down the four things she’d touched and gave the pad to Lin again.

“The blanket, the best hand ever,” Lin couldn’t help but laugh, looking up at Kya, who had a tiny smile of her own shining through her tears.

“Your hair, and the paper. You’re doing great, Kya,” She gave the paper back and reached forwards, wiping one of Kya’s cheeks.

“Now how about three things you can hear?” Kya stared at the paper, listening, before she wrote anything.

“Your breathing, cars, Jin from next door’s radio even though it’s the middle of the night,” Lin laughed again and grinned at Kya.

“Amazing. Two things you can smell?”

Kya took in a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes to focus on the smells. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and she inhaled again, blinking twice before writing.

“The ocean, home. Perfect, you’re almost there,” Lin put her hand on Kya’s knee again as she wrote the last one, not needing Lin to tell her what it was.

“Toothpaste,” Lin read, squeezing Kya’s knee slightly.

“You alright now?” She looked up at Kya, who’s breathing was now a little shaky but much more evened out.

Her eyes were no longer glazed over, and she wasn’t crying. She smiled at Lin, grabbing the pad from her one last time.

Thank you, she wrote, lifting Lin’s hand to her lips.

“Talk in the morning?” Lin asked, sensing that Kya needed time before she’d be able to voice her thoughts again.

Kya nodded gratefully and tucked the pad back in its drawer, patting the bed next to her. Lin crawled under the covers next to her, hugging her and holding her hand as they both fell back asleep.

[slashmebois]

Exhausted

“Hi !

If it's okay may I please have Bo sinclair x reader? Just reader been up for like two days straight because they're super busy but also super exhausted and they end up passing out? Like how would Bo react?” (Anon)

Oh my goodness, of course you can. Dirty garage man lives in my head rent free. Hope this is close-ish to what you were expecting Nonny!

Living in Ambrose was generally a quiet life, save for the occasional visitors. But even their noisy presence was quickly snuffed out and put on display. You had grown accustomed to the lazy days and the hard graft of luring people in and helping to move their bodies after Vincent or Bo dealt with them.

As much as you loved helping Bo with his passion project, it didn’t pay for the food on your table. There was a little money in visitor’s pockets here and there, but most people carried cards these days. So, when someone from your old life messaged with the offer of a paid remote research position you felt you would be an idiot to refuse. You just didn’t realise how much work it would be.

Bo had scrunched his nose up when you told him you needed to stay home for a week or two, and asked, “what’s wrong with the garage?”, but he hadn’t pushed you to come with him. Vincent was downstairs in the basement all day and Lester was waiting for hapless folks to show up, so your days were pretty lonely, but you told yourself that was good for your focus.

The first day went pretty well, you found what you thought were relevant articles and went into some critical evaluation before sending them over to the project manager. The second day got off to a worse start, your manager had sent the articles back telling you they were irrelevant because of something or other. You groaned in frustration and went about finding articles that fit their very niche description. From there on out it became a back and forth of you finding articles and evaluating them, and your manager being a hard-ass, or as you preferably thought of them A DICK. You were staying up later and later, eventually resulting in you forgoing sleep altogether. You would get in bed with Bo, using your crappy laptop, and as soon as he fell asleep you would sneak away to the kitchen table to continue your work.

Vincent was the first to notice your dark and baggy eyes, putting a hand on your shoulder one morning and cocking his head, “I’m fine Vinny, just not sleeping great, don’t worry”. He stood there a moment longer, looking uncertain before walking away to make breakfast, and you felt a pang of guilt. You weren’t exactly lying; you just didn’t want any of them to worry. They were all so good to you. And you knew that if Vincent got too worried, he would tell Bo, and that would not go well for sure.

Slowly but surely your manager started to give better responses to the articles you sent, and you breathed a sigh of relief. The nightmare was nearly over, you could start typing up the research into a document. With renewed inspiration and a lot of caffeine you set to work writing it up. Bo came home from work that evening and was surprised by you actually greeting him.

“You’re in a good mood y/n”

“Sure am, got a good chunk of work done. How about we celebrate on the weekend? Grab a couple beers, watch a trashy movie?”

His smile made your heart flutter, “I’d love that y/n. Don’t stay up too late now. Now come give your man a kiss”

You jump to your feet, tripping on the laptop cord in the process. You fall forwards and Bo catches you, smirking.

“You falling for me again baby?”

Your cheeks flush, “Always, you know me, just clumsy”

He grasps your hair and presses his lips to your head, inhaling, “For real, don’t stay up too late though, bed feels empty if I ain’t got you next to me. And well, feels like I’m waking up to an empty bed in the morning a lot recently.”

You smiled up at him, “I’ll be up as soon, promise”, Unfortunately, it was a promise you had to break.

Around 2am, your laptop cut out. The plug had pulled away from the wall when you tripped. But you hadn’t noticed.

You stared blankly at your reflection in the screen, numbness welling up inside you. When was the last time you saved? You couldn’t remember. What was the point? You put your heart and soul into it, but it was all crumbling to ash in your hands. You sat still as a rock for a moment before slowly raising yourself up and plugging your laptop back in. The rest of your night is spent catching up, as your eyes grow heavier and heavier.

A voice is calling you. You can hear it faintly as you monotonously type a letter at a time. It isn’t until a hand is waved in front of your face you blink back to reality and look up to a concerned looking Bo.

“Y/n. What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve been trying to get your attention for 5 minutes”

“Wha- Uh, sorry. Was really focused on this…um…this thing”

“I can tell, it was your turn to cook, remember?”

Your brain slowly ticks, as you look over to the clock. Fuck, he’s right. And you’re making him late for work.

“Oh god, Bo. I’m so sorry. I’ll just whip something up real-“

You feel your legs fall from under you as you stand and see Bo’s eyebrows knit together as he lurches towards you. And then your vision blurs out to black.

You feel very warm. It’s like there’s an all-encompassing glow surrounding you. You try to remember what came before but it’s just so comfortable here. You were at the kitchen table. And you were having breakfast? No. You fell and Bo…

You gasp awake, looking around to ascertain your surroundings. You’re in your bedroom, Bo’s metal band posters adorning the walls, and the little plants you keep on every surface. You also see Jonesy curled up on the bed, her ears perking up as she sees you rouse. You eyes come to rest on Bo who is sat on the edge of the bed staring at you.

“Hey Bo”

His lips firm up, before he lets out a sigh, “Hey.”, it’s short and curt. Fuck, he’s mad at you.

“I uh, I fell huh?”

“You could say that”

The silence is palpable.

“Look I’m real sor-“

“Don’t. You must have known you were being an idiot. I sure did. I thought you were just getting up earlier, getting less sleep. But fuck. You weren’t sleeping at all were you? All for what, some goddamn fucking job?!” His voice starts at a steady volume and rises.

You can feel yourself choking up, “It ain’t just some job. I, I just wanted to help. I thought if I made some money I could help out, get some groceries, cook a nice meal”

“WOULDN’T FUCKING MATTER IF YOU’RE DEAD Y/N” he yells, throwing his cap from his head across the floor, “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW SCARED I WAS. I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKIN’ DEAD LIKE MAMA” he swipes angrily at his eyes, and his hoarse voice trembles out, “I don’t wanna lose the best thing to happen to me. Just please, we can handle money. I want you here with me, chatting shit with me in the garage, sharing dinner with all of us, cuddling up at the end of the day.” He faces away from you, and you can see the tension in his back.

You let the tears flow freely from your eyes, “I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll do better. I’ll set myself hours and stick to them. And if that’s not good enough, I’ll quit.” You kneel on the bed and reach your arms over his shoulders, he tenses a little more and then relaxes back into you. “I’ll be better Bo”, your hand comes to his face and he allows you to guide him to your lips. He kisses you deeply, reaching around to grab you tight.

This. This is where you belong. In Bo’s arms. Fuck everything else.

[lulaypp]

Snow Turned Avalanche And Maybe Something Worse - Alternate Chapter 3

-

Read The Full Fanfiction

A/N: This was my original idea for the chapter three that I scraped due to story flow. But i liked it a lot and it has Damian so I am throwing it here. Have fun <3

Oh. And I have a small bit where Damian calls Jason 'Bhai'. If I'm not mistaken, it is brother in urdu and I have a headcanon that that is what Damian calls Jason. Sorry if that causes any confusion or inconvinience.

Warnings for: Non-Graphic Referenced Torture, Light Mentions of Injuries and Bits of Flashbacks

--

There was something wrapped around his left hand and rubbing against his knuckles. It was a comforting, even if a bit odd, sensation to wake up to, the lulling strokes almost pulling him back under. However, a hissing sound and constant beeping didn't allow it. They were loud. And with it came the pain from seemingly everywhere. His chest most prominently, as it twinge with every breath, and his head and leg tied at second.

"Jason? Are you awake?" Deep. Warm. Bruce.

Turning to his left, Jason peeled open his eyes slightly to see the blurry figure of his father beside him.

"How are you feeling, lad?"

Horrible, he wanted to reply. But it came out weak and incoherent around the mask still covering his mouth, so he merely shook his head, fumbling to hold the fingers around his. The world around him cleared slightly and he could see the Cave's med bay around them.

"I'm sorry. We couldn't figure out what works for you. Your body seemed to override any painkillers we tried."

"'s fine..." he forced out. "Used to it."

A knit of a frown creased his father's brows. "...What do you mean?" He sounded hesitant, concerned.

Jason couldn't find the energy to shrug. "Pain... Used to it. 'nerally sleep i' off... Works fine..."

Bruce's lips were pressed in a firm line before a the man sighed. "Why didn't you call for back up?" Jason's confusion must have shown as he added, "When you tackled Avalanche's gang alone last week. You only used the beacon." 'Which are meant for emergencies'

It all flashed through his mind. Jumping into a dark factory. Trying to collect any information he could find on the gang. Finding out that it was actually a trap. Attempting to take down as many henchmen as possible while trying to escape. Something swinging repeatedly into his head. Waking up to total darkness. The crowbar. The knife. The stun gun. The water.

Jason closed his eyes against the tiding memories, the hand around his squeezing when the heart monitor echoed his racing heart. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath, the sound loud around the mask supplying him with oxygen.

He distantly heard Bruce talking, half-yelling, over the screeching of the crowbar and the constant splash of water.

Despite the sharp pain searing his chest, he forcefully slowed down and evened out his breathing, counting seconds in his head, until he could feel something gently running through his hair and the voice grew clearer. He suddenly felt drained as he opened his eyes again to meet Bruce's.

"You're back with me, Jaylad?"

Moving felt like too much work but he slowly nodded, lingering panic still fluttering in his chest, evident by the brisked-paced beeps of the heart monitor. The throb in his leg felt more prominent than before, the memory of the crowbar smashing into it echoing throughout the probably-broken bone.

Remembering Bruce question, he did his best to say, "Ambushed. Didn't have time," but it came out muffled and weak.

But Bruce seemed to have understood, a slight relief settling in his eyes. "But you know that we would come to help if you call us, right?"

Jason hesitated. He... knew. Rationally. He rationally knew that his family would and he even had past experiences to back it up. But a haunting, looming shadow would always hiss and whisper that they might not. Maybe this one time they decided to just abandon him. To leave him behind. He also knew why Bruce was asking him that. "You came," he had said in his momentary moment of weakness, his mind still scattered and vulnerable. And scared.

He nodded again, resisting the urge to shift slightly in an attempt to press harder against the hand in his hair.

"Know that," Bruce reaffirmed. "We would always try our best. We had tried to locate you as soon as Cass arrived at the factory and told us that you were missing. And you we couldn't find you for four hours, Jay."

The world grew fuzzy but Jason clamp it all down. He had assumed that it had been some hours, but actually knowing, getting a confirmation, that he was caught for that long...

"We were so worried. And by the time we managed to get you here, you weren't breathing. I nearly lost you." Again.

Ignoring the pain in his wrist, Jason moved his hand to hold Bruce's, hoping to assure his father. To tell his dad that he was still here, that his dad hadn't lost him again.

He whined softly when Bruce's fingers disappeared from his hair and saw that the man was looking at the other side of the room.

"Is he awake?" a quiet, young voice suddenly asked hesitantly. Damian?

"He is," Bruce replied. "Come here."

Jason did the tedious work of turning to the right and sure enough, there was his youngest brother, settling himself between the bed and a chair. He didn't try speaking, knowing that sounds didn't seem to come out as he wanted them to and he didn't want to make Damian felt like he was weaker than he actually was. So he mouthed a silent "Hey, Baby Bat."

The perpetual scowl lessen slightly and Damian spoke with a nod, "Todd." For a moment, he fidgets ever so slightly, a mist of hesitance and uncertainty crossing over his eyes. "...You seem better." Are you alright?

Jason gave a slight nod. He... would be alright. A lot pained maybe, but he had worst, he'll live. Damian didn't seem to believe him and he honestly would have rolled his eyes if his energy wasn't so sparse right now.

Damian's eyes flickered up, to Bruce probably, before going back down to him, still uncertain.

Jason remembered then that Damian had been there with Bruce and Cass when he was saved. And if Jason had... apparently stopped breathing on the way back... that meant Damian was there...

He internally cursed. No wonder the kid was acting this way. Damian had to see his elder brother nearly die. Despite knowing that he has no control over the situation, Jason felt a sinking sense of guilt. The kid had seen enough deaths and near-deaths situations in his life.

Dick once told Jason that, whenever Damian gets worried over someone, he gets comfort from being able to take care and cuddle with said person and stay with them. Jason had found that funny because it sounded like a fusion of Bruce and Dick. Right now he was just happy that Dick liked to share random sibling facts.

He twitched his right hand to pat on the matress.

Damian seemed momentarily confused, but years spent around Dick had probably familiarised him with the silent gesture, as he frowned. "You're hurt." I'll hurt you even more if I do that.

This time Jason did rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, you won't," he mouthed.

"But I don't need..."

"I want to," he retorted, even though he honestly didn't but there wasn't any harm in both, the lie and a cuddle. "Please?"

Damian glanced up to their father again, probably to make sure that Jason wouldn't die just because of a mere cuddle (and everyone said that he was always being dramatic) before he shuffled closer and onto the bed. Once he had pressed close, Jason moved his head to press against Damian's, who, much to Jason's delight, gingerly started to card his fingers through his hair.

Just when he felt his eyes getting heavier, the weight around his left hand disappeared and he couldn't stop the whine from leaving as he saw Bruce getting up.

"Get some rest, Jay." Bruce seemed to hesitate for a moment before pressing a kiss into Jason's hair.

"Don't go," Jason tried to say.

"I'm sorry, lad. I need to go and check on your siblings, alright? I'll be back as soon as I can."

He could only watch and Bruce left the room before the body pressed against him shifted to sit up slightly, one hand still stroking his bangs. "Father's right, Todd. You need to rest if you were to get better."

He turned his tired eyes to meet the greens. "Brat."

Damian's mouth quirked up ever so slightly but a scowl was pressed against it. Before a glitter of mischief sparkled in his eyes. "You're like a cat."

Raising an eyebrow was exhausting, but Jason did it anyway.

"You like it when someone strokes your hair, you can be dramatic, your hair have two colours, and you are always causing trouble or throwing yourself into one."

He would have scoffed if he had the energy to. He felt himself more of a hyena most of the time; scavangers, said to be horrendous whether or not they are; and tried to tell Damian so.

"Hyenas are rather close to cats. And striped hyenas do share a lot of similarities with cats, behaviour-wise. So you can be a striped hyena, it would go with your hair. And how people always think that you are a heartless lunatic."

Jason listened to his youngest brother talk; about hyenas and the few different kinds, how they are always labelled as canine by the public despite the fact that they are not, the simmilarities they have with cats and Jason; until he eventually his eyes closed.

"Rest well, bhai." I'm glad to know that you are alright.

[ficsnroses]

Friends With Benefits Chapter 11 - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Chapter XI ~ Three Daggers.

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Word Count : 3.8k

Warnings : lots of angst, nsfw mentions. 

Series Summary : What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.

Notes : Buckle in friends, it’s a bumpy ride from here on out. Chapter 12, [out in the next week or two] will be the end of this fic and I’m already crying thinking of it. It’s been loads of fun! As always, please please do leave feedback, anonymous or not :) your words are what make it all worth it.

Chapter 10 Recap : As Keanu stands outside Y/N’s door, after seeing Matt walk out of her apartment, they both stand in silence, unsure of how to feel. Through thick tension, a series of flashbacks reveal how Keanu and Y/N’s relationship began, and what events lead things to become as messy as they are now. Finally, they decide to talk about the unspoken feelings and things that have been going on between them.

x

“Did you sleep with him?” He stills, expression strained and down casted stare piercing knives at the floor below. His arms rest heavy by his sides, dread of the coming words churn in his stomach; the fire burns in his belly.

“Excuse me?” You return, arms crossing, stance collective.

“Please.” His lip quivers so slight, gravelled, assertion coated tone less than willing to beat around the bush. “Just answer me, Y/N.”  

Your eyes still, connected to his that finally, momentarily find yours. You stay silent for a moment long, and the words that come haunt him. Haunt him before they’ve even settled, had time to absorb in the depths of his train wrecked realization. “Yes. I did.”

The first dagger.

You’ve spent enough nights with his manhood curled inside your legs, to know. Far too many evenings with his fingers dipped inside you; lapping, delighting the honey that seeped just for him.

You know him. And despite you desperately trying to forget,

He knows you. He knows you all too well.

The heaviness to the room suffocates you, claws away at each anticipation scorched crevice of your mind. A resigned silence has fallen across the atmosphere, the mere tick of the clock in the distant kitchen corridors filling the gaping holes. Time moves slow. For the first time, you both stand. You’re both here. You’re here, where nothing but words will heal. Nothing but words will suffice. And when you need them most, when you finally need them, they hinder. They’ve gone. They feel far too heavy, and his shoulders seem far too frail.

For the first time you see, Keanu seems, far too,

frail.

        You feel heavy, weighed down. Open your mouth. Let the truth exist somewhere other than inside your body. Let the words that were made just for him,

        find him.

A candle burns to the right, set on the wooden oaky coffee table. His favourite scent, something he’d left behind. Attention remains focused on the flickering flame as you continue to observe him from your spot, wondering, desperately scraping to know what thoughts seared his mind. What reveries he wondered, if he’d just reply. If he’d just talk.

His eyes scan the floor; you know there’s a brew fizzing inside his mind. Much to your disappointment, his cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; strands, long and lengthy seem matted, messier than usual. He hadn’t been keeping firm care of himself as usual,

You fear you’re the reason. That you did this to him, when all you wanted was to ease the burn. To do the better for the both of you.

You’d nearly gotten comfortable in the silence that loomed, almost forgotten that a storm was coming. It was bound to. So sudden, to the gravel of his tone, your chest tightens in guard. Defence.

“I thought you only sleep with me.” He starts, voice heavy, rid of that certain uniqueness it normally held for you. That gentle softness that usually shone. Perhaps it was still there, hidden in the grim shadows.

Perhaps your morphed mind refused to acknowledge it. Refused to remember, to confess that he’d always been far too good. Too good to deserve what you’d done. The way you both let it be. “Why does it matter?” You ask lowly, barely returning. The words have seemed to die in your throat before fully falling out; as if they never truly wanted to be heard by him. As if they saw right through you.

“Because. I thought that was our thing.” He reasons, tone firm, defensive in return. Crinkled lines of stress embroider his outer eyes, and you feel your insides plunge at the sight.

Your eyes narrow before a slight defence rings your voice, jaw tightening to his confidence. “Since when do we have a thing?”

The lines to his forehead firm, and his spine unravels in a firmer stance. To his jaw’s signal, his heavy head turns so slightly, taking in the words of your return. He’s stunned, upset, disappointed, irate, a cocktail of all negative emotions that had been crawling to the surface as of late. The emotions he’d swallowed down, allowed to burn inside just to have you near.

Solely to have you stay, even if it meant it wasn’t in the way he wanted you.

But now, there was none to lose. You’d been in the arms of another man. Let another man touch you the way he thought only his fingers could, allowed another man to taste the sap that seeped from your lips, the honey of your body the way only he should have been allowed.

Was he being selfish? He wonders, he ponders. But it burns. The burn triumphs, yet again. “We do, Y/N. Are you doing to deny everything?” he asks, thick hearted. “Everything we did?”

“What do you mean.” You release, the pricks of the sentence taking form of a statement more than a question. “We are- were in it for the benefits. Just sex, Keanu. Those were your words.” Your head lowers for a moment, collecting the words you needed him to hear. The defence you needed to fend. “You don’t get to decide what I do and don’t do. You do not control me.” Your teeth almost grit, lip bitten with affirmation. “You don’t get to decide who I can be with.”

The feeling persists as you try to blink it away slowly, little by little, desperately striving to keep your vomit of words from yelping out. It’s become much, far too much. The blades are cutting, sinking into your flesh.

“I get that.” Keanu waves off, understanding, sympathetic almost. His persona stays, yet seems to melt away in the same breath. Softer, milder tones hue his voice, and his words fall warmer. Warmer than the cold he’d been spitting thus far.

Yet, it’s funny how now, they feel colder.

Despite the sound, they’re piercing into each of your built up, sorrowed seams. They’re real. They’re true. “Y/N, you came to me. You wanted this. I understand that I too let it get this way, I too agreed.” Milder, softer, heavier. “But what you don’t have the right to do, is walk out on me when it’s convenient for you. You don’t get to decide when you want me and when you don’t.”

He bleeds, he too, bleeds. From this close, he looks tired, prominent bags shadow cast under his eyes, stabbing your veins with guilt. “Maybe it was my fault for letting you come back and chip away at me. For wanting you still every single time you came and went.” His words prove sharp, the sharp scalpels you’d never thought you’d hear pour from him. Despite great efforts, your eyes fall weaker and weaker to each word, each vowel, each syllable of his tenor. “Do you think it was easy for me, Y/N? When you disappeared for a week without a word? I was a mess, Y/N. I was ruined thinking I did something to hurt you. You made me feel that.”

The second dagger.

“We had something. Don’t you dare take that away from me and don’t you dare stand there and tell me we didn’t. It was never just sex, Y/N.” He feels your heavy stare, the way your eyes flicker with something so unfamiliar. As if the flip of a button, the tension between your aggravated bodies shifts, thickens, feels as if something that was never meant to flourish between you and him.

“We were…we were more. You were more.” He exhales, slow and sad. “You were never just midnight relief for me,” Cringing, he waves off a heavy palm to the sour words, his face scrunched to the thought of you thinking you were ever just physical need for him. Ever just sex. “You were-- you are a friend. Perhaps my dearest friend.” His words sear. They do hurt. Shackled with dread. You are, chained. Held. Composed of nothing but pure, utter, hurt.

He stands there, and even through the ice of his speech, it’s still him. Still that sliver of hope you’d always held, that dearest comfort in tumbling darkness. Even today, in the scorching gray, he still felt like home. And that was the worst part; home. Being torn, fraying away from you.

You wish he was still human, still something normal. You don’t remember when you started looking at him,

        and seeing poetry. A beautiful verse, a well rehearsed lyric, a symphony you remember lipping your tongue.

His words are breaking you, killing you softly. Something surfaces, something you so desperately didn’t want to, but it does. Guard.

    ;The poisons in our mouths burn holes in our tongues; our cheeks.

 The same guard that had perhaps been breaking you thus far. The same guard that made you leave. The same defence that refused to acknowledge out loud that he was more. That he was the one who kept you up at night, the one that crossed your mind each waking of the morning, each dusk of the night. You’d swore the joints in your neck creak when you slant up to the gray ceiling, and the ache at your right temple pounds harder, your veins course with something so icy, so frozen; an agonizing groan barely surfaces before your fingers mould along your temples, the words falling off your lips to an appalling mutter. “No, no, no, no.”

And that’s why you lie. You part your lips,

and lie.

“Keanu!” you almost cry, bones aching, chest hefty and heart pouring. You’re drained, exhausted, the conversation has turned darker than anticipated. The sharp edges only cut further. “We’re no good for each other. We aren’t and we never were.” A slight frown contorts your features.

These words, this stream of misery; you know they’re hurting him too. You know he’s hurting. You’re hurting him.

But they must be spoken. They must be shared. This thread that holds you bound, this cord that draws you back must be shred. Must be broken. It’s what he needs. What you both need.

By now, the river had flowed too far; the water rose far too deep.

 By now, if he’d be a part of you still, you fear you won’t be able to settle. You want one hundred percent of him, in the way lovers do. True lovers; the equities that come farther than physical connection. You want all of him, but you fear he won’t be able to give that part of him. Won’t be able to give you more. Just how much more you needed. And so you suffer, you writhe, and you ache some more as the words fall. You fight back sorrow as the façade falls.

 A river flows from your mouth, falls, pelts, cascades. The substitute of tears, your eyes won’t bare hold. “You were my first friend, my only friend when I came here.” You sympathize. “Of course you were more, Keanu. You weren’t just a quick fuck for me when I needed one, so don’t you dare accuse me of it.” A faint frown lingers to the planes of your face, and your eyes grow something worse than sad. Something full of pure, utter, melancholy. “We made a huge mistake and you know it, Ke.” Confessing, you watch the way his muscles tense under his signature black jacket.

 He’s suffering. You’re killing him.

“We both have issues, and we both have problems.” The ugly truth ultimately falls. But perhaps, you shouldn’t have shed light on it. Shouldn’t have dug up, salted old wounds. “Did we really think sex would fix that?” The truth hurts. It’s sinking daggers into your flesh by each word. You’d never been one to show weakness, yet to him, you let all the vulnerability fall. All the weaknesses that allowed you to get this way. “We made a mistake. And it’s best we just move on.”

 There, in his eyes today, right now, you swore you saw something you’d never seen before.

He’s always been admirable, reserved, but confident. Something about him always seemed collected, as if he’d got the entire world figured out and had came to terms with whatever it had to offer. He held poise, self-reliance.

But today- the emptiness inside your chest throbs and your fingers nimble under his intense stare. He doesn’t speak for prolonged moment, only stays,

numb.

Something in him died today. Something felt like withered flowers and caved ruins.

It’s unsettling to see such a sight before your eyes, to see a mountain before you disintegrate, yet refuse to acknowledge it. Eerie, soul crushing discomfort. You saw it in him,

but felt it in you.

Somehow, these things of his, always come back to you. To haunt you.

Keanu blinks slowly, coming back to the present as his head returns. His thoughts flow, rugged, anything but the usual smooth his collected demeanor was used to. It doesn’t matter to her, everything we did. These thoughts, these words, these feelings; they bubbled. She thinks we’re a mistake. Boiled, churned, gasped to be let out. These words needed liberation. Needed to be free.

Does she not remember? He wonders, he ponders. How could she forget?

Tick.

Tock.

Tick--

Even the ticking of the clock in the distant kitchen seems to drown out, seems to fade away unfinished. A heaviness still suffocates the room; feelings still remain trapped inside the depths of your confined hearts. The silence stretches on, the seconds, prolonged moments of quiet rack and add up, and so does your unease.

His expression carefully falters, devoid of anything that shows how utterly hopeless he continues to fall with each jab you take at him. Something so unreadable. Unreadably broken.

He drains too. His silence hurts.

More than the words you’re spewing; the words that cut, slowly slaughter your souls in a gritting slay. Your own eyes crumble, grip tightening in a balled fist similar to the grip that contorts your aching heart.

You feel disgust rip through yourself like a lightening bolt, the pain comes in shooting bolts piercing

Sharp.

Shrill.

It’s slipping through his fingers. It’s all slipping far too quickly.

“Y/N,” Keanu mumbles, urgent yet soft. Heavy voice weighted, plead drowned tone piercing, like lightening. “You-”

He tries again to talk, yet it proves too much. The way he speaks kills you, it’s murdering you cut by cut. It’s impossible to stomach the look on his face.

Dagger by dagger. You’re not strong enough. This mountain you carry on your tongue, in your bones, deep in each crevice of your physical self; it holds too much history, too much vulnerability. This love that laces in each of your veins for him; if it escapes, and the words kiss his skin, into his ears; you fear it won’t be enough. That it wont turn out the way you’ve dreamt all along.

And that’ll be the end. That’ll butcher you for good.

That will be the death of you.

“No, Keanu.” You voice, head shaken gently to a downcast defeat below. You see him tense, back leaned against the gray hallway wall.

Defeat.  

You’ve both defeated each other today. Both sunk the needles exactly where it hurts the most.

         ;Taking throws at the most vulnerable parts of each other. We’re like fingers on thorns of honey;

        we know exactly where it hurts.

 Ambling up beside his larger frame, you position adjacent; so close to him, where you’d feel lightening in your heart each time you reminisce on being. When you think back to the times when he was this close. When he won’t be anymore.

The hard wall feels cold against your skin, both your eyes intent on the surroundings, anywhere but on each other. Slow, quiet, you sigh a beaten exhale, eyes momentarily shutting to ease the heaviness for just one moment. He slumps, unable to hold the weight of his own two feet much longer. “No.” You mumble, you mutter. You force your tongue to move. Sick to the stomach. It churns inside, the brew of pain, hurt, defeat, agony. The fall in your eyes intensifies, covered by a gloss of realization.

This was it.

This would be it.

Dense, heavy, you glide. Your back slides down the hallway wall as your knees give out, falling to an upright seat on the floor below. Legs crossing with your hands positioned neat in your lap, weary shoulders slump; and your eyes find Keanu’s standing tall above you. Patting the spot beside you with one heavy thump, you sigh.

He swallows thick, before gliding down as well.

        falling, falling, falling.

There, in the quiet walls, you sit together. Insides burning, hearts twisting. Falling.

The silence endures, your tired hearts rest. Overpowered, overwhelmed, you sit together.

         ;I’m erasing you from my skin.

 “Keanu,” you begin, empathizing; limbs limp with exhaustion. “I can’t be with you anymore. I just can’t. It’s draining, it’s exhausting.”

The third

        dagger.

        And this one, would hurt in him constantly. Would burn in him endlessly.

Your every word is cruel. Brutally candid; straightforward. Each and every syllable, each vowel, each ring tears something inside him expertly, like deliberately unhurried knives; merciless daggers sinking in deep.

Keanu’s mind wanders still, the words he so desperately wanted to say to you still bubbling. The conversation hadn’t played out how he planned. This was not what he had planned. This is not what the hopes he came with wrote. The burn is so rugged, so intense, and the words fight to come out. They fight to be heard by you. Fight to save your sinking ship.

But they don’t. they ultimately don’t. They still in his throat. They dissolve in his throat.

He couldn’t put himself out there for you to break down again. Couldn’t hand himself over to you again, only to be destroyed, yet again.

His features falter, realization seeps into his bones. In these moments, everything, each second seems so fragile, so precious.

-She’s slipping away far too quickly-

         She’s slipped away;

        She’s gone.

 Keanu’s head falls back, hitting the wall behind you both with an audible thud. He nods gently with a hefty respire, eyes closing for a brief moment. Slain.

Slow and wounded, he removes himself from your side, standing on his own two somnolent legs. The air around has only darkened, except now, there’s no piercing. No lightening, no bolting.

Just flat, dry, unforgiving air.

He stands tall above you, yet your body stays positioned below on the ground. You can’t seem to move, can’t seem to rise. Can’t seem to rise up from the small. From the low.

        From the feeling of low.

Staring up, your eyes lock with his as he begins sincerely, head shaking. The phantom, the ghost of him leans above you, looming over with guilt ridden, shattered realization.

He begins, apologizing. “I promise, all I wanted was to help. Not to make it worse.” Thick cut sadness, gloom glazes each word. He’d come with so much hope; he’d come to you confident he’d get it right. That this time, he’d hold you for good.

With nothing, he’d be leaving. Nothing but haunting memories of the sweetest love, that never worked. The ghost of a love he’d lost, without ever really having it.

“I care about you so much.” He tells, one last time. “I’m sorry if I said anything out of line. You’re an amazing woman, Y/N. I still admire you and all the success you’ve earned since you came here.”

Gray. It’s all falling gray. The murals of a once bright and crimson passion; a once rosy friendship, a yellow hope. All grayed.

“I still wish you nothing but the best. You deserve it.” He finishes, a gentle nod and half attempted smile your way. A haunting smile, that would forever remain carved inside your brain. The smile of the heart you slaughtered.

           And for a moment; you think, maybe you loved him, in another lifetime. And maybe you promised you’d find him on the other side.

On the other side – and maybe that’s why you can’t seem to escape him, to let him go.

         But today, he is going. He’s leaving for good.

Today, it felt as if the flowers beheaded themselves; the sun burnt to the ground. He’d take them away with him, with each drowning step he took.

        He won’t come back; the whispers of your crying thoughts linger.

        He has to; the weeps of your heart undertone.

And you wonder, that perhaps you don’t deserve good things. Because this, watching him leave with your heart crucified to his chest, felt as if punishment. Punishment for sins you don’t even remember committing.

He shakes his head one last time, before his back turns. Turns to you, leaves you behind as he begins to move away, toward the bulky front door. He’d bid his goodbyes, wished his farewells.

He is the one that got away. And maybe, the one who comes after him; if one ever will; will remind you of how it was always supposed to be. The mistakes that were never meant to be made.

        ~They will taste like the poetry; you wish you could’ve composed.

For from today, blue skies would fade gray, the birds would cease to sing. The flowers would never live again, and the burn would maybe subside to nothing, but, gray. You will stay empty, stay longing for what he gave you.

The corridors of each room will be empty; and nothing makes the room feel emptier than longing for someone to be in it. And long you would. Knowing the man you love would be gone for good.

And even after all this pain, all this hurt,

         His body is still the only one you want to be undressed under.

         His weight is the only one you want resting beside you at your most vulnerable, at your worst.

 The daggers have been thrown. The wounds have been carved.

“Stop saying things like that to me.” Sudden, your voice cracks from below. You’d been unsure of how the word had even escaped, plummeted out, fearing no barrier. As if your pulsing heart’s last attempt to ease the agony, to stop him. They’d fallen out, leaving your mind little to fend your guard with.

He halts in his tracks, merely turning in his steps to lock you a surrendered gaze. Why? his pleading orbs beg, wondering what more could be left to said. Head shaking, with his lips pursing tight and taut to a thin line, he stands with his arms side by side, eyes coursing into your soul.

Wondering. What you would say.

“Stop saying things like that to me. Things that make me feel like you’re the only good I’ll ever have.” You barely manage, swallowing thick, dense, pure anguish. Gaze faltering, you eye the floor below, unable to lock stare with him just yet. You whisper, audible yet to his ears with an ultimate connect to his earthy orbs; your own filling with seared, stinging wet sheen.

And the words that would fall from your lips from there on out-

        Could never be taken back.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

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